<?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-8789816155110042576</id><updated>2012-02-02T07:57:30.016-05:00</updated><category term='shopping'/><category term='children'/><category term='school'/><category term='mess'/><category term='life'/><title type='text'>Simone Maroney, Author Extraordinaire</title><subtitle type='html'>In this blog, Simone Maroney will publish daily comments and thoughts about her books, her stories and her life as a writer.

Ce blog permettra à Simone Maroney d'écrire de façon régulière ses pensées et les commentaires qu'elle aura au sujet de ses livres, de ses nouvelles ainsi qu'au sujet de sa vie d'écrivain.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>752</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-7499553710007958727</id><published>2012-02-02T04:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-02T07:51:21.214-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Une belle promenade</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6AEqqmFMS84/TvRSd8ENObI/AAAAAAAABoM/oP3N-GGGw8Y/s1600/661-02012316n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6AEqqmFMS84/TvRSd8ENObI/AAAAAAAABoM/oP3N-GGGw8Y/s320/661-02012316n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689262903569234354" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone se décida: aujourd'hui, elle irait promener les chiens dans la forêt non loin de chez elle.  Il ne s'agit pas d'une grande forêt.  Au contraire, ce n'est qu'une longueur boisée entre deux rues.  Chaque côté de la forêt est bordé de clôtures qui limitent les terrains de maisons.  Mais pour deux petits chiens très énergiques, c'est une grande forêt pleine de belles choses à découvrir.  Le temps de traverser cette forêt et les chiots étaient tellement ravis qu'ils manquèrent presque à l'appel de leur maitresse. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Une fois de retour à la maison, Simone put constater que les chiens avaient fait leur ouvrage pendant la promenade: ils avaient récolté dans leur plumage des feuilles, des branches et pleins de petits trucs gluants et épineux qu'ils répandirent sur le plancher de Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bon.  Au moins ça ne risquait pas de pousser là mais tout de même...  Ça fait mal au pied, au long, ces trucs là!  La prochaine fois, les chiots auront droit à se faire brosser AVANT de rentrer dans la maison.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-7499553710007958727?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/7499553710007958727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=7499553710007958727' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7499553710007958727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7499553710007958727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/02/une-belle-promenade.html' title='Une belle promenade'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-6AEqqmFMS84/TvRSd8ENObI/AAAAAAAABoM/oP3N-GGGw8Y/s72-c/661-02012316n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-4418061282425685047</id><published>2012-02-01T04:42:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-02-01T05:53:38.545-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Halloween</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SH7LYRkPBBs/TvL8uowSWiI/AAAAAAAABoA/UEGx4WdOopg/s1600/608-03010797n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 270px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SH7LYRkPBBs/TvL8uowSWiI/AAAAAAAABoA/UEGx4WdOopg/s320/608-03010797n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688887157466487330" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B couldn't decide which costume he liked the best so in the end, he chose both.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By day, the mild-mannered little creature tumbled off to school in his Superman suit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By night, he went trick or treating as a knight in shining armour (over a very warm coat and wearing mittens).  Mom had to carry the sword though - it interfered with the gathering of treats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The loot was interesting: bags of chips, candy, chocolate, a plastic crocodile, some stuffed animals, pencils and a toothbrush.  Oh, and keep the Wunderbars for Daddy, okay, little B?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-4418061282425685047?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/4418061282425685047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=4418061282425685047' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4418061282425685047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4418061282425685047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/02/halloween.html' title='Halloween'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-SH7LYRkPBBs/TvL8uowSWiI/AAAAAAAABoA/UEGx4WdOopg/s72-c/608-03010797n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-7190693710833340217</id><published>2012-01-31T04:53:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-31T04:53:00.220-05:00</updated><title type='text'>C'est l'Halloween...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KcCp_Xo4MoU/TvGvi3BBgyI/AAAAAAAABn0/vB0qqZAJmKE/s1600/659-01867331n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KcCp_Xo4MoU/TvGvi3BBgyI/AAAAAAAABn0/vB0qqZAJmKE/s320/659-01867331n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688520817764303650" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et c'est le jour des leçons de natation.  En même temps.  Pas grave, se dit Simone.  On va au cours de natation à 18h, on enfile le costume d'Halloween après la leçon et hop, on fait du porte à porte pour des friandises.  Le petit B sautille d'impatience, tellement il a envie de prendre part à toutes ces activités.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sauf qu'arrivés au centre communautaire, il n'y a pas un chat.  D'ailleurs, Simone récolte le meilleur stationnement tout près de la porte d'entrée du centre puisqu'il n'y a pas de voitures garées là. Idem à l'intérieur du centre - il n'y a PERSONNE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Les cours de natation?" Simone demande à la réception.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La réceptionniste regarde Simone de travers.  "Mais les cours de natation sont annulés, Madame," dit la femme.  "À cause de l'Halloween."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B zieute cette dame avec énormément de suspicion et refuse de bouger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Viens, on va regarder par la fenêtre de la piscine pour voir s'il y a du monde," dit Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B résiste un peu mais finit par suivre sa mère.  En effet, la piscine et vide.  Complètement démunie de clients ce jour-là.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tu sais ce que ça veut dire?" Demanda Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Pas de cours de natation," marmonne le petit B, morose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ça veut dire qu'on peut rentrer illico, enfiler ton costume et faire la récolte de l'Halloween tout de suite!  Sans attendre la fin de ton cours de natation!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Les yeux du petit B s'illuminèrent alors qu'un sourire ravi embellissait son petit visage adorable...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Il faut dire que l'idée n'allait pas sans plaire à Simone non plus!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-7190693710833340217?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/7190693710833340217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=7190693710833340217' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7190693710833340217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7190693710833340217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/cest-lhalloween.html' title='C&apos;est l&apos;Halloween...'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KcCp_Xo4MoU/TvGvi3BBgyI/AAAAAAAABn0/vB0qqZAJmKE/s72-c/659-01867331n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-7968226478921567773</id><published>2012-01-30T05:26:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-30T09:45:00.726-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Pirates and common sense</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-17JSYe7gwNk/TvBkhrHYNUI/AAAAAAAABno/L8mGZNRLU5I/s1600/649-02733315n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 212px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-17JSYe7gwNk/TvBkhrHYNUI/AAAAAAAABno/L8mGZNRLU5I/s320/649-02733315n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5688156859041068354" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone was planning the trip and trying to decide which excursions would suit little B.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hey, little B," she asked her son.  "Want to go on a pirate ship?"  Simone worried that he might find such an outing unnerving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The little guy considered the question, his fist embedded in his right cheek.  "Yeth," he agreed at last.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What if the pirates make you walk the plank?" Simone insisted, knowing that this was a real possibility if the "pirates" really got into the mood of it all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B shrugged.  "I'll get wet then."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-7968226478921567773?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/7968226478921567773/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=7968226478921567773' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7968226478921567773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7968226478921567773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/pirates-and-common-sense.html' title='Pirates and common sense'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-17JSYe7gwNk/TvBkhrHYNUI/AAAAAAAABno/L8mGZNRLU5I/s72-c/649-02733315n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-155031955973875204</id><published>2012-01-27T04:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-27T05:08:34.474-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Je crois que j'ai gagné...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YEzy3gDzBvU/Tu8G9q7hygI/AAAAAAAABnc/iGWO6ISt0_Y/s1600/619-01300656n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 244px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YEzy3gDzBvU/Tu8G9q7hygI/AAAAAAAABnc/iGWO6ISt0_Y/s320/619-01300656n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687772510957980162" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Départ en trombes de chez Simone: l'autobus scolaire arrive dans moins de cinq minutes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"On fait une course?" Propose le petit B.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone est partante.  Un, deux, trois, et c'est partiiiiiiiiiii!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B prend une avance sur sa mère.  Simone, les chiens en laisses dans la main droite, tente de le rattraper.  La chienne Z passe à droite devant Simone.  Le chien T est derrière Simone, à sa gauche.  La chienne Z bifurque à gauche devant Simone.  Le chien T voit sa soeur Z et fonce tout droit (il était derrière à gauche).  Résultat?  Coup de ciseau dans les jambes de Simone qui, après un vol plané pas très élégant, atterri sur le trottoir.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sonnée.  Il n'y a pas d'autres mots.  Surtout que la tête de Simone sonnait, en effet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B retraça ses pas et mit les pieds sur les laisses que Simone, avec toutes ces émotions, avait lâché. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Je crois bien que," le petit B annonça judicieusement, "Je crois bien que j'ai gagné cette course."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mouais.  On peut admettre ça...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-155031955973875204?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/155031955973875204/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=155031955973875204' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/155031955973875204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/155031955973875204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/je-crois-que-jai-gagne.html' title='Je crois que j&apos;ai gagné...'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YEzy3gDzBvU/Tu8G9q7hygI/AAAAAAAABnc/iGWO6ISt0_Y/s72-c/619-01300656n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-2785910296167381537</id><published>2012-01-26T03:39:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-26T05:17:07.089-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dishwasher</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V_BuTw6ZO2A/TusFuBUHirI/AAAAAAAABnQ/q65t4Rzw8m0/s1600/621-00745890n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 305px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V_BuTw6ZO2A/TusFuBUHirI/AAAAAAAABnQ/q65t4Rzw8m0/s320/621-00745890n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686645242670320306" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone glared at her dishwasher.  It was a mere three years old but had provided very little in the way of household support.  Other than being quiet, the machine took over two hours to do a load of dishes.  All dishes had to be thoroughly rinsed or else they came out with baked pieces of food, all of which were very difficult to remove.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But recently?  The dishwasher had proven even more problematic.  Not only did dishes have to be washed prior to being put in but they came out covered in specks of what looked like mould.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time to do dishes by hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And scrub the dishwasher.  Disinfect the dishwasher.  Scrub it again.  Disinfect a final time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And do dishes by hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ugh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-2785910296167381537?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/2785910296167381537/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=2785910296167381537' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2785910296167381537'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2785910296167381537'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/dishwasher.html' title='Dishwasher'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V_BuTw6ZO2A/TusFuBUHirI/AAAAAAAABnQ/q65t4Rzw8m0/s72-c/621-00745890n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-1692855083161768115</id><published>2012-01-25T04:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-25T05:52:36.446-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Les adultes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fRK3qNBNCus/TunE7IuS6jI/AAAAAAAABnE/8LFh3TfWyAg/s1600/640-01358340n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fRK3qNBNCus/TunE7IuS6jI/AAAAAAAABnE/8LFh3TfWyAg/s320/640-01358340n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686292524764949042" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Récemment, la discussion s'est axé sur ce qui constitue l'âge adulte.  Les opinions variaient entre la maturité (qui manque trop souvent chez Simone) et les activités dites "adultes".  Et il ne s'agissait pas de ce qu'on croirait. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finalement, le verdict fut simple, direct et brutal.  Oui.  Simone était adulte.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pourquoi?  Comment?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tous les vendredis soirs, alors que le weekend s'annonçait encore beau et long, Simone se couchait de bonne heure.  Elle dormait à poings fermés dès 21h.  Et si ce n'était déjà pas adulte, ça, elle se levait à 7h le samedi.  Au plus tard!  Et ce même si elle n'avait pas de boulot à faire ni d'enfants de qui s'occuper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;En fait, ça frise le ridicule.  Simone, fait un effort!  Reste réveillée jusqu'à minuit!  Dors jusqu'à onze heures...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pfft!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-1692855083161768115?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/1692855083161768115/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=1692855083161768115' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1692855083161768115'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1692855083161768115'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/les-adultes.html' title='Les adultes'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-fRK3qNBNCus/TunE7IuS6jI/AAAAAAAABnE/8LFh3TfWyAg/s72-c/640-01358340n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-8333583945057031135</id><published>2012-01-24T04:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-24T04:50:33.632-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Timeless advice from Mom</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tmkXnXyxqAE/Tucq_2wCCGI/AAAAAAAABm4/KVySuTNILHA/s1600/600-00823715n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tmkXnXyxqAE/Tucq_2wCCGI/AAAAAAAABm4/KVySuTNILHA/s320/600-00823715n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685560331095640162" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone complained to her mother about the online college she was attending.  "They still haven't figured out how to handle my final exam," she whined.  "There's only a couple of weeks to go and they haven't gotten in touch with me about setting up something.  I can't believe they want me to travel all the way to Ottawa to sit an exam when it's an online course!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Dear?" Simone's Mom interrupted gently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone stopped her diatribe.  "What?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Why don't you tell them what to do?" Simone's Mom suggested.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone's mouth opened.  Then closed.  Then opened again.  "You're sure?  I mean we're talking about a college here, not a friend or a kid or something..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm sure," Simone's Mom replied.  "You tell everyone what to do.  Why stop at a college?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Indeed...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-8333583945057031135?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/8333583945057031135/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=8333583945057031135' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/8333583945057031135'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/8333583945057031135'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/timeless-advice-from-mom.html' title='Timeless advice from Mom'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-tmkXnXyxqAE/Tucq_2wCCGI/AAAAAAAABm4/KVySuTNILHA/s72-c/600-00823715n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-8317187863116807817</id><published>2012-01-23T04:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-23T05:18:28.613-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Les zombies</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xxAbsZEZ5oc/TuXMUJZ81gI/AAAAAAAABms/4A4_RCB5QZs/s1600/613-01286140n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 247px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xxAbsZEZ5oc/TuXMUJZ81gI/AAAAAAAABms/4A4_RCB5QZs/s320/613-01286140n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5685174751119332866" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Souvent, Simone fait semblant d'être un zombie, histoire d'effrayer la fille de 13 ans qui raffole des livres d'horreur.  Surtout le soir, avant d'aller au lit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mais voilà que Simone a une confession à faire:  jamais de sa vie n'a-t-elle visionner un film de zombie.  Un p'tit bout par ci, par là, oui.  Comme le zombie qui crève l'oeil d'une femme avec un bout de bois de manière lente et grotesque.  Mais à part ça, rien.  Nenni.  Zilch.  Nada.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ce qui veut dire qu'elle est fichtrement mal placée pour se moquer des autres qui eux, ont peut-être raison d'avoir peur.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et puis, en fin de compte, ça n'empêche rien, ça...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-8317187863116807817?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/8317187863116807817/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=8317187863116807817' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/8317187863116807817'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/8317187863116807817'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/les-zombies.html' title='Les zombies'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-xxAbsZEZ5oc/TuXMUJZ81gI/AAAAAAAABms/4A4_RCB5QZs/s72-c/613-01286140n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-1642669071647657785</id><published>2012-01-20T03:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-20T05:38:53.862-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Wrong dog</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bcKtELAutDQ/TuHOB25jHPI/AAAAAAAABmg/ke9QJoF0uOw/s1600/600-01173794n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bcKtELAutDQ/TuHOB25jHPI/AAAAAAAABmg/ke9QJoF0uOw/s320/600-01173794n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5684050736030358770" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was an honest mistake, based on prior convictions and circumstantial evidence.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The two dogs were nestled in the living room when Simone came downstairs.  They got up immediately to greet her, wagging their little tails vigorously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What's this?" Simone asked, frowning.  "This" happened to be a puddle of indeterminate origin.  Save that it had a vaguely yellow tinge to it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The beige dog continued wagging.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The black dog tucked its tail between his hind legs and backed away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Alright, then.  Out with you," decided Simone.  And she opened the patio door.  The black dog raced out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ten minutes later, Simone decided the punishment had lasted long enough.  She opened the door but the dog didn't come running back.  She called the dog.  He refused to come near.  No number of entreaties convinced the dog to even approach the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 13 year old came down the stairs and asked what was going on.  Simone debriefed her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It wasn't the black dog," the 13 year old said.  "It was the brown dog.  I had to use the washroom quickly so I didn't have time to deal with it!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uh, okay....  Want a treat, little black dog?  Mommy is really, really sorry...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-1642669071647657785?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/1642669071647657785/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=1642669071647657785' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1642669071647657785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1642669071647657785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/wrong-dog.html' title='Wrong dog'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-bcKtELAutDQ/TuHOB25jHPI/AAAAAAAABmg/ke9QJoF0uOw/s72-c/600-01173794n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-6158238837459779788</id><published>2012-01-19T04:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-19T05:21:09.208-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Les petits garçons...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GlzD3t8NvHE/TuCUvo9TNXI/AAAAAAAABmU/qXPBYMr1LzQ/s1600/693-03300825n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GlzD3t8NvHE/TuCUvo9TNXI/AAAAAAAABmU/qXPBYMr1LzQ/s320/693-03300825n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683706275910858098" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone avait les chiens en laisse ainsi que le sac de jouets qu'elle avait apporté au parc.  Le petit B, lui, n'était pas du tout encombré.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"On fait une course?" Demanda-t-il à sa mère.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone jeta un coup d'oeil inquiet sur la circulation, à quelques pas du trottoir.  "Si tu restes sur le trottoir et si tu ne vas pas trop loin sans moi, d'acc..."  Et le petit B, sans plus attendre, s'élança vers chez lui.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bon, d'accord, il resta sur le trottoir et Simone n'était pas loin derrière lui mais voilà que les jouets tombèrent hors du sac.  Alors que Simone tentait de les ramasser, (elle hurlait, "Petit B, arrête-toi immédiatement!!!), la chienne affolée par la course effrénée du petit B, se gigota au point où elle réussit à se défaire de son collier.  Puis, pas certaine de son coup, s'élança vers la route.  Simone attrapa le petit bout de chien, hurla encore mais le petit B faisait sourde oreille.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Une fois de retour à la maison, où le petit B l'attendait avec un sourire narquois, Simone donna du fil à retordre à son fils.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Je t'ai appelé combien de fois?" Demanda-t-elle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Les yeux du petit B regardaient vers le ciel.  "Hmmm, deux ou trois fois?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Et bien, la prochaine fois?  Tu m'attendras, d'accord?  Tu ne t'enfuies pas comme ça."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Il n'était pas allé bien loin mais le pauvre coeur de maman de Simone s'emballait à l'idée de tout ce qui aurait pu arriver à son petit dernier...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"J'ai gagné," maugréa-t-il.  "J'ai vraiment gagné."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-6158238837459779788?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/6158238837459779788/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=6158238837459779788' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6158238837459779788'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6158238837459779788'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/les-petits-garcons.html' title='Les petits garçons...'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GlzD3t8NvHE/TuCUvo9TNXI/AAAAAAAABmU/qXPBYMr1LzQ/s72-c/693-03300825n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-2384127287051931408</id><published>2012-01-18T04:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-18T05:07:56.572-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Where are the puppies?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pLOJPb0FseQ/Tt9GuVyL8jI/AAAAAAAABmI/xeopLMWdDWo/s1600/6106-05429993n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pLOJPb0FseQ/Tt9GuVyL8jI/AAAAAAAABmI/xeopLMWdDWo/s320/6106-05429993n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5683339016700424754" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B came home from school, to be greeted with enthusiasm by his two puppies.  He put his shoes in the closet then proceeded to the living room where he settled himself with a library book.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few minutes later, Simone noticed the anomaly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Little B," she called.  "Where are the puppies?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B looked up from his book.  "In the closet," he said guilelessly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Little B!" Simone admonished.  "The puppies don't belong in the closet.  Really.  Where are the puppies?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B sighed and regretfully put his book down.  He walked over to the hallway closet.  "In here," he explained, enunciating carefully.  "I put the puppies in here."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And, sure enough, he had.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Since that day, the puppies greet little B with a lot less enthusiasm...)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-2384127287051931408?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/2384127287051931408/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=2384127287051931408' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2384127287051931408'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2384127287051931408'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/where-are-puppies.html' title='Where are the puppies?'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-pLOJPb0FseQ/Tt9GuVyL8jI/AAAAAAAABmI/xeopLMWdDWo/s72-c/6106-05429993n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-4610508836676890620</id><published>2012-01-17T04:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-17T05:03:41.351-05:00</updated><title type='text'>L'examen final</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BhwfI-0UY6c/Tt30_kAJbMI/AAAAAAAABl8/kcUAEgdjO6g/s1600/648-03626087n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BhwfI-0UY6c/Tt30_kAJbMI/AAAAAAAABl8/kcUAEgdjO6g/s320/648-03626087n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5682967677644664002" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le cours en ligne de Simone allait se terminer d'ici peu.  Il ne restait qu'un examen final à écrire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lorsque Simone reçu la notice, elle n'en revenait pourtant pas:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"L'examen final aura lieu le XX novembre à 18h30 (un mercredi) dans la salle XXX de l'immeuble ABC à Ottawa."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Meuh quoi encore?  Un cours en ligne et ils s'attendaient à ce que Simone voyage à Ottawa en pleine semaine, histoire d'écrire un cours en soirée.  Il faut noter qu'Ottawa, c'est à plus de 6 heures de route par rapport à où Simone habite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah.  Bon." Fut la réponse peu serviable des responsables.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah.  Bon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-4610508836676890620?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/4610508836676890620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=4610508836676890620' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4610508836676890620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4610508836676890620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/lexamen-final.html' title='L&apos;examen final'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BhwfI-0UY6c/Tt30_kAJbMI/AAAAAAAABl8/kcUAEgdjO6g/s72-c/648-03626087n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-5878993267254569230</id><published>2012-01-16T04:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-16T10:58:49.252-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I"ve got you!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5CbAnlqqWpQ/Ts9eQwTqsmI/AAAAAAAABlw/YTFhc33a9_Q/s1600/6106-05402852n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5CbAnlqqWpQ/Ts9eQwTqsmI/AAAAAAAABlw/YTFhc33a9_Q/s320/6106-05402852n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678861297075794530" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt; When the puppies want Mom's attention at the same time, they push, shove, nip - whatever it takes to get rid of the other.  And sometimes, one of them, usually the male, gives up.  It's not worth fighting with her when he's gotta share a room with her, probably.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone sat on the couch when the male decided to join her for a cuddle.  Simone scratched his neck and chest and the little black furball relaxed on her lap.  The female, unimpressed, jumped up and nipped at her brother until he got up and leaped off the couch.  The female lunged forward as her brother leapt but Simone, who was busy reading a fascinating passage in her book, didn't pay them much mind.  Until she heard pitiful yelping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone leaned forward to investigate.  The female, who is almost half the size of her brother, was holding her brother by the tail as he dangled from the couch.  Simone quickly freed the male but not without a silent moment of admiration at the determination of the female...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-5878993267254569230?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/5878993267254569230/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=5878993267254569230' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5878993267254569230'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5878993267254569230'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/ive-got-you.html' title='I&quot;ve got you!!!'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5CbAnlqqWpQ/Ts9eQwTqsmI/AAAAAAAABlw/YTFhc33a9_Q/s72-c/6106-05402852n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-973167106840764404</id><published>2012-01-13T03:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-13T04:18:49.652-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Le nouveau client</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RdFn3Xzf6hU/Ts4TEDZOnrI/AAAAAAAABlk/tqacnscy6_o/s1600/600-01646052n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RdFn3Xzf6hU/Ts4TEDZOnrI/AAAAAAAABlk/tqacnscy6_o/s320/600-01646052n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678497140512300722" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le patron venait d'obtenir un nouveau client et il jubilait.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"J'ai attendu presque un an avant de l'avoir ce client!" S'exclama le patron, très fier de sa réussite.  Il saisit le téléphone pour appeler l'heureux élu.  "Oui, c'est d'accord," acquiesça-t-il.  "Je vous envoie une liste des prix immédiatement par courriel.  Vous voulez quoi?"  Le patron fronça les sourcils un petit instant.  "Okay.  Pas de problèmes.  Je m'en occupe."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ce fut avec un grand sourire aux lèvres que le patron raccrocha.  "Cet homme sera trop facile à manipuler," expliqua le patron à Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Devant l'expression effarée de Simone, le patron s'empressa de se corriger, "Euh, nous travaillerons trop bien ensemble.  C'est plutôt ça que je voulais dire."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah bon.  Puisque c'est comme ça...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-973167106840764404?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/973167106840764404/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=973167106840764404' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/973167106840764404'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/973167106840764404'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/le-nouveau-client.html' title='Le nouveau client'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-RdFn3Xzf6hU/Ts4TEDZOnrI/AAAAAAAABlk/tqacnscy6_o/s72-c/600-01646052n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-2094175926441689297</id><published>2012-01-12T05:14:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-12T05:49:21.853-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What batteries?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kuB6TmKi_Ek/TszHQKeJRYI/AAAAAAAABlY/Ma10AB6Rbqw/s1600/604-00229034n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kuB6TmKi_Ek/TszHQKeJRYI/AAAAAAAABlY/Ma10AB6Rbqw/s320/604-00229034n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5678132310709978498" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone stared at the television, thoroughly exasperated.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What do you mean, I need the remote to start the update?" She asked.  She didn't really expect an answer from either the television or the game console but it might have been nice to get a hint or two.  Nothing was forthcoming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone, thoroughly used to the motion sensors, had not used the remote in an age.  She hunted high and low for it, finally locating it, tucked in a drawer.  She pushed the buttons.  Nothing.  No little light no nothing.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I guess I need to recharge this thing," she muttered to nobody in particular.  But no matter how long and hard she looked, she could not find the cord to plug in the remote and recharge it.  Nothing fit!  So Simone turned off the television and game console, very upset that today, her exercise session would not take place due to insurmountable technical difficulties.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby could not provide a solution nor did he know where the cord might have migrated to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the end, Simone took the remote with her and went to a gaming store.  She found the matching unit and searched in vain for a package selling a cord.  Just as she considered asking someone for help, at the risk of looking idiotic, Simone spotted the very same remote packaged up.  Perhaps if she just looked at the package she would see what kind of cord she needed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The full force of her idiocy then hit Simone.  The remote needed batteries.  REAL batteries.  The kind you buy in a package and insert into the opening in the remote.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-2094175926441689297?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/2094175926441689297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=2094175926441689297' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2094175926441689297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2094175926441689297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/what-batteries.html' title='What batteries?'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-kuB6TmKi_Ek/TszHQKeJRYI/AAAAAAAABlY/Ma10AB6Rbqw/s72-c/604-00229034n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-2441988814813201677</id><published>2012-01-11T04:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-11T05:11:45.926-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Il faut savoir danser et faire la cuisine</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ophkdVxklQk/TsooWrZKBQI/AAAAAAAABlM/WajOlB2WpKM/s1600/819-02122166n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ophkdVxklQk/TsooWrZKBQI/AAAAAAAABlM/WajOlB2WpKM/s320/819-02122166n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677394650324403458" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La vieille dame parlait d'une voix enjouée.  Derrière elle, un jeune homme d'une taille époustouflante, avait l'air d'un goalie de hockey, tellement il n'arrêtait pas de faire bouger son corps de gauche à droite.  "De nos jours," disait la vieille dame, "les jeunes hommes doivent absolument savoir danser et faire la cuisine.  S'ils veulent apprivoiser une femme, ils n'ont pas d'autres choix."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La dame derrière le comptoir acquiesça.  "Mon fils n'a que onze ans mais je lui ai appris à faire la cuisine.  Je suis tout à fait d'accord - c'est nécessaire, ces jours-ci.  Et pour la danse, et bien pas besoin de lui en parler.  Il adore ça!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Un jeune homme toussota, ce qui lui valu que la vieille dame se retourne vers lui.  Dire qu'elle lui fit face serait bien exagéré: elle était tellement rapetissée qu'elle lui arrivait à peine à la taille!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Jeune homme," la vieille dame, nullement impressionnée par la taille du géant devant elle, le menaçait d'un index plutôt large, vu la taille de son propriétaire, "J'ose espérer que vous savez danser et faire la cuisine!"  Sans attendre sa réponse, la vieille dame enchaîna, "Parce que sinon, vous n'aurez absolument aucune chance de vous trouver une femme de qualité. Soyez prévenu!"  La vieille dame hocha de la tête et sortit du magasin, un petit sourire aux lèvres.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et alors que le jeune homme payait pour ses achats et que ses épaules venait seulement de s'éloigner de ses oreilles, la vieille dame lâcha avant de claquer la porte, "Aucune!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ce qui valut un soupir désespéré de la part du jeune homme.  Sans doute quelqu'un d'autre lui fredonnait le même refrain...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-2441988814813201677?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/2441988814813201677/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=2441988814813201677' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2441988814813201677'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2441988814813201677'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/il-faut-savoir-danser-et-faire-la.html' title='Il faut savoir danser et faire la cuisine'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ophkdVxklQk/TsooWrZKBQI/AAAAAAAABlM/WajOlB2WpKM/s72-c/819-02122166n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-7322083771981126716</id><published>2012-01-10T04:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-10T05:07:10.490-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Thanksgiving</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0qG_DgIpjOI/TsYntrUjPII/AAAAAAAABlA/a4jnynBjB40/s1600/665-03752987n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0qG_DgIpjOI/TsYntrUjPII/AAAAAAAABlA/a4jnynBjB40/s320/665-03752987n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676268046023605378" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Canadian Thanksgiving takes place in October and this year, the weekend dawned sunny and warm.  So warm in fact that the usual parade of closing the deck and garden for the season seemed terribly premature.  However, since Simone is of a pragmatic mindset, put away the deck furniture she did, reasoning that it felt much nicer doing this while the sun shone and a warm breeze tickled at your hair than when it was raining (or, forbid it, snowing!) and a cold wind ripped through your spine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then it was time for the annual, inevitable family gathering.  Simone's sister-in-law hosted and everyone got invited in spite of the small quarters in her home.  Dogs, children, grandchildren for a total of three dogs, one cat and 15 people.  Given the number of people, dinner was a serve yourself affair, followed by entertainment, provided by the younger set.  Some naysayers preferred to avoid the entertainment and trailed out to the backyard where the sun beamed down, both bright and warm.  Simone's sister-in-law was obviously of a different mindset: her patio furniture still stood on her deck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The dogs frolicked in the yard, escaped a couple of times.  The children went to the playground.  And then, sadly, it was time to go.  But for a few hours, with everyone there, Simone felt surrounded and at peace.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-7322083771981126716?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/7322083771981126716/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=7322083771981126716' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7322083771981126716'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7322083771981126716'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/thanksgiving.html' title='Thanksgiving'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0qG_DgIpjOI/TsYntrUjPII/AAAAAAAABlA/a4jnynBjB40/s72-c/665-03752987n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-3981575579097910474</id><published>2012-01-09T04:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-09T05:15:48.837-05:00</updated><title type='text'>La royauté</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GCf6rXtuv8g/TsTlTUxX47I/AAAAAAAABk0/0ZRiHeQ-0P8/s1600/649-03418071n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GCf6rXtuv8g/TsTlTUxX47I/AAAAAAAABk0/0ZRiHeQ-0P8/s320/649-03418071n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675913550549738418" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B jouait depuis un bail dans sa chambre.  Simone décida qu'il était grand temps de vérifier l'état de la chambre de l'enfant.  Simone ne fut pas étonnée d'y trouver des jouets éparpillés un peu partout.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Petit B," s'écria-t-elle.  "Ta chambre est un désastre.  Ramasses tes jouets immédiatement!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B, imperturbable, de répliquer, "Je rangerai mes jouets.  Dès que tu m'auras dit, s'il-te-plaît, votre majesté!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bah voyons!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-3981575579097910474?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/3981575579097910474/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=3981575579097910474' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3981575579097910474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3981575579097910474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/la-royaute.html' title='La royauté'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GCf6rXtuv8g/TsTlTUxX47I/AAAAAAAABk0/0ZRiHeQ-0P8/s72-c/649-03418071n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-7473093266121310712</id><published>2012-01-06T04:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-06T05:29:04.833-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Thanksgiving Craft Tour</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9NhdRxaeZHY/TsJDzyIX8TI/AAAAAAAABko/_BG1-5y-gZY/s1600/629-03683148n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9NhdRxaeZHY/TsJDzyIX8TI/AAAAAAAABko/_BG1-5y-gZY/s320/629-03683148n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5675173037349531954" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Every year, Simone enjoys the fall Thanksgiving Tour.  Given that the Canadian Thanksgiving celebrations take place in October, the occasion is generally suited to some prime autumn colour viewing as well.  This year was an exception of sorts: hubby decided to join in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somewhat disbelievingly, Simone acquiesced to his participation and off the family went, after a leisurely lunch on the holiday Monday at a local restaurant.  They started at a local crafts place, aiming to investigate further away places afterward.  However, as they drove on the overpass, they quickly realized that those further north craft places were a very, very bad idea.  The traffic heading south was incredibly heavy, given that many cottagers close their cottage for the season on Thanksgiving weekend then head back to wherever they hail from on holiday Monday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first place they visited, a jeweller, featured beautiful but overpriced items.  Well, perhaps they weren't overpriced but Simone couldn't afford them.  The second place featured hats and silver jewelry that was reasonably priced.  Little B gleefully picked a hat (adult sized) that tickled his fancy.  He looked smashing in it!  The 13 year old found a sweet pair of earrings that resembled a bunch of grapes while Simone picked a ring and matching bracelet.  Hubby sighed and took out his credit card.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They finished off their touring with a visit at a local artist's studio but by then, little B had grown weary of the craft shops.  He asked if they could head home and so they did.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-7473093266121310712?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/7473093266121310712/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=7473093266121310712' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7473093266121310712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7473093266121310712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/01/thanksgiving-craft-tour.html' title='Thanksgiving Craft Tour'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9NhdRxaeZHY/TsJDzyIX8TI/AAAAAAAABko/_BG1-5y-gZY/s72-c/629-03683148n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-5585059363411789316</id><published>2012-01-04T05:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-04T06:33:36.831-05:00</updated><title type='text'>La lutte en prison</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MlaMgaSq7X0/TsDqoGlw2jI/AAAAAAAABkc/tdkuzM5wbTU/s1600/641-02068597n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MlaMgaSq7X0/TsDqoGlw2jI/AAAAAAAABkc/tdkuzM5wbTU/s320/641-02068597n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674793505171495474" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B adore aller chez Ikea.  Leur parc d'enfant et sensationnel et le petit B en redemande souvent.  Ça tombe bien, parce que Maman et Papa y vont régulièrement, ces jours-ci.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sauf que ce jour-là, on appelle Simone bien avant que l'heure ne se soit écoulée pour qu'elle revienne chercher son petit chéri.  Et le petit chéri n'est pas en bon état.  Inconsolable, il affiche des égratignures à plusieurs endroits au visage ainsi qu'aux bras.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Que c'est-il passé?" S'inquiéta Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Il était dans le tunnel et il s'est bagarré avec un autre garçon," dit une des surveillante.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"J'étais dans la prison," précisa le petit B.  "Et quelqu'un a voulu venir dans la prison avec moi mais j'ai dit non et il m'a frappé."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone secoua sa tête.  Elle n'en revenait franchement pas.  Son fils avait le visage tout abimé.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bon, d'accord, ça arrive, ce genre de bagarre, lorsqu'on est en prison.  Mais à cinq ans, c'est tout de même un peu tôt...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-5585059363411789316?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/5585059363411789316/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=5585059363411789316' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5585059363411789316'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5585059363411789316'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2012/01/la-lutte-en-prison.html' title='La lutte en prison'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-MlaMgaSq7X0/TsDqoGlw2jI/AAAAAAAABkc/tdkuzM5wbTU/s72-c/641-02068597n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-1479714108036385147</id><published>2011-12-28T05:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-28T05:10:00.905-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Siblings</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RpMT0g42AgE/Trz1QdyWZHI/AAAAAAAABkQ/tJAMDG9A-qA/s1600/696-03398347n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 226px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RpMT0g42AgE/Trz1QdyWZHI/AAAAAAAABkQ/tJAMDG9A-qA/s320/696-03398347n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673679293802505330" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On her morning walk with the puppies in the park, Simone encountered a woman walking her black labrador.  Tom, Simone's Pekinese-poodle blend, strained against his leash in a desperate effort to visit the big dog.  He pulled and he yanked, he ducked and he jumped until, at last, he managed to wriggle out of his collar.  He immediately raced toward the labrador, tail wagging in anticipation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The larger dog barked once and Tom, his bravery evaporated, raced away.  Not toward Simone.  That would have been too simple.  Simone stood on the spot, contemplating the situation, as her whistles and calls failed to elicit a suitable response from the dog.  Zara, Tom's sister, sat quietly at Simone's feet, staring up expectantly.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Okay," sighed Simone.  "You might as well go too."  She released the second dog's leash.  Zara raced after her brother who zoomed this way and that.  In the end though, Zara, being the smaller and more agile of the two, caught up with him and, with nimble nips at Tom's tail, herded him back toward Simone.  Zara barked a few times at her brother as Simone put his leash back on then she sat still for her own leash to go on again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tail between his legs, Tom walked well behind Simone and Zara the rest of the way home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sisters do have a way of ruining your fun, n'est-ce pas?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-1479714108036385147?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/1479714108036385147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=1479714108036385147' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1479714108036385147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1479714108036385147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/12/siblings.html' title='Siblings'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RpMT0g42AgE/Trz1QdyWZHI/AAAAAAAABkQ/tJAMDG9A-qA/s72-c/696-03398347n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-2961776372069683275</id><published>2011-12-27T05:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-27T05:35:06.251-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Les gros sabots de ma Maman</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EE9nJbzfkxk/Truo306FclI/AAAAAAAABj4/kqD0RKz3B5U/s1600/614-03903423n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EE9nJbzfkxk/Truo306FclI/AAAAAAAABj4/kqD0RKz3B5U/s320/614-03903423n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673313832651813458" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B se précipita vers les portes de la bibliothèque.  Simone, qui trimballait le sac de bibliothèque avec une vingtaine de livres dedans, était très loin derrière et elle faisait à peine semblant d'essayer de rattraper son fils.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ne rentre pas sans moi," cria-t-elle.  Mais le petit B n'avançait guère de toute façon.  Un monsieur d'un certain âge lui avait adressé la parole et le petit B lui disait bonjour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ça, c'est ma maman," dit-il.  Il désignait sa mère du doigt et celle-ci était presque arrivée.  "Je suis arrivé avant elle parce que je cours vite," expliqua le petit B.  "Elle, elle ne peut pas courir."  Le petit B se mit à chuchoter.  "C'est pas de sa faute: elle porte des gros sabots.  Ça l'empêche de courir."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et Simone de s'arrêter net, devant le petit B et le monsieur.  Bon, d'accord elle portait des talons hauts.  Mais de là à dire qu'elle portait de gros sabots...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-2961776372069683275?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/2961776372069683275/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=2961776372069683275' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2961776372069683275'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2961776372069683275'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/12/les-gros-sabots-de-ma-maman.html' title='Les gros sabots de ma Maman'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-EE9nJbzfkxk/Truo306FclI/AAAAAAAABj4/kqD0RKz3B5U/s72-c/614-03903423n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-3362416007556814145</id><published>2011-12-23T04:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-23T04:55:13.314-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Life Skills</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QKAwv9P4sQg/TrpYeNmmfYI/AAAAAAAABjs/gOLsh8TR6w0/s1600/700-02659979n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QKAwv9P4sQg/TrpYeNmmfYI/AAAAAAAABjs/gOLsh8TR6w0/s320/700-02659979n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672943956697447810" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone thought she might work in the elementary school again.  But (A) she wasn't asked by management to return and (B) she had little interest in supervising the older kids during their lunch or recess.  So instead, she asked the teacher in charge of the life skills program whether she might be interested in having a volunteer help out in her classroom.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The teacher's eyes lit up brighter than all the Christmas light displays at a department store.  "You bet!" She exclaimed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so it came to pass that Simone began volunteering an hour and a half of her time in the life skills class.  Her first (and only) assignment?  Working one on one with a non-verbal autistic boy who exhibited mild echolalia, deep sensory issues and a stubbornness unrivalled by anyone.  Save perhaps little B.  And Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other words?  A wonderful, unique challenge for Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nonetheless, she does miss the other little ones from kindergarden last year and all their smiles and tears and talents and hugs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sigh...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time to create new memories!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-3362416007556814145?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/3362416007556814145/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=3362416007556814145' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3362416007556814145'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3362416007556814145'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/12/life-skills.html' title='Life Skills'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-QKAwv9P4sQg/TrpYeNmmfYI/AAAAAAAABjs/gOLsh8TR6w0/s72-c/700-02659979n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-3471418711015721224</id><published>2011-12-22T04:08:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-22T04:42:56.007-05:00</updated><title type='text'>L'éducation?  Un gros zéro...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IBRbIgFHoVI/TrkDjBv24kI/AAAAAAAABjg/6qILtFECPJg/s1600/600-03171670n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IBRbIgFHoVI/TrkDjBv24kI/AAAAAAAABjg/6qILtFECPJg/s320/600-03171670n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672569105949319746" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C'était inévitable...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dès que Simone commença ses cours en ligne, elle savait que quelque chose allait foirer.  Ce fut la grève qui changea tout.  Le personnel de soutien de tous les collèges en Ontario faisait la grève et quelques élèves, dont Simone, se retrouvèrent sans accès à leurs cours sur l'internet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Certains profs offraient à leurs étudiants de les rencontrer telle ou telle date à Ottawa.  Bah, bon, d'accord.  Sauf qu'Ottawa, c'est un peu loin, quoi.  Une semaine après le début des cours, un seul prof avait envoyé la documentation de son cours à Simone, ce qui fit que Simone réussit à se rattraper un peu.  Lorsqu'une semaine plus tard, Simone n'avait toujours pas accès aux cours d'Autisme et sciences du comportement, elle décida de tout annuler, hormis le cours qu'elle avait déjà commencé.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ce qui, finalement, ne fut pas une si mauvaise idée.  Car le cours en question avait un quiz à chaque semaine, des activités d'apprentissage à chaque semaine, une 50aine de pages de lecture à chaque semaine ainsi que trois travaux écrits et deux examens.  Et la vrai vie, dans tout ça?  Qui va faire le ménage?  Qui va préparer les repas?  Qui va gérer la famille?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ouf!  Mouais.  Bonne décision de ne prendre qu'un cours...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-3471418711015721224?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/3471418711015721224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=3471418711015721224' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3471418711015721224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3471418711015721224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/12/leducation-un-gros-zero.html' title='L&apos;éducation?  Un gros zéro...'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-IBRbIgFHoVI/TrkDjBv24kI/AAAAAAAABjg/6qILtFECPJg/s72-c/600-03171670n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-5977715830379572683</id><published>2011-12-21T04:52:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-21T04:53:00.865-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I have lots of really nice rocks...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r2p-uzy8yNo/Trerm35ke9I/AAAAAAAABjU/ZGw6xz-IPPw/s1600/600-01586904n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r2p-uzy8yNo/Trerm35ke9I/AAAAAAAABjU/ZGw6xz-IPPw/s320/600-01586904n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5672190940025224146" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone played with little B in the sandbox of the school yard.  Together, they made sandcastles and destroyed them.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A little boy approached them, his hand clasped shut.  He moved his hand forward, gazing expectantly at Simone.  Simone opened her palm and extended it toward the boy.  He dropped the rock in Simone's hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Wow," murmured Simone.  "That's a really pretty rock."  They admired the rock for a few moments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I have lots of really nice rocks at my house," said the little boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He paused for a moment then smiled beguilingly at Simone.  "Wanna come over to my house?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-5977715830379572683?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/5977715830379572683/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=5977715830379572683' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5977715830379572683'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5977715830379572683'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/12/i-have-lots-of-really-nice-rocks.html' title='I have lots of really nice rocks...'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-r2p-uzy8yNo/Trerm35ke9I/AAAAAAAABjU/ZGw6xz-IPPw/s72-c/600-01586904n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-8350464370579939299</id><published>2011-12-20T04:53:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-20T05:26:52.750-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Les appareils électroménagers</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vwUm6t4HgXA/TrOqGtgRTLI/AAAAAAAABiM/vgOUzumHCs0/s1600/640-02775937n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vwUm6t4HgXA/TrOqGtgRTLI/AAAAAAAABiM/vgOUzumHCs0/s320/640-02775937n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671063388060470450" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Les cheveux de Simone étaient abimés.  Très abimés.  Le fer à friser avait tout brûlé.  Il n'y avait pas de quoi s'étonner.  Elle avait utilisé un fer plat canadien en France et le courant avait surchauffé l'appareil.  Mais il fallait impérativement faire quelque chose car la pauvre Simone avait la mine d'un épouvantail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Donc rendez-vous avec le mari à Yorkdale.  Ce fut une petite sortie super sympa.  Pas d'enfants: ils étaient tous à l'école.  Pas d'itinéraire hormis le coiffeur dans une heure.  Donc une petite sortie au resto.  Une conversation sans interruptions entre adultes.  Et puis un petit tour des magasins avant d'aller se faire couper les cheveux.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ça valait presque la peine de faire frire ses cheveux...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-8350464370579939299?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/8350464370579939299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=8350464370579939299' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/8350464370579939299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/8350464370579939299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/12/les-appareils-electromenagers.html' title='Les appareils électroménagers'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vwUm6t4HgXA/TrOqGtgRTLI/AAAAAAAABiM/vgOUzumHCs0/s72-c/640-02775937n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-8133290997293607499</id><published>2011-12-19T04:20:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-19T04:30:37.742-05:00</updated><title type='text'>How old are you again?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NnBHNzEhVkI/TrJr4NapOhI/AAAAAAAABiA/ArAO0dVAxAk/s1600/614-03577034n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NnBHNzEhVkI/TrJr4NapOhI/AAAAAAAABiA/ArAO0dVAxAk/s320/614-03577034n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670713494231136786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B, fresh from his birthday celebrations, could not help telling all and sundry that he was now a big boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"So you've had a birthday?  How old are you?" Someone inevitably asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's when the spiel began.  "Three yesterdays ago, I was four.  Two yesterdays ago, I was four.  Yesterday, I was five.  Today, I'm five."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the person smiled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But Simone wondered whether these explanations would last all the way until next year's birthday...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-8133290997293607499?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/8133290997293607499/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=8133290997293607499' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/8133290997293607499'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/8133290997293607499'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/12/how-old-are-you-again.html' title='How old are you again?'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NnBHNzEhVkI/TrJr4NapOhI/AAAAAAAABiA/ArAO0dVAxAk/s72-c/614-03577034n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-2369561509695018124</id><published>2011-12-16T03:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-16T03:43:01.010-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ouf!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BpHudlKN2Rc/TrESx2zjpwI/AAAAAAAABh0/2aXRHsru6Aw/s1600/600-01879006n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BpHudlKN2Rc/TrESx2zjpwI/AAAAAAAABh0/2aXRHsru6Aw/s320/600-01879006n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5670334053570815746" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Il fallait se rendre à l'évidence: tout le monde, sans exception, avait besoin d'aller aux toilettes.  Neuf personnes, dont quatre femmes - donc pas question de s'arrêter le long de la route, même si les hommes, eux, étaient partants.  Heureusement, à l'horizon, le mari de Simone aperçut une aire de repos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Il va bien y avoir des toilettes là," raisonna-t-il.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sortie de la fourgonnette, tout le monde se rend compte que &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A) il n'y a pas de portes aux WC des hommes&lt;br /&gt;et &lt;br /&gt;B) il n'y a qu'un bol de toilettes pour les hommes et ce sans siège mais avec une porte &lt;br /&gt;C) idem pour les femmes pour B&lt;br /&gt;D) il y a deux autres options chez les hommes et chez les femmes: des trous à même le sol entourés d'un basin métallique&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Évidemment, les femmes se précipitent vers le bol de toilette.  Sauf que Simone a vraiment envie et, de plus, c'est une aventure.  Elle s'accroupie et....  découvre que cette expérience peut être valable pour les hommes mais pour les femmes, c'est nettement moins attrayant.  Car ça éclabousse, si on manque le trou.  Et du coup, on ressort toute mouillée...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La prochaine fois, va pour le long de la route!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-2369561509695018124?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/2369561509695018124/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=2369561509695018124' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2369561509695018124'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2369561509695018124'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/12/ouf.html' title='Ouf!'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BpHudlKN2Rc/TrESx2zjpwI/AAAAAAAABh0/2aXRHsru6Aw/s72-c/600-01879006n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-3704044587314680168</id><published>2011-12-15T04:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-15T04:50:53.637-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Exhausted</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EFvMdpqIoA8/Tq-7aAbii5I/AAAAAAAABho/l2SYTJExlro/s1600/649-03465920n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EFvMdpqIoA8/Tq-7aAbii5I/AAAAAAAABho/l2SYTJExlro/s320/649-03465920n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669956511349246866" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone felt simply exhausted.  Nonetheless, she still had duties to perform before crawling into her own bed: she had to read little B his requisite bedtime stories.  She struggled through one book, nodding off in spite of herself.  The second was a mercifully short one and Simone gamely made her way through it without snoozing.  The third however...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The third and last was a Doctor Seuss.  Full of nonsensical rhymes, dizzying blends of shapes and colours and an aimless plot line.  Simone was snoring by the third page.  She struggled to wake up but couldn't manage it and, inexplicably, the pages had changed when she finally succeeded in opening her eyes.  She flipped the pages back, frantically trying to rejoin the page she'd been on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B placed his hand on Simone's forearm.  "It's okay, Mom.  I already finished reading it myself."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-3704044587314680168?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/3704044587314680168/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=3704044587314680168' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3704044587314680168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3704044587314680168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/12/exhausted.html' title='Exhausted'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-EFvMdpqIoA8/Tq-7aAbii5I/AAAAAAAABho/l2SYTJExlro/s72-c/649-03465920n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-3214232252247425291</id><published>2011-12-13T04:53:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-13T05:39:18.444-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Les vaches fantômes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ke1TjSpcaY8/Tq5jPDoGQDI/AAAAAAAABhc/ZqA4tGYhcgU/s1600/633-02645513n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ke1TjSpcaY8/Tq5jPDoGQDI/AAAAAAAABhc/ZqA4tGYhcgU/s320/633-02645513n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669578091228708914" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;En Normandie, il y avait des animaux partout.  Et Simone en profita pour faire la leçon au petit B.  Elle lui parla de ce que les animaux mangeaient, des sons qu'ils faisaient, de leurs habitudes.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Et là, dans le pré, il y a des vaches," fit Simone.  Elle désignait un troupeau de vaches blanches comme de la neige. "Sais-tu ce qu'elles mangent, les vaches?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Rien du tout," répliqua le petit B.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bah voyons!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et le petit B d'expliquer, "Les fantômes, ça ne mange rien du tout.  Et les vaches fantômes non plus."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-3214232252247425291?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/3214232252247425291/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=3214232252247425291' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3214232252247425291'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3214232252247425291'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/12/les-vaches-fantomes.html' title='Les vaches fantômes'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ke1TjSpcaY8/Tq5jPDoGQDI/AAAAAAAABhc/ZqA4tGYhcgU/s72-c/633-02645513n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-7818743938822904799</id><published>2011-12-12T03:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-12T04:35:33.724-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Fractious...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-93hDeW0uLYs/TqpveAmQxNI/AAAAAAAABhQ/51DEXMC0ky4/s1600/659-01866075n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 274px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-93hDeW0uLYs/TqpveAmQxNI/AAAAAAAABhQ/51DEXMC0ky4/s320/659-01866075n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668465642346431698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 13 year old was eating a pizza.  She enjoyed it immensely but got filled up very quickly so when her 20 year old brother asked if he could eat the leftovers, she readily agreed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone looked at her daughter's plate a few minutes later.  "I can't believe you ate all of that so quickly!" Simone said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"My brother ate three thirds of the pizza," the 13 year old protested.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Uh...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-7818743938822904799?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/7818743938822904799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=7818743938822904799' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7818743938822904799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7818743938822904799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/12/fractious.html' title='Fractious...'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-93hDeW0uLYs/TqpveAmQxNI/AAAAAAAABhQ/51DEXMC0ky4/s72-c/659-01866075n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-4555877599187190204</id><published>2011-12-09T02:54:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-09T03:44:16.337-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Le jardin</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-11J47m6mekw/TqkeJgcBBMI/AAAAAAAABhE/J4uyOLSLL40/s1600/677-02408774n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-11J47m6mekw/TqkeJgcBBMI/AAAAAAAABhE/J4uyOLSLL40/s320/677-02408774n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5668094754697577666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B était très excité.  Aujourd'hui, il allait visiter sa classe de jardin pour la première fois!  Les cours n'avaient pas encore débuté mais il allait rencontrer son enseignante ainsi que son aide-enseignante.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quelle surprise!  Alors que tout l'été Simone lui avait dit que Mme T serait son enseignante, c'était en fait Mme K qui aurait ce rôle!  Et comme Mme K était enceinte, elle ne serait à l'école que pendant deux semaines avant de prendre son congé de maternité.  Que de changements!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pourtant le petit B sembla s'adapter facilement.  D'ailleurs, histoire de se dégourdir un peu, il se mit à chanter "Fireworks" de Katy Perry.  Et il traduisait les mots en français au fur et à mesure.  Et il dansait.  Ce fut tout un spectacle qui ne manqua pas d'impressionner toutes les enseignantes qui étaient dans les parages et qui furent attirées par les applaudissements.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bon.  En fin de compte, l'année scolaire du petit B s'augurait plutôt bien...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-4555877599187190204?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/4555877599187190204/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=4555877599187190204' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4555877599187190204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4555877599187190204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/12/le-jardin.html' title='Le jardin'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-11J47m6mekw/TqkeJgcBBMI/AAAAAAAABhE/J4uyOLSLL40/s72-c/677-02408774n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-941171860016157257</id><published>2011-12-08T04:51:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-08T05:29:51.629-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Departure time!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LCNlKh6svuc/TqfMw_mD2-I/AAAAAAAABg4/YP1qWmtl700/s1600/665-01904534n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LCNlKh6svuc/TqfMw_mD2-I/AAAAAAAABg4/YP1qWmtl700/s320/665-01904534n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667723798145915874" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sadly, all good trips come to an end and this family visit to France did as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A subdued group lined up to get some food from a counter before boarding the plane and was shocked to discover that, in the departure lounge, this "fast food" type place was not equipped to dish out take-out food.  No bags.  No take out containers.  So Simone tried, for better or for worst, to juggle a half dozen croque-monsieurs and drinks for the crew.  It was an epic endeavour, especially since little B, tired and distraught because his father had disappeared into the washrooms shortly before boarding the plane, threw a fit and Simone had to deal with him without spilling a drop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The plane ride itself was largely uneventful.  Most of the children slept, save for the youngest of course.  Someone had to keep Simone out of trouble.  Even hubby managed some napping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 20 year old and his girlfriend, having secured a last minute change of ticket at the Charles de Gaulle airport, got off in Montreal.  Since they were going on to Ottawa, the bus trek would be much shorter for them from there.  The 22 year old took the bus home in Toronto.  The 17 and 15 year olds took off as well.  And once they grabbed their cars from the airport, the 13 year old turned to Simone.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm hungry," she said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone sighed.  No true French baguette in sight.  No saucisson.  No cheap cheese or wine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But on the plus side?  The most comfortable bed ever, waiting at home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aaaaah!  Home sweet home.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-941171860016157257?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/941171860016157257/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=941171860016157257' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/941171860016157257'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/941171860016157257'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/12/departure-time.html' title='Departure time!'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-LCNlKh6svuc/TqfMw_mD2-I/AAAAAAAABg4/YP1qWmtl700/s72-c/665-01904534n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-2000099918801076856</id><published>2011-12-07T05:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-07T05:52:06.662-05:00</updated><title type='text'>L'accident</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nPiW-DeBS3M/TqZ-FjLz2QI/AAAAAAAABgs/ISM6Y19lvFI/s1600/670-02113035n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 227px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nPiW-DeBS3M/TqZ-FjLz2QI/AAAAAAAABgs/ISM6Y19lvFI/s320/670-02113035n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5667355814901569794" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone conduisait sa voiture de location avec deux enfants et beaucoup de valises.  Son mari conduisait la fourgonnette avec la plupart des enfants et beaucoup de valises.  17h à Paris.  Un trajet de 20 minutes de la ville à l'aéroport dura deux heures.  Simone restait collée à la fourgonnette car son mari avait le GPS et elle était complètement perdue.  Pour sa peine, car elle ne laissait personne passer, les miroirs de chaque côté de l'auto se renfermèrent: les autres voitures la frôlaient de si près!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et puis ils sont arrivés à l'hôtel...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deux voitures, dont une une fourgonnette ou presque, arrêtées devant l'hôtel.  Rien de bien surprenant.  Sauf que le groupe était en France, il n'y avait pas beaucoup de place devant l'hôtel et aucun stationnement de disponible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Les enfants étaient dans la fourgonnette.  Ils attendaient que Simone et son mari leurs disent que les chambres d'hôtel étaient prêtes.  Il y avait en fait un problème: Simone avait fait la réservation pour le lendemain et du coup, ils n'arrivaient pas à obtenir le même prix qu'ils avaient eu sur l'internet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Entretemps, un autobus de grande envergure passa devant l'hôtel.  Au lieu de s'arrêter et de demander si on pouvait, svp, garer la voiture ailleurs, l'autobus avança et égratigna la fourgonnette.  Ceci provoqua une crise parmi les enfants dans l'auto.   Le conducteur sortit de l'autobus et immédiatement expliqua que cet accident, c'était de la faute à Simone et à son mari car ils n'avaient pas le droit de se stationner devant l'hôtel.  Il y avait une bande jaune le long du trottoir!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Une bande jaune?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ouf.  Bon.  Belle manière de lancer une fausse note dans ce voyage, monsieur le conducteur d'autobus...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-2000099918801076856?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/2000099918801076856/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=2000099918801076856' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2000099918801076856'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2000099918801076856'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/12/laccident.html' title='L&apos;accident'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nPiW-DeBS3M/TqZ-FjLz2QI/AAAAAAAABgs/ISM6Y19lvFI/s72-c/670-02113035n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-2931780207201724665</id><published>2011-12-06T04:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-06T05:51:48.466-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Shopping in Paris (Again!)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C1LO70FrbJc/TqUrjiptF2I/AAAAAAAABgg/2z_1XoeP8dM/s1600/653-03706545n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C1LO70FrbJc/TqUrjiptF2I/AAAAAAAABgg/2z_1XoeP8dM/s320/653-03706545n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5666983595712780130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone and family stayed in Paris overnight.  Why?  To spend the day shopping, bien sûr!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the group had a leisurely breakfast before heading out on the Boulevard Haussmann for some window shopping.  The group split into two entities, one with the goal of finding some quality musical instruments and, perhaps, pierce their ears.  The other half decided on some general clothes shopping - even though such activities would doubtless wreak havoc on the state of already overpacked suitcases.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the agreed time, the group met and headed to Simone's uncle's apartment for dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a buffet style dinner, perfect for the group's very late arrival and the oldest kids in Simone's party were whisked away by their French cousins for an evening of revelry.  Simone and the younger kids decided on returning to the hotel for some much needed rest - their flight would, after all, leave the next day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so everyone was happy or nearly so, after a full day of shopping and eating and drinking in the capital of France.  Plus, the hotel had internet!  So the kids who didn't go out drinking?  They stayed up gorging on internet - they'd been deprived for nearly 10 days, les pauvres petits...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-2931780207201724665?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/2931780207201724665/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=2931780207201724665' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2931780207201724665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2931780207201724665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/12/shopping-in-paris-again.html' title='Shopping in Paris (Again!)'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-C1LO70FrbJc/TqUrjiptF2I/AAAAAAAABgg/2z_1XoeP8dM/s72-c/653-03706545n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-4489332170868765296</id><published>2011-11-25T03:46:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-25T04:12:45.406-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Les arènes de Lutèce</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8gfQcGdqG0U/TqE15yTmPuI/AAAAAAAABgU/23JpJKCT73k/s1600/695-03375015n-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8gfQcGdqG0U/TqE15yTmPuI/AAAAAAAABgU/23JpJKCT73k/s320/695-03375015n-1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665869073081581282" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Un déjeuner en terrasse à Paris... Quoi de mieux pour un dimanche après-midi un tantinet frisquet?  Quoi de mieux?  Eh bien... Des amis avec qui le partager!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B, qui avait déjà mangé, s'occupa de nourrir les pigeons avec le pain un peu rassis que le serveur, pas pressé du tout, leur apporta une bonne vingtaine de minutes après que le groupe de 11 personnes s'installa autour de deux tables.  Éventuellement, on passa à la commande.  Les jeunes, histoire de se dépayser un peu, décidèrent de partager des pattes de grenouilles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Les amis voulurent payer les boissons mais le mari de Simone les avait devancé et avait prévenu le serveur que leur carte bleue n'était pas valable.  Comme ils étaient déçus de ne pas pouvoir partager les frais, ils achetèrent un cornet de crème glacée à chaque enfant - ce qui était énorme, vu qu'il y en avait 6!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et puis une petite promenade, histoire de se dégourdir un peu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Mais dis-donc, on se promène maintenant?" Rouspéta le mari de Simone, qui n'avait envie que de s'installer à l'hôtel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bah, oui.  C'est normal.  On a bien mangé.  On a bien parlé.  Et maintenant..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"On va bien se promener," grommela le mari de Simone, pas du tout content.  "Et en plus, maintenant, il va falloir marcher encore plus pour aller trouver notre camionnette.  J'en ai marre de marcher, moi."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone décida de marcher avec quelqu'un de plus aimable.  "On va où, au fait?" Demanda-t-elle à ses amis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Aux arènes de Lutèce," dit D.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Des arènes?  À Paris?" S'étonna Simone.  "C'est une découverte récente, ça?  J'en ai jamais entendu parler!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bah, non," répliqua D.  "Les arènes romaines ont été découvertes alors qu'on se préparait à construire un immeuble en 1800 je ne sais plus exactement et ils ont décidé d'en faire un parc et de conserver les structures qu'ils avaient découverts tels quels."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Là, tu m'étonnes," Avoua Simone.  "Je n'aurais jamais cru voir des arènes à Paris."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Moi non plus," renchérit J, la femme de D.  "Je n'y suis jamais allée.  Tu t'en rends compte?  Et j'ai vécu à Paris presque toute ma vie!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et en fait, c'était bel et bien des arènes, cachées entre quatre immeubles avec une toute petite porte de quatre côtés où les gens pouvaient passer.  Obscure.  Caché.  Gratuit.  Époustouflant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tu vois?  Ça valait la peine de la promenade, non?" Simone se retourna vers son mari mais celui-ci avait disparu.  Il réapparut un instant plus tard, tout souriant, sous l'arche de l'entrée.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Devine quoi?  On est garé juste à côté!  On ne s'était même pas rendu compte qu'il y avait un parc ici.  Étonnant, hein?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone souriait.  Elle était tout à fait d'accord.  Quel merveilleux après-midi...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-4489332170868765296?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/4489332170868765296/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=4489332170868765296' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4489332170868765296'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4489332170868765296'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/11/les-arenes-de-lutece.html' title='Les arènes de Lutèce'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8gfQcGdqG0U/TqE15yTmPuI/AAAAAAAABgU/23JpJKCT73k/s72-c/695-03375015n-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-1181707243268626004</id><published>2011-11-24T04:44:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-24T04:44:00.103-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Parking?  In Paris???</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rNq1hFBuR0Y/Tp_jb-Z-SUI/AAAAAAAABgI/zmu_lR-HFWs/s1600/696-03396459n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rNq1hFBuR0Y/Tp_jb-Z-SUI/AAAAAAAABgI/zmu_lR-HFWs/s320/696-03396459n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665496926003284290" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hubby went around the area for the umpteenth time.  No luck.  As close as they were to Notre Dame, they couldn't find a parking spot for the minivan.  They'd found a spot for Simone's car but that was 45 minutes ago, when they were already thirty minutes late.  The kids were getting impatient and everyone felt hungry - save for little B because Simone had brought him some food and fed him during the car ride from Normandy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Only two days left to our trip," grumbled hubby.  "And we're spending one of them looking for parking.  This is ridiculous.  How do you park something this size in Paris?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone shrugged.  She didn't have any answers.  "It's Sunday," she suggested at last.  "Maybe you can park in a loading area.  Most of the stores are closed on a Sunday."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that, finally, was what they did.  Everyone trailed out of the van and walked toward Notre Dame, Simone guessing the direction they needed to take and hoping that her usual poor sense of direction had taken a hike.  She managed the general direction (the Seine is that way, was okay) but more precise info (Notre Dame is ...) was lacking.  Fortunately, hubby's phone came with GPS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There, waiting in front of the cathedral, were D and J, longtime friends who'd patiently waited for Simone et al so everyone could go out for a bite to eat together.  Simone smiled at the sight of them and the stress of the past few hours dissipated.  Suddenly packing suitcases, groceries, emptying the rental house of trash, cleaning the premises, loading everything into two cars (because nine people fit into the minivan but not with their luggage) and then finding their way into Paris meant nothing.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Isn't it wonderful how good friends can bring such joy to your heart?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-1181707243268626004?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/1181707243268626004/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=1181707243268626004' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1181707243268626004'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1181707243268626004'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/11/parking-in-paris.html' title='Parking?  In Paris???'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-rNq1hFBuR0Y/Tp_jb-Z-SUI/AAAAAAAABgI/zmu_lR-HFWs/s72-c/696-03396459n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-1627553251769420273</id><published>2011-11-23T05:07:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-23T05:07:00.107-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Les Champs Élysées - sous la pluie</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LHdn5tYYN-g/Tp6WQdEVdUI/AAAAAAAABfY/dH2HCvtmb-c/s1600/653-03706569n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 263px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LHdn5tYYN-g/Tp6WQdEVdUI/AAAAAAAABfY/dH2HCvtmb-c/s320/653-03706569n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5665130590703547714" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ce jour-là, le groupe s'est séparé.  Les grands sont partis vers Montmartre alors que Simone, son mari et les quatre plus jeunes allèrent faire du shopping.  Et pas n'importe où: sur les Champs Élysées.  À peine la fourgonnette garée que les grands se précipitaient vers la bouche de métro la plus proche.  Le reste se dirigèrent vers les grands magasins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Premier arrêt?  La boutique Naf-Naf.  La fille de 13 ans y trouva de quoi, c'est peu dire.  Le groupe resta dans le magasin pendant plus d'une heure alors que les filles essayèrent une multitude de robe, de gilet, de t-shirt...  Le petit B courait un peu partout, suivi des fois par son grand frère et d'autres par Simone.  Le mari de Simone, l'air dépité, resta près de la sortie, histoire d'attraper le petit B au passage s'il se décidait à se sauver.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Une pluie torrentielle tombait lorsque le groupe fut prêt à repartir.  On décida d'acheter des parapluies.  Le petit B était ultra fier de son choix: il pouvait colorier son parapluie à sa guise.  Quelle aubaine!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Encore du shopping, cette fois pour les gars dans une boutique sport.  Les gars ont été plus rapide avec leurs décisions mais comme ils ont fait trois arrêts dans trois boutiques et que pour payer, la ligne d'attente était nettement plus longue que chez Naf-Naf, ça a pris à peu près le même temps.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Petit arrêt au resto, histoire de se rafraîchir les idées.  Le serveur raconta un bobard: "Ah, non, Madame.  Le service n'est pas compris."  Ouais, bon.  Simone ne fut pas contente lorsqu'elle appris qu'elle s'était fait rouler...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et puis il était l'heure du retour... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On peut dormir dans l'auto?  Hein? Zzzzzzzz&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-1627553251769420273?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/1627553251769420273/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=1627553251769420273' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1627553251769420273'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1627553251769420273'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/11/les-champs-elysees-sous-la-pluie.html' title='Les Champs Élysées - sous la pluie'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LHdn5tYYN-g/Tp6WQdEVdUI/AAAAAAAABfY/dH2HCvtmb-c/s72-c/653-03706569n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-8784800322989717439</id><published>2011-11-21T04:58:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-21T05:20:17.776-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Dreux's Chapelle Royale</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TUoWbQd7lpM/Tp1DYtcaLUI/AAAAAAAABfM/4ZSySgr2wl8/s1600/610-00797634n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 212px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TUoWbQd7lpM/Tp1DYtcaLUI/AAAAAAAABfM/4ZSySgr2wl8/s320/610-00797634n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664757998096624962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only a day trip for that day and Dreux happened to be a thirty minute drive away.  A perfect distance - but what would they do in Dreux?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a whim, the group decided to visit the Royal Chapel, situated on a hill that overlooks the city of Dreux.  In the chapel, the royal family of France has been interred and visitors can see their likenesses engraved on coffins in the lower levels.  They were the sole visitors when they arrived, 45 minutes before closing time.  The indifferent clerk took their entrance fee and handed them each a pamphlet that outlined the visit then reminded them that closing time was fast approaching: they had better make their visit snappy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone was a little disappointed.  She'd visited the chapel on a prior occasion and thoroughly enjoyed a guided tour.  Still, the Royal Chapel is rather beautiful.  And the view of Dreux is breathtaking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B raced unceremoniously between the coffins and Simone silently thanked the stars that they were alone there that day.  When they got out, Simone spied a picnic table.  With thirty minutes to spare before noon, Simone took the lunch she'd brought for little B out of her bag and they sat down for a bite.  The rest of the vultures fluttered by.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Can we have some too?" They asked.  "I'm hungry..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone peered over the parapet...  Hmmm... Come to think of it, she was hungry as well.  There had to be some nice restaurants to discover in Dreux... Shall we?  Shall.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-8784800322989717439?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/8784800322989717439/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=8784800322989717439' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/8784800322989717439'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/8784800322989717439'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/11/dreuxs-chapelle-royale.html' title='Dreux&apos;s Chapelle Royale'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TUoWbQd7lpM/Tp1DYtcaLUI/AAAAAAAABfM/4ZSySgr2wl8/s72-c/610-00797634n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-4495254169112958911</id><published>2011-11-18T04:24:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-18T04:43:20.497-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Versailles</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jKrsWwCMDKQ/TpvvoBSKy1I/AAAAAAAABfA/6Hi2xZ1zq5M/s1600/610-01578777n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jKrsWwCMDKQ/TpvvoBSKy1I/AAAAAAAABfA/6Hi2xZ1zq5M/s320/610-01578777n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5664384427166976850" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Par un bel après-midi, Simone et les 8 autres membres de la famille allèrent à Versailles.  Tout brillait, malgré la chaleur intense qui régnait ce jour-là, et pas un parasol en vue alors qu'on attendait l'achat des billets qui permettrait au groupe d'entrer dans le palais.  Finalement, ils entrèrent dans le vestibule où la température était moins élevée.  Simone avait un peu l'impression d'être prise dans une marée humaine qui faisait la visite du palais.  Elle fit un petit détour pour récupérer les machines qui donnaient accès à la visite guidée.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Un téléphone!" S'exclama le petit B.  "Je peux en avoir un?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bon, ben, Simone ne l'avait pas compté parmi ceux qui voudraient écouter les infos dans chaque salle mais tant pis.  Elle offrit son "téléphone" au petit B.  Et la grande surprise fut qu'il remarqua très rapidement que les salles étaient numérotées. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Change le numéro?" Demandait-il à sa mère dès qu'ils se déplaçaient.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah bon!  Il avait encore besoin de sa maman.  Tant mieux!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pour couronner la visite, il aurait fallu visiter les jardins mais on alla chercher à manger.  Introuvable à 15h30.  Personne ne voulait les servir.  Donc re dans la voiture et direction la Tour Eiffel.  On espérait que là, au moins, on trouverait de quoi manger. Meuh non.  Rien.  Nenni.  Zéro.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;D'accord.  Compris.  Passage à l'épicerie, récupération d'un tas de nourriture et retour en Normandie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et les pâtisseries?  On n'oublie pas les pâtisseries, hein?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-4495254169112958911?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/4495254169112958911/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=4495254169112958911' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4495254169112958911'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4495254169112958911'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/11/versailles.html' title='Versailles'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jKrsWwCMDKQ/TpvvoBSKy1I/AAAAAAAABfA/6Hi2xZ1zq5M/s72-c/610-01578777n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-6965616606280407484</id><published>2011-11-17T04:37:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-17T05:37:12.695-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Oradour sur Glane</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-k-FycAlKI74/Tpf4X3SykuI/AAAAAAAABe0/ylH9AXwyIGY/s1600/691-03169635n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-k-FycAlKI74/Tpf4X3SykuI/AAAAAAAABe0/ylH9AXwyIGY/s320/691-03169635n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663268145305129698" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was a trip that Simone had been wanting to make for years.  Simone happens to be a bit of World War II buff.  She read a few history books, Winston Churchill's memoirs, watched a few movies, visited D Day memorials, listened intently to veteran stories... That sort of thing.  So the idea of visiting a city left as it was after the retreating army passed through it, shooting all the residents and burning their remains attracted Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything had been destroyed, burned, damaged.  Houses, cars, household implements... There had been so many bodies of women, men and children of all ages that most of them could not be identified.  Most were buried in a communal grave.  The place, though packed with tourists, had a hushed, reverent feeling that enveloped it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Save that little B, not aware of the meaning of this place, began to sing "Twinkle, twinkle, little star!" in a rather loud voice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People shot frowns at Simone but little B would not be deterred.  Simone's invocations to "hush" fell on deaf ears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Show some respect," snarled a woman, pulling harshly on the hand of a very quiet 8 year old girl.  "Shut him up, will you?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone squatted and said, "Little B, we have to be quiet here."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He halted his song for a moment, considered this and obviously decided that Simone's admonition could be disregarded because he went right into the "ABC" song.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Little B," Simone persisted.  She closed her eyes for a second, trying to hide from what she was going to say. "Mommies and Daddies and Grandmas and Grandpas and brothers and sisters died here.  Little boys and girls in kindergarden were killed here.  Soldiers came and shot them with guns."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B stopped singing altogether now.  His eyes glanced up as he considered his mother's words and his smile faltered.  Finally he sighed.  "But not my Mommy or Daddy or Grandma or Grandpa or brothers or sisters," he decided, his sweet smile returning.  "So that's fine."  He smiled and resumed singing but this time, it was a quiet hum.  Simone took his hand and they finished their visit in (relative) silence.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-6965616606280407484?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/6965616606280407484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=6965616606280407484' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6965616606280407484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6965616606280407484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/11/oradour-sur-glane.html' title='Oradour sur Glane'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-k-FycAlKI74/Tpf4X3SykuI/AAAAAAAABe0/ylH9AXwyIGY/s72-c/691-03169635n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-6733974253255978900</id><published>2011-11-15T04:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-15T05:33:57.360-05:00</updated><title type='text'>La vallée de la Loire</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u5iDN1TPuGg/TpaneObtyVI/AAAAAAAABeo/YM7nhjrR90o/s1600/669-03709005n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 227px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u5iDN1TPuGg/TpaneObtyVI/AAAAAAAABeo/YM7nhjrR90o/s320/669-03709005n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662897719177234770" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone et toute la petite famille de neuf personnes embarqua dans la camionnette pour prendre la route vers la vallée de la Loire.  Ce périple fait partie intégrale de tout voyage en France.  Un producteur de vin, Philippe Delesvaux, s'y trouve et ses vins sont exceptionnels.  Puisque ces vins ne sont pas d'habitude disponibles au Canada, le mari de Simone en profite pour acheter quelques bouteilles - qui, malheureusement, ne verront pas non plus le Canada et pour cause: elle se vide à une vitesse fulgurante.  Faut pas chercher à comprendre.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le voyage fut long mais M. Delesvaux offrit une dégustation de ses derniers crus donc le déplacement en valait la peine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et puis RE dans la voiture, après s'être dégourdit les pattes et avoir pris un tas de photos près des vignes.  Là, on se déplaçait vers Oradour-sur-Glane.  Des chambres d'hôtes les attendaient, avec une piscine pour ceux que cela intéressait.  Et 4 enfants ont été partants. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone, pour sa part, a préféré sauter... dans la baignoire!  En effet, leur maison de location en Normandie n'avait que des douches et les bains font rarement partis de son répertoire.  Donc, alors que les enfants batifolaient dans la piscine, Simone se détendait dans son bain.  Rien de tel suite à un long voyage en voiture!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Et en plus, il y avait l'internet - YOUPI!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-6733974253255978900?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/6733974253255978900/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=6733974253255978900' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6733974253255978900'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6733974253255978900'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/11/la-vallee-de-la-loire.html' title='La vallée de la Loire'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-u5iDN1TPuGg/TpaneObtyVI/AAAAAAAABeo/YM7nhjrR90o/s72-c/669-03709005n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-188270608474192936</id><published>2011-11-14T05:06:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-14T05:08:45.325-05:00</updated><title type='text'>House party!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IjW03XR7W6Q/TpVa48Ou98I/AAAAAAAABec/-3Px3sqNMAM/s1600/867-03900559n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IjW03XR7W6Q/TpVa48Ou98I/AAAAAAAABec/-3Px3sqNMAM/s320/867-03900559n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662532040775366594" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone's aunt and uncle hosted a luncheon to celebrate (again) the matriarch's 90 young years.  In light of the fact that over 30 people attended, the party had to be split into two groups: the older set and the younger set.  The youngest set (10 and under) ran around and acted in a generally heathenish fashion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B, having missed his lunch, was in a foul mood.  So, during a thunderstorm, Simone and little B huddled in the car while Simone (almost) force fed him his lunch.  The weather and little B brightened up considerably after this little interlude and the party moved outside for dessert, a wonderful concoction of caramel and cake that melted in your mouth...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just when Simone sat down to enjoy some conversation with her cousins, Little B brought Simone her phone and told her he'd taken some pictures.  Intrigued, Simone looked and was stunned to find naked pictures of little B's cousins.  Apparently, they'd decided to go swimming and, no bathing suit being in the vicinity, had simply stripped.  Little B looked up at his mother expectantly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She sighed.  "Okay, you can go too," she told him.  "Here," she gave him his arm floats, one of which had been repaired with a waterproof bandage.  "Wear these."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B hooted and stripped out of his clothing as he raced toward the pool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone deleted the pictures.  Skinny dipping is something you keep in your memories, not on your phone, non?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-188270608474192936?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/188270608474192936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=188270608474192936' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/188270608474192936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/188270608474192936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/11/house-party.html' title='House party!'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IjW03XR7W6Q/TpVa48Ou98I/AAAAAAAABec/-3Px3sqNMAM/s72-c/867-03900559n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-5550963689077032724</id><published>2011-11-11T04:53:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-11T05:01:44.133-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Un petit tour en calèche</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-420YFJfxO9A/Trzygkk7tbI/AAAAAAAABkE/T7LnHjEKu1Y/s1600/665-01919157n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-420YFJfxO9A/Trzygkk7tbI/AAAAAAAABkE/T7LnHjEKu1Y/s320/665-01919157n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5673676271968302514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le calèche avait déposé Mam au restaurant mais voilà qu'il fallait impérativement le rapporter au corral.  Eh oui!  Le cheval ne se plaisait guère sur le pavé à la sortie du restaurant.  De plus, il avait travaillé fort, celui-là.  Il était temps qu'il se repose et se fasse gâter!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La conductrice offrit aux enfants de les ramener avec elle, pourvu que leurs parents viennent les récupérer en auto après.  Simone décida d'accompagner les trois jeunes de 5 ans (ou presque) car les tout-petits (2 ans) n'étaient pas du tout émoustillés par l'idée de la promenade.   Ce fut donc flûte de champagne à la main que Simone, les joues bien roses, grimpa dans le calèche.  Quelle joie de se promener comme cela alors que les voitures les doublaient.  Un des enfants s'amusait à signaler aux voitures qu'elles pouvaient doubler sans soucis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B était aux anges et faisait le clown pour ses cousins français qui le trouvaient bien drôle, le petit canadien.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La promenade s'acheva trop rapidement mais cela n'empêcha pas qu'un souvenir inoubliable s'instaura dans le coeur de Simone...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Merci.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-5550963689077032724?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/5550963689077032724/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=5550963689077032724' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5550963689077032724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5550963689077032724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/11/un-petit-tour-en-caleche.html' title='Un petit tour en calèche'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-420YFJfxO9A/Trzygkk7tbI/AAAAAAAABkE/T7LnHjEKu1Y/s72-c/665-01919157n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-743114834697120244</id><published>2011-11-10T04:12:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-10T05:19:31.754-05:00</updated><title type='text'>90 years young!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0Qt_nNEIGVU/To64OG8TvPI/AAAAAAAABeU/sEy3BElE5wU/s1600/699-03542088n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0Qt_nNEIGVU/To64OG8TvPI/AAAAAAAABeU/sEy3BElE5wU/s320/699-03542088n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660664334172536050" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(There were always apples in the orchard behind the house and watching Mam peel apples was a fixture, hence the cryptic photo...)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everybody stood in the restaurant, awaiting the matriarch's arrival.  All three of her children were there as were most of her grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  The group was so large that the restaurant owner had agreed to open just for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Mam arrived, on a fancy horse-driven carriage no less, she was surprised to see so many members of her family there.  "Hey!" She pointed at Simone's cousin.  "You told me you were going to a wedding this weekend!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He nodded, unable to hide his grin.  "Mom told me not to tell you anything because this is supposed to be a surprise."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What surprise?" She asked, surprised.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"We're here to help you celebrate your birthday," he said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She brought a hand to her mouth as her eyes filled with water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone's heart warmed.  She was so happy that hubby had agreed to bring the entire family to witness this...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-743114834697120244?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/743114834697120244/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=743114834697120244' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/743114834697120244'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/743114834697120244'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/11/90-years-young.html' title='90 years young!'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0Qt_nNEIGVU/To64OG8TvPI/AAAAAAAABeU/sEy3BElE5wU/s72-c/699-03542088n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-7967825052794865221</id><published>2011-11-09T04:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-09T05:32:20.763-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Les instructions?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k0lCjGB-Mmo/To1wDOfUD5I/AAAAAAAABeM/H-16ecqYOCg/s1600/636-01316564n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k0lCjGB-Mmo/To1wDOfUD5I/AAAAAAAABeM/H-16ecqYOCg/s320/636-01316564n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5660303507405934482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;À trois heures du matin, Simone sursauta.  Elle avait entendu quelque chose.  Elle pouvait voir à travers sa porte qu'elle garde entrouverte, que la porte de la chambre du petit B était entrouverte aussi et que celui-ci avançait et reculait dans la pénombre.  Simone, à regret, alluma sa lampe de chevet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B se rapprocha.  Il chuchota dans l'oreille de Simone et elle l'accompagna aux toilettes.  Puis, retour dans la chambre du petit B.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bonne nuit, mon coco," dit Simone.  Elle déposa un bisou sur le front du chérubin et repartit vers sa chambre.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Un câlin?" &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Quoi?" Simone qui ne rêvait que de se rendormir s'arrêta net.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tu viens me faire un câlin, Maman?  S'il te plaît?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Comment résister à ces beaux yeux bruns?  Simone obtempéra.  Le petit B fut long à se rendormir mais il y arriva.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone se leva et se dirigea vers son lit et arriva juste à temps pour entendre sonner le réveil du mari qui, lui, se lève à 3:30 du matin.  Bon bah on va pas faire la grasse matinée aujourd'hui en tout cas...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-7967825052794865221?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/7967825052794865221/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=7967825052794865221' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7967825052794865221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7967825052794865221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/11/les-instructions.html' title='Les instructions?'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k0lCjGB-Mmo/To1wDOfUD5I/AAAAAAAABeM/H-16ecqYOCg/s72-c/636-01316564n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-2836741785966586359</id><published>2011-11-08T04:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-08T05:08:09.592-05:00</updated><title type='text'>You're a chicken!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1mx4hACkREM/TowehxqJ5jI/AAAAAAAABeE/t2NLypBfsZ0/s1600/688-03094606n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1mx4hACkREM/TowehxqJ5jI/AAAAAAAABeE/t2NLypBfsZ0/s320/688-03094606n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659932397312534066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The playground that day was infested with the Bully family.  They seemed to take joy in pushing each other, egging one another on and making fun of each other's fears.  The proud papa of this group of five children spoke only when one of them wandered more than 100 meters away, and then only to say, "Get your sorry a** over here or I'll leave without you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B paid little heed to the group other than an attempted hello which was ignored by all but the eldest.  He eyed little B with a narrowed stare.  Little B evidently didn't know what to make of this stare and so moved on toward the slide.  In order to do so, he had to cross a rope bridge.  Big Bully followed little B and once little B was safely on the bridge, began to shake it.  Little B smiled and moved forward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You're a chicken!" Shouted Big Bully. Probably he was disappointed by little B's lack of reaction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The accusation got little B's attention however.  "I am not!" He replied stoutly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, you are." Big Bully grinned.  He finally had a grasp on little B.  "You're a chicken."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B shook his head, his brows furrowed.  "No," he said.  "I'm not.  I'm a boy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some people.  Really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Big Bully's mouth opened and closed a couple of times before he recovered enough to say, "You're a chicken.  With feathers."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B's head moved back as he considered this latest accusation.  "No," he enunciated slowly in case dummy had trouble understanding.  "I'm a boy."  He touched his forearm.  "With skin."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-2836741785966586359?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/2836741785966586359/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=2836741785966586359' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2836741785966586359'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2836741785966586359'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/11/youre-chicken.html' title='You&apos;re a chicken!'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1mx4hACkREM/TowehxqJ5jI/AAAAAAAABeE/t2NLypBfsZ0/s72-c/688-03094606n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-4812874030934730156</id><published>2011-11-07T04:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-07T04:52:15.070-05:00</updated><title type='text'>L'iPad</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-drt8tl_TEuA/TorJFcra6JI/AAAAAAAABd8/3Q7gOhP30ic/s1600/643-01831421n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-drt8tl_TEuA/TorJFcra6JI/AAAAAAAABd8/3Q7gOhP30ic/s320/643-01831421n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659556977179289746" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suite à plusieurs visites à la bibliothèque, Simone croyait avoir finalement compris comment faire.  Elle suivit les liens indiqués et se retrouva sur le site de la bibliothèque électronique.  Et là?  Il y avait un tas de livres!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Des sérieux, des marrants, des livres pour les ados, des livres pour les touts-petits...  Simone en est restée bouche-bée!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et en plus, il ne fallut que quelques clicks et hop!  Les livres se retrouvaient sur son iPad.  Pour de vrai de vrai!  Sans dépenser un sou chez le libraire!  Et les valises!  Il n'y aurait presque rien dans les valises si tous les livres étaient sur le iPad...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Du coup, le mari de Simone se mit à calculer le nombre de bouteille qu'il pourrait cacher dans les valises pour le retour, puisque sans livres, elles se retrouvaient sérieusement allégées...,&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-4812874030934730156?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/4812874030934730156/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=4812874030934730156' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4812874030934730156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4812874030934730156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/11/lipad.html' title='L&apos;iPad'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-drt8tl_TEuA/TorJFcra6JI/AAAAAAAABd8/3Q7gOhP30ic/s72-c/643-01831421n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-5089784219090654583</id><published>2011-11-04T04:46:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-11-04T04:53:29.224-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Three days until...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BdGXfgnl-to/Tol4hZcRkhI/AAAAAAAABd0/ukf68DTwDEs/s1600/640-02775976n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 230px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BdGXfgnl-to/Tol4hZcRkhI/AAAAAAAABd0/ukf68DTwDEs/s320/640-02775976n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5659186921928233490" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone was very, very excited.  There were only three days left until the family's trip to France.  And everybody was going:  all the kids were joining them on the trip.  The entire family save for a couple of people were going to meet for their matriarch's 90th birthday party.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone rushed around, finalizing details, filling suitcases, emptying suitcases, refilling suitcases, checking passports, making sure that the dog supplies were all in good order.  The list was endless and varied and Simone's head fairly swam with it all.  Not to mention that she was also trying to figure out what had happened to the transfer of her transcripts.  That had to be done in order to ensure that Simone be accepted to the online program she'd applied to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, it made for a harried, intense pace - especially since little B wanted to go to Canada's Wonderland and to the Coin des petits and...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, there are simply not enough seconds in a day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-5089784219090654583?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/5089784219090654583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=5089784219090654583' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5089784219090654583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5089784219090654583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/11/three-days-until.html' title='Three days until...'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-BdGXfgnl-to/Tol4hZcRkhI/AAAAAAAABd0/ukf68DTwDEs/s72-c/640-02775976n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-6308010089245490149</id><published>2011-11-03T03:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-11-03T06:20:06.252-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Les locataires arrivent!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KbMRIEHnIOA/ToV3XnlfN8I/AAAAAAAABds/La6B13fNx28/s1600/833-03369858n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 244px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KbMRIEHnIOA/ToV3XnlfN8I/AAAAAAAABds/La6B13fNx28/s320/833-03369858n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5658059754507810754" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Les chambres du sous-sol chez Simone sont finalement louées!  Ce ne fut pas sans peine.  Alors que Simone croyait avoir tout réglé, le mari de cette dernière lui demanda si tous les chèques avaient été encaissés.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Euh, en fait," avoua Simone, "non."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oui, ben là, il a fallu envoyait un message aux retardataires pour leur expliquer que s'ils ne réglaient pas leur loyer dans les plus courts délais, on annulerait leurs contrats.  Réponse immédiate des locataires sauf pour un.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Celui-là, il a appelé sa maman.  Sa maman a envoyé un mail à Simone pour lui dire que franchement, on n'avait pas idée de brusquer les gens comme ça et que si on ne leurs faisait pas confiance autant annuler le contrat.  Bon, bah d'accord.  Il ne reste qu'à annuler le contrat alors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Je suis vraiment déçu que vous ayez fait une chose pareille," se lamenta l'ex-locataire.  "Je vous avez envoyé mes chèques et vous les recevrez sous peu mais franchement je ne vois pas comment je pourrais vivre dans une maison comme la votre."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah bon.  "Pas de soucis," répliqua Simone.  "Je vous renvoie vos chèques dès qu'ils arrivent."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bon.  Maintenant il faut trouver un autre locataire...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-6308010089245490149?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/6308010089245490149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=6308010089245490149' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6308010089245490149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6308010089245490149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/11/les-locataires-arrivent.html' title='Les locataires arrivent!'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KbMRIEHnIOA/ToV3XnlfN8I/AAAAAAAABds/La6B13fNx28/s72-c/833-03369858n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-1596417631695081310</id><published>2011-11-02T05:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-11-02T05:42:56.825-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Dolls</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9axPs0XcqE8/ToQ2Sjo6c7I/AAAAAAAABdk/wT0HVSQ6Cik/s1600/600-01036758n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9axPs0XcqE8/ToQ2Sjo6c7I/AAAAAAAABdk/wT0HVSQ6Cik/s320/600-01036758n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657706724316574642" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The discussion heated up rapidly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"This is gross!" Proclaimed the 13 year old, plugging her ears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, really," insisted Simone.  "Why are these dolls not designed anatomically correctly?  Who can identify with them?  I can't even tell which one is female and which one is male!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'll show you," offered the five year old.  "This one is the girl.  This one is the boy."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone groaned in frustration.  "I can't tell them apart."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Let's get them dressed," offered the 13 year old, reaching for the minuscule pink sweater.  "The pink one is the girl.  The blue one is..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Nooooo!" Wailed the 5 year old, grabbing his sister's wrist.  "You're putting the girl shirt on the boy!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 13 year old stopped trying to wrestle the doll's arm into the cotton sleeve and stared at the doll.  "I can't tell them apart either then," she admitted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What's worse," said Simone, "is that even the girl is built funny.  That's not what girls look like."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ew!" The 13 year old resumed plugging her ears.  "I'm leaving.  You're gross."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What's gross is how deformed these babies are," replied Simone, unrepentant.  "They don't mass market babies without noses or without toes.  Why this?  What's wrong with our society?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes, there aren't any answers to our questions, are there?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-1596417631695081310?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/1596417631695081310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=1596417631695081310' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1596417631695081310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1596417631695081310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/11/dolls.html' title='Dolls'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-9axPs0XcqE8/ToQ2Sjo6c7I/AAAAAAAABdk/wT0HVSQ6Cik/s72-c/600-01036758n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-2954223009546300928</id><published>2011-11-01T04:25:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-11-01T05:17:39.983-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Je suis vert!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-01MxydjJ_VQ/ToLb6WpS8pI/AAAAAAAABdc/yBgpWEi0uUA/s1600/Je%2Bsuis%2Bvert%2521.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-01MxydjJ_VQ/ToLb6WpS8pI/AAAAAAAABdc/yBgpWEi0uUA/s320/Je%2Bsuis%2Bvert%2521.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5657325877488448146" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B tentait de paraître plus grand.  Il avait les talons bien collés au mur mais le haut de son crâne ne faisait qu'effleurer la ligne verte affichée derrière lui.  Et s'il franchissait la ligne verte, cela voudrait dire qu'il aurait accès à beaucoup plus de manège à Canada's Wonderland. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Il tourna sa tête et jeta un coup d'oeil inquiet derrière lui.  Puis, il regarda le jeune homme qui s'occupait de donner les bracelets qui indiquaient à quels manèges les enfants auraient accès, d'après leur taille.  Le jeune homme paraissait hésiter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B, lui, n'hésita plus.  Il se rua vers le jeune homme.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Je suis vert!" Hurlait le petit B.  "Je suis vert!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et le jeune homme de donner un bracelet vert au petit B...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-2954223009546300928?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/2954223009546300928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=2954223009546300928' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2954223009546300928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2954223009546300928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/11/je-suis-vert.html' title='Je suis vert!'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-01MxydjJ_VQ/ToLb6WpS8pI/AAAAAAAABdc/yBgpWEi0uUA/s72-c/Je%2Bsuis%2Bvert%2521.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-6223738205189693441</id><published>2011-10-31T04:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-31T04:53:11.236-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Get your fingers out of your mouth</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wQ1UvFDMy5o/ToGQi1b4H9I/AAAAAAAABdU/cHOBSgXclbg/s1600/629-03006170n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wQ1UvFDMy5o/ToGQi1b4H9I/AAAAAAAABdU/cHOBSgXclbg/s320/629-03006170n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656961535088009170" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B started sucking on his fingers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Little B," said Simone for the umpteenth time.  "Get your fingers out of your mouth."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B removed the offending fingers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He resumed the finger sucking a few moments later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Little B.  Get your fingers out of your mouth."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B sighed the long suffering sigh of the truly downtrodden.  But he removed the fingers from his mouth.  He waited a few moments and his fingers, seemingly of their own volition, crept back toward his mouth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Little B, get your fingers out of your mouth."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B glared at Simone, who was, she thought, doing a superb "fingers in mouth alarm" imitation.  Then he bent his leg and licked his knee while staring defiantly at his mother.  "It's not my fingers," he interjected before Simone could object.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-6223738205189693441?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/6223738205189693441/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=6223738205189693441' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6223738205189693441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6223738205189693441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/get-your-fingers-out-of-your-mouth.html' title='Get your fingers out of your mouth'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-wQ1UvFDMy5o/ToGQi1b4H9I/AAAAAAAABdU/cHOBSgXclbg/s72-c/629-03006170n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-1315874032987191847</id><published>2011-10-28T04:48:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-28T04:48:00.637-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Tu triches!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZEGwNWfXlgw/ToA_CfH-6uI/AAAAAAAABdM/DcCYNFlAtDA/s1600/700-00948324n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZEGwNWfXlgw/ToA_CfH-6uI/AAAAAAAABdM/DcCYNFlAtDA/s320/700-00948324n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5656590443924613858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Les enfants étaient dans la piscine, car avec la chaleur qu'il faisait, rien de mieux pour se rafraîchir!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"C'est à ton tour d'essayer de nous attraper!" S'écria la fille de 13 ans à son ami du même âge.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le garçon ferma ses yeux et compta jusqu'à dix.  "Marco!" Lança-t-il.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B s'empressa de répliquer, "Polo!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La fille de 13 ans ne tarda pas à renchérir le même mot, mais de manière plus douce.  Il faut dire qu'elle se tenait beaucoup plus près du garçon que le petit B.  Le garçon se détourna vers la fille de 13 ans et s'élança vers elle malgré ses yeux fermés.  Cette dernière coula sous l'eau et nagea à vitesse vertigineuse vers l'autre bout de la piscine.  Ce qui n'empêcha pas le garçon, quelques minutes plus tard, de la rattraper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Marco," lança la fille de 13 ans, les yeux à demi-entrouverts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Polo!" Fit le petit B mais l'enthousiasme était un peu absent puisque les grands n'essayaient pas vraiment de l'attraper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le garçon de 13 ans, qui était sorti de la piscine et aurait dû se faire éliminer se lança fébrilement au dessus de l'eau et répliqua, "Polo!" avant d'atterrir dans un grand jet d'eau dans la piscine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tu triches!" S'écrièrent les mamans qui observaient leur manège.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et trois enfants de se retourner vers leurs mères, de grands sourires aux lèvres.  "Qui moi?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bah voyons!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-1315874032987191847?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/1315874032987191847/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=1315874032987191847' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1315874032987191847'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1315874032987191847'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/tu-triches.html' title='Tu triches!'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ZEGwNWfXlgw/ToA_CfH-6uI/AAAAAAAABdM/DcCYNFlAtDA/s72-c/700-00948324n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-550144848315401299</id><published>2011-10-27T04:16:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-27T04:54:46.368-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Puppy pains</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I_GHglTM4RE/TnxCjypkp6I/AAAAAAAABdE/GfSAZXSMBi8/s1600/600-03179188t.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 100px; height: 150px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I_GHglTM4RE/TnxCjypkp6I/AAAAAAAABdE/GfSAZXSMBi8/s320/600-03179188t.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655468414729496482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was time for the puppies to go to the vet's.  Both of them were scheduled to be fixed and while the little male did well, the female presented some issues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"She's starting to go in heat," the vet told Simone.  "We can still perform the surgery but you'll have to make sure that she stays away from male dogs for at least the next two weeks."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Okay," agreed Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Plus she has a hernia.  Did you want us to remove it while we're going in?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone gulped.  Poor little puppy!  But she agreed to the additional operation immediately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Did you want microchips put in?  We have a sale right now.  Only $20."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone turned the microchips down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The female recuperated poorly from the operation and had to go back in a couple of days later.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"She's healing poorly," said the vet.  "Give her this.  And this."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her exam and medication cost more than getting her fixed!  Sigh...  At least she seems to be feeling better now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-550144848315401299?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/550144848315401299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=550144848315401299' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/550144848315401299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/550144848315401299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/puppy-pains.html' title='Puppy pains'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-I_GHglTM4RE/TnxCjypkp6I/AAAAAAAABdE/GfSAZXSMBi8/s72-c/600-03179188t.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-4464769658417434777</id><published>2011-10-26T04:42:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-26T04:51:05.012-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Deux autres bébés?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wTQbhfpPxIU/Tnr15JgosGI/AAAAAAAABc8/5phbGc5PxuA/s1600/640-02770841n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wTQbhfpPxIU/Tnr15JgosGI/AAAAAAAABc8/5phbGc5PxuA/s320/640-02770841n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5655102644271231074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B a une mission : il cherche à convaincre ses parents qu'il lui faut deux bébés.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Un petit frère et une petite soeur," précise-t-il.  "Des jumeaux."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah bon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et Simone qui se disait qu'il était grand temps qu'elle soit grand-mère!  Bof, des petits-enfants, c'est presque la même chose, non?  Surtout qu'il parait que les petits-enfants, ça fait nettement moins mal à accoucher...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-4464769658417434777?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/4464769658417434777/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=4464769658417434777' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4464769658417434777'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4464769658417434777'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/deux-autres-bebes.html' title='Deux autres bébés?'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wTQbhfpPxIU/Tnr15JgosGI/AAAAAAAABc8/5phbGc5PxuA/s72-c/640-02770841n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-2704745089302965576</id><published>2011-10-25T04:54:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-25T05:02:57.032-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Le bénévolat</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4YppHklbasA/TnmqNCwoydI/AAAAAAAABc0/Xm2VBIMe5tI/s1600/619-01999838n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4YppHklbasA/TnmqNCwoydI/AAAAAAAABc0/Xm2VBIMe5tI/s320/619-01999838n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654737948196260306" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La fille de treize ans s'ennuyait.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tu n'as pas du travail à faire?  Tu pourrais étudier tes maths.  Ta chambre... Tu pourrais la ranger, non?  Tu pourrais aussi organiser tes livres, ou encore..." Fit Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Et si j'allais travailler au Christian Gifts and Books?" Demanda plutôt la fille de 13 ans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Bonne idée," acquiesça Simone.  Et hop, dans l'auto pour faire un petit détour chez la copine qui a son magasin.  C'était plus facile de dire oui que de continuer la discussion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quelques heures plus tard, Simone alla chercher sa fille. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Elle travaille très fort," s'étonnait l'amie de Simone à qui le magasin appartient.  "Elle m'a aidé à faire les comptes, à faire le ménage et à organiser les livres et les CD."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Ah oui?" S'étonna Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tiens, tiens...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-2704745089302965576?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/2704745089302965576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=2704745089302965576' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2704745089302965576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2704745089302965576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/le-benevolat.html' title='Le bénévolat'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-4YppHklbasA/TnmqNCwoydI/AAAAAAAABc0/Xm2VBIMe5tI/s72-c/619-01999838n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-4424679354239557638</id><published>2011-10-24T04:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-24T04:57:20.260-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Precision is key</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TYaiGUYUVxs/TnhUsdfVLlI/AAAAAAAABcs/NN47yZvZr7k/s1600/604-01123314n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TYaiGUYUVxs/TnhUsdfVLlI/AAAAAAAABcs/NN47yZvZr7k/s320/604-01123314n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5654362454970674770" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B and Simone sat, comfortably ensconced in the couch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B said, "I'm thirsty.  Can I have vanilla milk?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone replied, "No. You cannot have vanilla milk. There's only one hour left before bedtime and I don't want you to wake me up at midnight because you have to pee."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At that point, Simone was reminded that she needed to go elsewhere for a few moments.  When she returned, little B was gulping down a bottle of fruity water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone felt her temper boil and bubble.  "Did I not tell you that you couldn't have a drink?" She demanded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B shook his head as he licked his lips.  "You said "No vanilla milk!""&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ARGH!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-4424679354239557638?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/4424679354239557638/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=4424679354239557638' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4424679354239557638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4424679354239557638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/precision-is-key.html' title='Precision is key'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TYaiGUYUVxs/TnhUsdfVLlI/AAAAAAAABcs/NN47yZvZr7k/s72-c/604-01123314n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-2571655265979896736</id><published>2011-10-21T04:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-21T04:46:26.021-04:00</updated><title type='text'>C'est MA caméra!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EU_f0iDt_pQ/Tnb8XAOmSMI/AAAAAAAABck/gJacBWGKm7I/s1600/700-02046161n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EU_f0iDt_pQ/Tnb8XAOmSMI/AAAAAAAABck/gJacBWGKm7I/s320/700-02046161n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5653983854338656450" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B se promenait dans la maison et fredonnait une petite chanson.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tu viens lire un livre avec moi?" L'interpella Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B, mine de rien, lui tourna le dos et se dirigea dans la direction opposée.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hé, ho!  J'te parle!" S'énerva Simone.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B virevolta et fit face à Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Mais dis-donc," dit Simone.  "C'est ma caméra que tu tiens là!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B hocha de la tête et, un petit sourire satisfait aux lèvres, visa sa mère avec l'objectif.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tu n'es tout de même pas en train de filmer?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B éclata de rire et s'enfuit, la caméra en main, vers l'autre bout de la maison.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cinq ans... Ça promet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-2571655265979896736?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/2571655265979896736/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=2571655265979896736' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2571655265979896736'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2571655265979896736'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/cest-ma-camera.html' title='C&apos;est MA caméra!'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-EU_f0iDt_pQ/Tnb8XAOmSMI/AAAAAAAABck/gJacBWGKm7I/s72-c/700-02046161n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-5046251750669452500</id><published>2011-10-20T04:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-20T04:44:05.981-04:00</updated><title type='text'>When you reach the top...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SAAdPrfqfWo/TnMIxeQvuwI/AAAAAAAABcc/rVE9qIhFrws/s1600/614-02393821n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 212px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SAAdPrfqfWo/TnMIxeQvuwI/AAAAAAAABcc/rVE9qIhFrws/s320/614-02393821n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652871603310017282" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B was on a mission.  One pink piece of paper, one green piece of paper, one pink piece of paper, one green piece of paper...  He lined them up, narrow end to narrow end and taped them to each other.  On each piece, he drew a picture as well as interesting little lines down one side of the paper so that it looked a little like train tracks running down the side of the amalgamated paper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Here, Mom," said little B, giving Simone his finished work.  "This is for you."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thank-you," said Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Now put it up on the wall," ordered the mini-tyrant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone taped the papers to the wall.  There were so many of them that they went from floor to ceiling.  "Wow," whispered Simone.  "That's big!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B grinned.  "Yeth," he agreed with his sweet little lisp.  "It's a growth chart."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"A growth chart?" Simone inched closer to look at the "train tracks".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yeth, to see how tall you are."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Well," Simone stepped back.  "I'm not very tall.  This is a very big growth chart, little B."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LIttle B took Simone's hand in his.  "It ith," he agreed.  "And when you reach the top?  You'll get a treat."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-5046251750669452500?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/5046251750669452500/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=5046251750669452500' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5046251750669452500'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5046251750669452500'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/when-you-reach-top.html' title='When you reach the top...'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-SAAdPrfqfWo/TnMIxeQvuwI/AAAAAAAABcc/rVE9qIhFrws/s72-c/614-02393821n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-681406175128809512</id><published>2011-10-19T04:13:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-19T05:07:52.605-04:00</updated><title type='text'>L'école pendant une grève?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ye7mEC7vxcM/TnBj8RfvPFI/AAAAAAAABcU/3mzZppmB100/s1600/822-03602048n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ye7mEC7vxcM/TnBj8RfvPFI/AAAAAAAABcU/3mzZppmB100/s320/822-03602048n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5652127419489795154" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Un gros zéro.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Voilà.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone avait voulu se remettre aux études.  Elle a formulé sa demande auprès du collège la Cité à Ottawa car elle voulait suivre leur programme d'Autisme et sciences du comportement en ligne.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sauf qu'une grève a tout bousillé.  Le personnel de soutien n'était plus disponible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eh oui!  Lorsque Simone a voulu commencer ses cours, elle s'est rendue compte qu'il n'y avait pas un seul cours en ligne sous son numéro d'étudiant.  Comme elle n'avait pas payé, elle se dit que c'était sans doute à cause de cela.  Sauf que non.  Même une fois payé, le collège n'afficha pas les cours de Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Une semaine de retard avait accumulé le temps que Simone rejoigne quelqu'un qui essaya de l'aider.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Un des six profs de Simone la contacta et lui envoya ses notes de cours ainsi qu'une liste de certains devoirs.  Pour le reste, rien.  Et toujours pas de cours en ligne.  Quel fiasco.  Deux semaines de retard, c'est trop.  Simone a envoyé ses regrets au collège, mis à part pour le cours de Stratégies d'enseignement, celui dont le prof a eu la gentillesse de contacter Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Peut-être que l'année prochaine s'avérera plus propice aux études...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-681406175128809512?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/681406175128809512/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=681406175128809512' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/681406175128809512'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/681406175128809512'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/lecole-pendant-une-greve.html' title='L&apos;école pendant une grève?'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ye7mEC7vxcM/TnBj8RfvPFI/AAAAAAAABcU/3mzZppmB100/s72-c/822-03602048n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-8587932630825384897</id><published>2011-10-18T04:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-18T04:58:30.838-04:00</updated><title type='text'>If you're with Daddy...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hnLOEC8fm0E/TmnNe9V7yAI/AAAAAAAABcM/FK8h-BIBWRA/s1600/700-01199414n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 113px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hnLOEC8fm0E/TmnNe9V7yAI/AAAAAAAABcM/FK8h-BIBWRA/s320/700-01199414n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5650273139259328514" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B and Simone stood in line at a ride at Canada's Wonderland.  The line was mercifully short, on account of the poor weather that day.  Still, they did have to wait for their turn. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B peered at the sign behind Simone.  The sign announced to all and sundry that only children whose head cleared the line could ride unaccompanied by an adult.  Little B's head did not clear the line.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Did you see that sign?" Little B asked Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Uh-huh," said Simone, turning her head to look.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It says," little B pulled on Simone wrist to make her look at him.  "It says that if you're with your Daddy, you ride with him."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh?" Simone lifted an eyebrow, curious to see where this was going.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B nodded enthusiastically, smiling and widening his eyes.  "If you're with you're Mommy, you get to ride alone."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, really?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone laughed in spite of herself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-8587932630825384897?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/8587932630825384897/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=8587932630825384897' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/8587932630825384897'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/8587932630825384897'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/if-youre-with-daddy.html' title='If you&apos;re with Daddy...'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hnLOEC8fm0E/TmnNe9V7yAI/AAAAAAAABcM/FK8h-BIBWRA/s72-c/700-01199414n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-7389617926391458408</id><published>2011-10-17T04:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-17T04:54:30.167-04:00</updated><title type='text'>J'suis capable!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aWK72O_jbbM/TmiA_gPL9sI/AAAAAAAABcE/itZdkf6mS0I/s1600/622-02354247n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aWK72O_jbbM/TmiA_gPL9sI/AAAAAAAABcE/itZdkf6mS0I/s320/622-02354247n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649907561010034370" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B était accroché à la corde de la tyrolienne du parc et tentait tant bien que mal de la rapporter à la prochaine personne en ligne.  Ses sourcils étaient froncés et il peinait visiblement car la corde était un tantinet trop courte.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"As-tu besoin d'aide?" Demanda Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B ne releva même pas la tête.  "J'suis capable!" Grogna-t-il.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Il se rapprochait maintenant de la plateforme.  La fille de 13 ans lui demanda, "As-tu besoin d'aide?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et là, le petit B n'en pouvait plus.  "J'suis capable," lança-t-il.  Il lâcha la corde et, le menton en avant s'avança, menaçant, vers sa soeur.  "J'suis capable!"  La grande soeur fit un pas en arrière.  Puis un autre.  Puis un autre.  Jusqu'à ce qu'elle quitte la plateforme, le petit B la poursuivit.  "Peut-être que tu pourrais jouer sur la glissoire?" Suggéra-t-il à sa grande soeur.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Histoire de se débarrasser de la gênante, quoi.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-7389617926391458408?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/7389617926391458408/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=7389617926391458408' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7389617926391458408'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7389617926391458408'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/jsuis-capable.html' title='J&apos;suis capable!'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aWK72O_jbbM/TmiA_gPL9sI/AAAAAAAABcE/itZdkf6mS0I/s72-c/622-02354247n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-5810513675992027894</id><published>2011-10-14T04:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-14T04:37:37.129-04:00</updated><title type='text'>A lost card</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Uo-YB8M5Tw4/Tmc4R6i0IjI/AAAAAAAABb8/0aOaoIix_I0/s1600/846-03166041n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Uo-YB8M5Tw4/Tmc4R6i0IjI/AAAAAAAABb8/0aOaoIix_I0/s320/846-03166041n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649546137983787570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone searched her purse frantically.  No Canada's Wonderland season's passes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She searched the area where she keeps her purse at the house.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No cards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She searched the car.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No cards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Are we going yet?"  Little B's seatbelt was fastened.  He was primed and ready for a day of fun at Canada's Wonderland.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone sighed.  "Yes, yes.  We're going."  She mentally kicked herself for failing to observe one of the top rules of engagement: never tell 'em where you're going or else you might get yourself in trouble, should you fail to do what you promised to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Her stomach in a knot as she quietly reviewed the places where the cards might be.  The list was mercifully short.  Either her purse or the car.  She pulled up to the parking lot attendant booth at Canada's Wonderland and handed the clerk her iPhone.  The clerk glanced at it with suspicion.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I've got the barcode from my card on there," Simone explained.  "Can you see whether it accesses my parking pass?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Surprisingly enough, it did!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the gate however, Simone and little B were ushered to the Guest Services desk where they were issued a temporary day pass based on the system's info.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"It's a one time offer," warned that clerk.  "So you'd better find your season's passes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Simone did find the cards.  Of course she did.  She found them under the seat of her car once her day at Canada's Wonderland came to an end...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-5810513675992027894?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/5810513675992027894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=5810513675992027894' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5810513675992027894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5810513675992027894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/lost-card.html' title='A lost card'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Uo-YB8M5Tw4/Tmc4R6i0IjI/AAAAAAAABb8/0aOaoIix_I0/s72-c/846-03166041n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-1756906910545368</id><published>2011-10-13T03:56:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-13T04:30:49.721-04:00</updated><title type='text'>5 ans déjà?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HjEDSbnUolQ/TmX-qxO2AhI/AAAAAAAABb0/NCfVWdDhNyo/s1600/632-03500987n.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HjEDSbnUolQ/TmX-qxO2AhI/AAAAAAAABb0/NCfVWdDhNyo/s320/632-03500987n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649201318329713170" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B n'en pouvait plus d'attendre!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sa fête arrivait à grands pas et il piaffait d'impatience.  Finalement, le grand jour arriva.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"J'ai 5 ans aujourd'hui!" Annonça-t-il à sa maman.  "J'ai le droit de faire ma lessive!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Un sourire apparu aux lèvres de Simone.  En effet, elle avait bien expliqué au petit B que dès 5 ans, ses grands frères et soeurs avaient tous commencer à faire leur propre lessive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Hier," ajouta-t-il, "J'avais 4 ans.  Mais aujourd'hui, j'ai 5 ans!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le reste de la journée, le petit B se mit en tête de dire à tout le monde qu'il rencontrait qu'il avait 5 ans.  Il chantonnait "Joyeux Anniversaire" à tout bout de champ et, histoire de ne pas oublier quoi que ce soit, il colla des petites notes à toutes les fenêtres de la maison.  Il n'y avait qu'une chose d'écrite sur chaque note: le chiffre "5".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Couronné par un beau gâteau d'anniversaire, il n'y a pas mieux comme fête - sauf bien sur si on répète la même chose le premier jour d'école...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-1756906910545368?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/1756906910545368/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=1756906910545368' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1756906910545368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1756906910545368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/5-ans-deja.html' title='5 ans déjà?'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-HjEDSbnUolQ/TmX-qxO2AhI/AAAAAAAABb0/NCfVWdDhNyo/s72-c/632-03500987n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-4974408045782716896</id><published>2011-10-12T05:02:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-12T05:06:25.639-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Canada's Wonderland - revisited</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0pw2kF2Y9A8/TmCj4kA9nKI/AAAAAAAABbs/VgzOBostk4M/s1600/Canada%2527s%2BWonderland%2BRevisited.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 313px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0pw2kF2Y9A8/TmCj4kA9nKI/AAAAAAAABbs/VgzOBostk4M/s320/Canada%2527s%2BWonderland%2BRevisited.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647694124858317986" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another Wednesday morning dawned - but not bright and not early this time.  The sky was overcast, threatening rain.  Simone checked the weather report twice.  No question about it.  There was a 100% chance of rain that day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Are you sure you want to go to Canada's Wonderland today?" She asked little B.  "We could go to the Coin des petits instead, if you'd like..."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But little B only wanted to go to Canada's Wonderland.  So, sighing, Simone packed raincoats, rainboots and slightly warmer clothes for their outing.  Only when they got to Wonderland, the sun was peeking out and the temperature had risen several degrees.  Simone left the raincoats in the car, reasoning that their warmer clothing would do the trick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The line-ups that day were non-existent.  Little B got to climb onto nearly every ride immediately.  It was a hoot!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sadly, every story has an end and this one, following two grandiose wins of pump the car up to the top of the pole faster than everyone else on the ride, finished in a cloud of rain.  Little B insisted on two more rides but soon became soaked to the skin as the rain intensified.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The two of them headed for the parking lot, wet and strangely content.  It's not every day that you get to go on all the rides without waiting!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-4974408045782716896?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/4974408045782716896/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=4974408045782716896' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4974408045782716896'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4974408045782716896'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/canadas-wonderland-revisited.html' title='Canada&apos;s Wonderland - revisited'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0pw2kF2Y9A8/TmCj4kA9nKI/AAAAAAAABbs/VgzOBostk4M/s72-c/Canada%2527s%2BWonderland%2BRevisited.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-181469748557752220</id><published>2011-10-11T04:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-11T04:52:46.502-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Splash Canyon</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w-gbdzTgu8g/Tl9PU2qoAVI/AAAAAAAABbk/2D4FiM2PgsE/s1600/Splash%2Bcanyon.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w-gbdzTgu8g/Tl9PU2qoAVI/AAAAAAAABbk/2D4FiM2PgsE/s320/Splash%2Bcanyon.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5647319677436166482" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le Coin des petits avait prévu une belle sortie pour les enfants : Splash Canyon, un parc conçu pour les jeunes de tous les âges qui adorent jouer dans l’eau.  Sauf que le jour de la sortie, le ciel était recouvert de nuages.  Autrement dire, il y avait grande chance qu’il y ait beaucoup plus d’eau que prévu.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mais il faisait chaud et les enfants avaient tous hâte de rentrer dans le parc, malgré la pluie qui menaçait.  Premier stop?  Le parc des petits et la glissade.  Sauf que le petit B avait besoin d’aller aux toilettes et que celles-ci étaient situées à l’autre bout du parc.  Ce qui fit qu’à la sortie des toilettes, il remarqua un parc d’enfants près du camping et il voulut absolument aller y jouer.  Aussitôt dit, aussitôt fait. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Il y resta 45 minutes, le temps de jouer aux pirates.  Puis, arrêt piscine (heureusement il y avait un gilet de sauvetage!).  Après le goûter, le petit B et les jumeaux (les petits L et J) jouèrent ensembles dans la piscine à vague.  Les enfants, en fin de compte, se sont beaucoup amusés.  Les parents moins, vu que les piscines n’étaient pas très bien entretenues et que les glissades faisaient mal… Mais comment se plaindre alors que les enfants s’amusent comme des petits fous?  C’est quasiment impossible…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-181469748557752220?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/181469748557752220/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=181469748557752220' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/181469748557752220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/181469748557752220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/splash-canyon.html' title='Splash Canyon'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w-gbdzTgu8g/Tl9PU2qoAVI/AAAAAAAABbk/2D4FiM2PgsE/s72-c/Splash%2Bcanyon.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-392249117580935433</id><published>2011-10-07T04:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-07T04:12:16.456-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Birthday Party!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2M53lgnnC2Y/Tk414-GhbFI/AAAAAAAABbc/ZS3b4Bvn2OE/s1600/Birthday%2Bparty%2521.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2M53lgnnC2Y/Tk414-GhbFI/AAAAAAAABbc/ZS3b4Bvn2OE/s320/Birthday%2Bparty%2521.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642506636001111122" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B was so excited he could hardly sit still.  "I'm going to little A's birthday party tomorrow," he told the waiter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The waiter nodded distractedly.  Little B had informed the waiter of his plans several times already.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only that night?  Little B was sick.  And not a little sick.  A lot sick.  He threw up all over his hotel bed.  He threw up on the carpet.  On his special blanket.  On his pajamas.  In the bathtub after he'd been washed (twice).  And he kept throwing up bile on a regular basis, about every 10 minutes without really waking up as Mom propped him up and held a bucket under his chin.  At around 3 am, he stopped the routine and Simone finally got some shuteye.  Not on the bed though because hubby had commandeered the entire contraption by that time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B woke up at 7 am, hungry and raring to go.  "I'm going to a birthday party today!" He grinned excitedly at all the hotel guests he passed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe there'd be a nice place to nap for Simone somewhere near the party...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-392249117580935433?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/392249117580935433/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=392249117580935433' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/392249117580935433'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/392249117580935433'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/birthday-party.html' title='Birthday Party!'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2M53lgnnC2Y/Tk414-GhbFI/AAAAAAAABbc/ZS3b4Bvn2OE/s72-c/Birthday%2Bparty%2521.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-7968529377808420221</id><published>2011-10-06T04:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-06T04:57:43.184-04:00</updated><title type='text'>La belle aventure</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7L3SA9YdgOA/TkzfaLz2BLI/AAAAAAAABbU/vS7WxF2W0nU/s1600/la%2Bbelle%2Baventure.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7L3SA9YdgOA/TkzfaLz2BLI/AAAAAAAABbU/vS7WxF2W0nU/s320/la%2Bbelle%2Baventure.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642130074128221362" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Et si on allait à Canada’s Wonderland? » Suggéra Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Les deux plus jeunes étaient très enthousiastes.  La fille de treize ans invita une de ses grandes amies et bientôt, tout le monde était en route pour les manèges.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sauf que la ligne d’attente était longue.  Très longue.  En effet, dès que la voiture sortit de l’autoroute, plein d’autres voitures étaient déjà là, à attendre à entrer dans le stationnement du parc.  Quinze minutes passèrent.  Trente minutes.  Les manèges étaient là, à droite, à portée de la main presque…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quarante-cinq minutes plus tard, ils n’étaient pas encore dans le parc.  Simone n’était pas heureuse.  Il y avait des conducteurs qui s’avançait et qui introduisait leurs véhicules ici et là, histoire d’arriver plus vite que les autres.  Finalement, une heure plus tard, alors qu'elle n’avait même pas encore fait son virage pour aller dans le stationnement, Simone décrocha.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Hé! » Protesta le petit B.  « Je voulais aller à Canada’s Wonderland! »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Nous aussi, » marmonnèrent les filles de 13 ans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Ça vous dirait d’aller chez Ikéa? » Demanda Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Oui! » S’exclama le petit B.  « Est-ce que j’ai des chaussettes? » (Car il faut des chaussettes avant de pouvoir entrer dans leur garderie.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Oui, » le rassura Simone.  « Et vous, les filles, vous pouvez faire du lèche-vitrine et je vous offre le déjeuner. »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Et de la crème glacée? » Voulu savoir la fille de Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Mais oui, bien sûr! »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et Simone se retrouva seule pendant une heure.  Ce n’était pas une si mauvaise idée d’aller chez Ikéa après tout!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-7968529377808420221?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/7968529377808420221/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=7968529377808420221' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7968529377808420221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7968529377808420221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/la-belle-aventure.html' title='La belle aventure'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7L3SA9YdgOA/TkzfaLz2BLI/AAAAAAAABbU/vS7WxF2W0nU/s72-c/la%2Bbelle%2Baventure.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-183758862810346698</id><published>2011-10-05T04:44:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-05T04:56:56.480-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Simon says...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oDvhH9ttHFs/TkvHTzFoITI/AAAAAAAABbM/7Byx4S1gzkI/s1600/Simon%2Bsays.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oDvhH9ttHFs/TkvHTzFoITI/AAAAAAAABbM/7Byx4S1gzkI/s320/Simon%2Bsays.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641822101156929842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B smiled, delighted that Mommy was playing the game with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Touch your nose!" He commanded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone dutifully touched her nose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Touch your arm!" He added.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone touched her arm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A mischievous smile touched little B's eyes.  "Touch your boobs," he said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone frowned and stopped, mid-move.  "No!" She declared.  "I will not touch my boobs."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B shrugged.  "You lose!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boys.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-183758862810346698?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/183758862810346698/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=183758862810346698' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/183758862810346698'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/183758862810346698'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/simon-says.html' title='Simon says...'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oDvhH9ttHFs/TkvHTzFoITI/AAAAAAAABbM/7Byx4S1gzkI/s72-c/Simon%2Bsays.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-7202271238730055822</id><published>2011-10-04T04:01:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-04T04:43:47.779-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Les bibittes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yUAQRf7dYew/TkpP7VB8VtI/AAAAAAAABbE/bc_HQIjLEGc/s1600/les%2Bbibittes.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yUAQRf7dYew/TkpP7VB8VtI/AAAAAAAABbE/bc_HQIjLEGc/s320/les%2Bbibittes.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641409363911136978" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B se léchait les doigts.  Il venait de jouer dans le bac à sable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Mais c’est dégoûtant! » S’exclama la fille de 13 ans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B lui offrit un sourire charmant et suça ses doigts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La fille réprima avec difficulté un frisson.  Puis ses yeux se plissèrent.  « Tiens, » elle ramassa une fourmi et la tendit à son frère.  « Si tu léchais ça, à la place? »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ce fut au tour du petit B de frissonner.  « Ah non! » Protesta-t-il.  « C’est dégoûtant! »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mouais… Au moins il a ses limites…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-7202271238730055822?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/7202271238730055822/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=7202271238730055822' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7202271238730055822'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7202271238730055822'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/les-bibittes.html' title='Les bibittes'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yUAQRf7dYew/TkpP7VB8VtI/AAAAAAAABbE/bc_HQIjLEGc/s72-c/les%2Bbibittes.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-7381934887557866030</id><published>2011-10-03T04:32:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-10-03T04:46:38.666-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Wash your hair day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Aa8pGNAdtj0/TkjbmOgi3aI/AAAAAAAABa8/W4n0jZ5PK8E/s1600/wash%2Byour%2Bhair%2Bday.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 100px; height: 150px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Aa8pGNAdtj0/TkjbmOgi3aI/AAAAAAAABa8/W4n0jZ5PK8E/s320/wash%2Byour%2Bhair%2Bday.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640999983057657250" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B had never been fond of the bath.  In fact, he still resists it actively on occasion.  But lately, what with swimming in pools and lakes and oceans regularly, he's become more or less ... nicer when it comes to bath time.  He will, however, still remind Simone that it's "Don't wash your hair day, don't wash your hair day, wash your hair day," in order to put off the inevitable as long as humanly possible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So you can well imagine Simone's surprise when little B got in the bath happily with his toys and proceeded to wash himself.  "I'm a big boy," he insisted.  Indeed he is and Simone was immensely proud of his progress.  But then, to add to the day's cachet, he stretched out in the bottom of the tub, allowing the water to immerse him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He propped himself up on his elbows.  "I'm going to wash my own hair," he announced.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"But it's not wash.." Simone blurted before she could stop herself.  Fortunately it did not deter the boy.  He extended his palm and Simone deposited a dollop of shampoo into it.  Little B scrubbed the soapy substance into his hair, his eyes looking up and to the sides as though he could somehow see how the suds were building on his scalp.  Once Simone had given the sides of his scalp a rub, little B stretched out once more and rinsed all the shampoo out of his hair.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All by himself!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-7381934887557866030?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/7381934887557866030/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=7381934887557866030' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7381934887557866030'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7381934887557866030'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/10/wash-your-hair-day.html' title='Wash your hair day'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Aa8pGNAdtj0/TkjbmOgi3aI/AAAAAAAABa8/W4n0jZ5PK8E/s72-c/wash%2Byour%2Bhair%2Bday.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-4948109981142145171</id><published>2011-09-30T03:45:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-30T03:49:19.549-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Vous êtes sa grand-mère?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NQpvwngx8S0/TkTrzEuXBfI/AAAAAAAABa0/GJS_RQgQQ7U/s1600/vous%2Betes%2Bsa%2Bgrand-mere.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NQpvwngx8S0/TkTrzEuXBfI/AAAAAAAABa0/GJS_RQgQQ7U/s320/vous%2Betes%2Bsa%2Bgrand-mere.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639891896048748018" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone observait calmement la pratique de soccer du petit B.  Les chiens batifolaient dans l’herbage à côté d’elle.  Un monsieur s’approcha, son chien à ses côtés.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Bonjour! » Dit-il à l’intention de Simone.  « Vous gardez toujours vos chiens en laisse? »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;En fait, oui.  Simone préférait ne pas les perdre à un plus gros chien affamé ou bien encore à une voiture qui, dans le stationnement à deux pas de là, n’aurait pas remarqué les chiots d’une taille remarquablement petite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Moi, » dit le monsieur, « Je n’aime pas qu’on me contrôle.  Alors je ne mets pas de laisse à mon chien. »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tiens, tiens, fit Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Les chiens jouèrent ensembles pendant quelques minutes.  Le monsieur crut important de partager le fait qu’il avait été marié deux fois.  Puis il montra une photo de sa deuxième femme et de son fils à Simone.  La femme avait l’air de ne pas avoir plus de 17 ans.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Moi, je suis certain que je ne pourrais pas faire sa job, » dit le monsieur en désignant l’entraineur de l’équipe du petit B.  « Et lui? » Il ricana.  « Il ne serait certainement pas capable de faire la mienne. »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone se disait qu’elle aurait mieux fait de s’apporter un bouquin.  Quelle autre bêtise allait débiter cet énergumène?  La prochaine sottise ne tarda pas.  Le petit B accourait pour se désaltérer, car Simone avait gardé sa bouteille d’eau près d’elle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« C’est votre petit-fils? » Demanda le monsieur.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone ne put s’empêcher de lui jeter un regard furax. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mais ce n’était pas là le comble.  Car le petit B examina l’étranger qui avait adressé la parole à sa maman et dit… « Papa? »&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-4948109981142145171?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/4948109981142145171/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=4948109981142145171' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4948109981142145171'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4948109981142145171'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/vous-etes-sa-grand-mere.html' title='Vous êtes sa grand-mère?'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-NQpvwngx8S0/TkTrzEuXBfI/AAAAAAAABa0/GJS_RQgQQ7U/s72-c/vous%2Betes%2Bsa%2Bgrand-mere.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-3006892106003447757</id><published>2011-09-29T04:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-29T05:00:54.465-04:00</updated><title type='text'>You Are My Sunshine</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-44VWk1A4juM/TkOlUZPGrrI/AAAAAAAABas/-vehAHA_NaU/s1600/You%2Bare%2Bmy%2Bsunshine.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-44VWk1A4juM/TkOlUZPGrrI/AAAAAAAABas/-vehAHA_NaU/s320/You%2Bare%2Bmy%2Bsunshine.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639532928188198578" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 13 year old has been volunteering at a &lt;a href="http://www.christiangiftsbooks.com/"&gt;Christian Gift and Book &lt;/a&gt;store.  While there, she spotted a Precious Moments treasure: a wind up musical statue that plays "You Are My Sunshine".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That song happens to have been one of the 13 year old's favourites when she was a little girl.  She would request it ad nauseum of her mother, who complied for as long as her voice would hold out.  And here it was, a memento of treasured moments, all in one neat package with a voice that wasn't going to wear out!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The store owner watched in bemused silence as the 13 year old wound the display model for the umpteenth time while she worked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few days later, a surprise awaited the 13 year old.  On her desk was a bag from the store and in it sat a Precious Moments box...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-3006892106003447757?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/3006892106003447757/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=3006892106003447757' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3006892106003447757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3006892106003447757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/you-are-my-sunshine.html' title='You Are My Sunshine'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-44VWk1A4juM/TkOlUZPGrrI/AAAAAAAABas/-vehAHA_NaU/s72-c/You%2Bare%2Bmy%2Bsunshine.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-2722085978773518315</id><published>2011-09-28T04:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-28T04:36:00.745-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Les montagnes russes</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hUJcuOvvRnc/TkJSzeGNcqI/AAAAAAAABak/sjgB9120DsU/s1600/les%2Bmontagnes%2Brusses.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 255px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hUJcuOvvRnc/TkJSzeGNcqI/AAAAAAAABak/sjgB9120DsU/s320/les%2Bmontagnes%2Brusses.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5639160727627199138" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B adore les montagnes russes, alors quoi de mieux que de construire les siennes?  Voilà que Simone se trouve à la tâche, car ce n’est pas si simple pour un enfant de quatre ans de construire une telle chose, même si les réclames disent le contraires…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;En fin de compte, après maintes révisions, les billes roulèrent d’un bout à l’autre du manège maison et le petit B était ravi.  Simone aussi d’ailleurs : pour une fois elle avait réussi quelque chose de franchement pas mal!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-2722085978773518315?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/2722085978773518315/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=2722085978773518315' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2722085978773518315'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2722085978773518315'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/les-montagnes-russes.html' title='Les montagnes russes'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hUJcuOvvRnc/TkJSzeGNcqI/AAAAAAAABak/sjgB9120DsU/s72-c/les%2Bmontagnes%2Brusses.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-515064131385935736</id><published>2011-09-27T04:23:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-27T04:49:43.441-04:00</updated><title type='text'>After a long, tiring day...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KdEo7eyMWIE/Tj-sI6RwDTI/AAAAAAAABac/MQx-nEaO9lk/s1600/After%2Ba%2Blong%252C%2Btiring%2Bday....jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 212px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KdEo7eyMWIE/Tj-sI6RwDTI/AAAAAAAABac/MQx-nEaO9lk/s320/After%2Ba%2Blong%252C%2Btiring%2Bday....jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5638414527573790002" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B sat in the back seat of the car, buckled snuggly into his booster seat.  He stared straight ahead, seemingly unaware of his surroundings.  Slowly, his hand crept up to his mouth, as though of its own accord.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone glanced in the rearview mirror.  "Are you sucking your thumb, little B?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B popped the thumb out of his mouth and didn't even wipe the drool that had begun creeping down his chin.  "No!" He cried.  "I was just pretending!"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-515064131385935736?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/515064131385935736/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=515064131385935736' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/515064131385935736'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/515064131385935736'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/after-long-tiring-day.html' title='After a long, tiring day...'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KdEo7eyMWIE/Tj-sI6RwDTI/AAAAAAAABac/MQx-nEaO9lk/s72-c/After%2Ba%2Blong%252C%2Btiring%2Bday....jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-6258588272977171478</id><published>2011-09-26T04:12:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-26T04:48:36.036-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Le chalet</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EPnUI_Qk5Ns/TjplL6nRiqI/AAAAAAAABaU/Q-94d3hkPEo/s1600/le%2Bchalet.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EPnUI_Qk5Ns/TjplL6nRiqI/AAAAAAAABaU/Q-94d3hkPEo/s320/le%2Bchalet.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636929138994547362" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« On peut aller à la plage? » Le petit B ouvrait ses paupières au maximum, histoire d’obtenir l’effet maximum de ses beaux yeux bruns.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« C’est pas un mauvaise idée, » acquiesça Simone.  « Surtout vu la chaleur. »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Elle envoya un petit texto vite fait à sa belle-sœur.  Elle et sa famille louaient un chalet à moins d’une heure de chez Simone.  « Ça te dirait d’aller voir ta cousine? » Demanda-t-elle au petit B.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Oui! » Répliquèrent en chœur la fille de 13 ans et le petit B.  Car il ne faut pas s’y méprendre : une visite chez la cousine, ça veut dire des gâteries, du soleil, de la plage et un tas d’activités super amusantes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Mais tu attacheras le haut de mon bikini pour moi? » Demanda la fille de 13 ans.  « T n’arrête pas de le détacher. »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Ne t’en fait pas, » la rassura Simone.  « Je ferais un double nœud. »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Est-ce qu’on peut acheter des Timbits chez Tim Horton’s? » Demanda le petit B.  « Pour ma cousine? »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Mouais, pour ta cousine, » Fit Simone, pas convaincue.  Et les chiens d’aboyer – car Tim Horton’s offre toujours un petit biscuit quelconque aux chiens qui passe en voiture chez eux.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Autant dire que le voyage au chalet était un fait accompli…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-6258588272977171478?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/6258588272977171478/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=6258588272977171478' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6258588272977171478'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6258588272977171478'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/le-chalet.html' title='Le chalet'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EPnUI_Qk5Ns/TjplL6nRiqI/AAAAAAAABaU/Q-94d3hkPEo/s72-c/le%2Bchalet.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-2919427816307393265</id><published>2011-09-23T04:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-23T04:16:50.674-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Christian Gift and Book Store</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bOcmbjpIWjo/TjkQd3nJ5JI/AAAAAAAABaM/PLROzysK_kk/s1600/Christian%2Bgift%2Band%2Bbook%2Bstore.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bOcmbjpIWjo/TjkQd3nJ5JI/AAAAAAAABaM/PLROzysK_kk/s320/Christian%2Bgift%2Band%2Bbook%2Bstore.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636554513961313426" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A very dear friend of Simone's has opened a delightful store.  In it you can find treasures of many varieties and for all ages.  The 13 year old volunteers there from time to time and Simone's two little dogs occasionally spend a day there as well.  The store welcomes dogs and T and Z, the puppies, absolutely love the interaction they get there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please visit Chris's store - you will thoroughly enjoy the experience!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To read Chris's story, click here: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://renewalofthemindministries.com/"&gt;Christian Gift and Book Store&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-2919427816307393265?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/2919427816307393265/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=2919427816307393265' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2919427816307393265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2919427816307393265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/christian-gift-and-book-store.html' title='Christian Gift and Book Store'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bOcmbjpIWjo/TjkQd3nJ5JI/AAAAAAAABaM/PLROzysK_kk/s72-c/Christian%2Bgift%2Band%2Bbook%2Bstore.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-8213882662148097258</id><published>2011-09-22T03:43:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-22T04:41:55.385-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Le camping</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8ODVAQ4gtbA/Tjhw1d5cAWI/AAAAAAAABaE/I2VfPCnP3Dw/s1600/le%2Bcamping.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8ODVAQ4gtbA/Tjhw1d5cAWI/AAAAAAAABaE/I2VfPCnP3Dw/s320/le%2Bcamping.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5636378997515092322" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B était super excité : Maman et Papa avaient acheté une tente.  Une belle tente et un lit pneumatique.  ET sa grande sœur avait dit oui, elle était prête à passer la nuit dans la tente avec lui.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sauf que les voisins, eux, avaient d’autres idées.  Pour une raison incompréhensible, les trois plus jeunes décidèrent de jouer du tambour sur leur table de piquenique pendant près d’une heure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Mais taisez-vous, » hurlait le petit B.  « J’essaye de dormir, moi! »  Et il hurla, bien sur, pendant près d’une heure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;En voilà un qu’on  imagine facilement grognon à 70 ans…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-8213882662148097258?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/8213882662148097258/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=8213882662148097258' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/8213882662148097258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/8213882662148097258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/le-camping.html' title='Le camping'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-8ODVAQ4gtbA/Tjhw1d5cAWI/AAAAAAAABaE/I2VfPCnP3Dw/s72-c/le%2Bcamping.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-6499921328021982906</id><published>2011-09-21T03:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-21T04:41:16.908-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Friends with pools..</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--wMIqG0ApPM/TjEmwlSLXeI/AAAAAAAABZ8/jkukqP5mL7o/s1600/friends%2Bwith%2Bpools.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 269px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--wMIqG0ApPM/TjEmwlSLXeI/AAAAAAAABZ8/jkukqP5mL7o/s320/friends%2Bwith%2Bpools.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634327224901131746" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone, the 13 year old and little B reluctantly climbed back into the car after their visit to the library.  Even though they'd only been gone for twenty minutes, the car already felt like an oven, and the AC would take a few minutes to kick in. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As she drove home, Simone spotted her old friend Snake, doing some gardening in front of her house.  Simone pulled over and rolled down the window to say hi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You coming for a swim?" Asked Snake.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone looked at her clothes: light, but not swimming material.  Ditto for the kids although, given their pitiful, begging eyes, they'd have been more than willing to jump into the pool fully clothed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Is it okay if we come back this afternoon, after we've had lunch?" Simone asked.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Snake said yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bless friends with pools!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-6499921328021982906?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/6499921328021982906/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=6499921328021982906' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6499921328021982906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6499921328021982906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/friends-with-pools.html' title='Friends with pools..'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--wMIqG0ApPM/TjEmwlSLXeI/AAAAAAAABZ8/jkukqP5mL7o/s72-c/friends%2Bwith%2Bpools.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-991271147394454175</id><published>2011-09-20T01:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-20T04:55:01.006-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Les fontaines</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--eGBsIpU4Z8/TjCk5_FFZFI/AAAAAAAABZs/yMx-2_NQOPQ/s1600/les%2Bfontaines%2521.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--eGBsIpU4Z8/TjCk5_FFZFI/AAAAAAAABZs/yMx-2_NQOPQ/s320/les%2Bfontaines%2521.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634184449932747858" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B était tout excité : Maman l’avait amené aux fontaines!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« On peut traverser la rivière? » Demanda-t-il à Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Celle-ci, qui avait le sac de plage, les chiens, le pique-nique en main, regarda le ruisseau de travers.  Heureusement les chiens nagèrent rapidement et Simone ne tomba pas à l’eau.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;De toute façon, puisqu’elle était aux fontaines, pas question de rester sèche bien longtemps :  le petit B accourrait avec une cuillère d’eau à toutes les minutes afin de remplir son seau d’eau.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Il faisait chaud.  L’eau était rafraichissante et, finalement, ce fut une magnifique façon de passer un après-midi d’été!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-991271147394454175?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/991271147394454175/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=991271147394454175' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/991271147394454175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/991271147394454175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/les-fontaines.html' title='Les fontaines'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--eGBsIpU4Z8/TjCk5_FFZFI/AAAAAAAABZs/yMx-2_NQOPQ/s72-c/les%2Bfontaines%2521.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-2052659844965891481</id><published>2011-09-19T03:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-19T04:18:48.391-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I win!!!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jCaX8vwpGcw/Ti6yQEpN2-I/AAAAAAAABZk/MpR3YG9okWY/s1600/I%2Bwin%2521.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jCaX8vwpGcw/Ti6yQEpN2-I/AAAAAAAABZk/MpR3YG9okWY/s320/I%2Bwin%2521.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5633636173081336802" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B was at his soccer practice.  Simone thought he was progressing well and figured he'd do well during the games.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The moment his coach dropped the practice balls on the ground, little B raced for one and, dribbling with ease, aimed for one of the nets.  When he got within ten feet of the net, he wound back, kicked the ball and it soared into the net.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I win!"  He shouted.  "I win!  I win!  I win!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He then positioned himself in front of the net and stopped every one of his teammates from scoring themselves.  "I win!" He shouted with every ball he stopped.  "I win!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps little B will do well during the games NEXT year...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-2052659844965891481?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/2052659844965891481/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=2052659844965891481' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2052659844965891481'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2052659844965891481'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/i-win.html' title='I win!!!'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jCaX8vwpGcw/Ti6yQEpN2-I/AAAAAAAABZk/MpR3YG9okWY/s72-c/I%2Bwin%2521.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-1274858088293101855</id><published>2011-09-16T03:55:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-16T04:18:23.874-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Le festival de jazz de Montréal</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qaYcdDHZ0XI/TiYA8vBu_GI/AAAAAAAABZc/rd9JUTQXTmc/s1600/le%2Bfestival%2Bde%2Bjazz.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qaYcdDHZ0XI/TiYA8vBu_GI/AAAAAAAABZc/rd9JUTQXTmc/s320/le%2Bfestival%2Bde%2Bjazz.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631189427489274978" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quelle joie!  Dès sortie de l’hôtel, la rue était bloquée : il n’y avait que les piétons qui pouvaient passer.  Et au programme?  Un festival de jazz.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Partout il y avait de la musique, des instruments, des odeurs alléchantes.  On se sentait entouré  d’un esprit de bienveillance.  Bon, d’accord, c’était peut-être la chaleur quasiment étouffante qui donnait cette sensation…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Toutefois, une fois la grande chaleur passée, Simone décida d’amener le petit B avec elle pour faire un petit tour dans la section des tout-petits.  Il y avait des jeux, pour la plupart axés sur la musique.  Il y avait des bricolages et des ateliers de musique.  C’était spectaculaire et le petit B s’est amusé comme un petit fou. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le meilleur?  Le maquillage pour enfant.  C’était tout bonnement incroyable ce que les artistes dessinaient sur les visages des enfants.  Simone a, par exemple, entrevu un jeune garçon avec le visage en peau de serpent et un œil inquiétant au milieu de son front.  Il n’y a pas de mots pour décrire comme il faut le travail effectué sur le visage des enfants, et tout cela dans un calme impressionnant.  Et, en PLUS, les artistes travaillaient comme ça, avec un maquillage différent pour chaque enfant qui se présentait devant eux. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Impressionnant…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-1274858088293101855?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/1274858088293101855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=1274858088293101855' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1274858088293101855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1274858088293101855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/le-festival-de-jazz-de-montreal.html' title='Le festival de jazz de Montréal'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qaYcdDHZ0XI/TiYA8vBu_GI/AAAAAAAABZc/rd9JUTQXTmc/s72-c/le%2Bfestival%2Bde%2Bjazz.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-2546332320388980939</id><published>2011-09-14T03:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-14T04:13:04.784-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Cleanliness is next to...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1bw6v4msMlM/TiX9O_MJtwI/AAAAAAAABZU/zpx5cgUr50g/s1600/maid%2Bsleep.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 208px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1bw6v4msMlM/TiX9O_MJtwI/AAAAAAAABZU/zpx5cgUr50g/s320/maid%2Bsleep.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631185343019071234" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Simone inspected the hotel room of a major hotel and resort line, she found q-tips around the room, an empty jar of Nuttela and brown stuff on the toilet.  On the outside of the toilet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She wasn't pleased.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She called housekeeping to complain.  They listened and apologized.  Simone told them that she was going to bed and fully expected them to clean up the place the next day before she returned for the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only the maid didn't manage to come the next day.  Simone was out all day and by then a couple more things had become apparent: they were out of toilet paper and three towels for 5 people does not provide enough coverage.  Hubby caught the maid in the hallway of their floor.  At 4:10 pm, she brought extra towels and explained to Simone that she would get to their room later on in the evening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's not acceptable," countered Simone.  "We'll all be in the room by 7 pm!  But we'll be going to the pool in five minutes so you can come back then, I suppose."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The maid shrugged and left.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Simone returned from swimming, the room still hadn't been cleaned. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The maid knocked on the room door at 8:30 pm.  Simone glared at her and said, "No.  We are not leaving the room now.  Thank-you."  And she closed the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two hours later, the maid slid a little card under the room door.  It said, "Since you had the DO NOT DISTURB sign on all day, I couldn't clean your room.  Sorry for the incovenience."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The DO NOT DISTURB sign never left the INSIDE of the room all day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good grief!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-2546332320388980939?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/2546332320388980939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=2546332320388980939' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2546332320388980939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2546332320388980939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/cleanliness-is-next-to.html' title='Cleanliness is next to...'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1bw6v4msMlM/TiX9O_MJtwI/AAAAAAAABZU/zpx5cgUr50g/s72-c/maid%2Bsleep.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-7498646609833025190</id><published>2011-09-09T03:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-09T04:17:48.306-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Un maillot de bain oublié…</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2xnGc_yyWt4/TiSs8DfzrpI/AAAAAAAABZE/RCQ0xbPxR7U/s1600/un%2Bmaillot%2Bde%2Bbain.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2xnGc_yyWt4/TiSs8DfzrpI/AAAAAAAABZE/RCQ0xbPxR7U/s320/un%2Bmaillot%2Bde%2Bbain.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630815581850807954" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La fille de 13 ans avait fait sa valise en moins de 10 minutes.  Autant dire qu’il risquait fort qu’elle ait oublié quelque chose.  C’est en fait ce qui s’est passé : elle a oublié de prendre son maillot de bain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Ne t’en fait pas, » tenta de la rassurer Simone.  « Tu pourras emprunter le mien. »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Mouais, » fit la jeune femme, pas convaincue.  « Tes maillots de bain sont toujours brillants.  J’aime pas ça. Et en plus tes maillots sont trop grands pour moi.»&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Tu verras, celui-là est super mignon.  Mais si j’ai envie d’aller à la piscine, tu n’y auras pas le droit. »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La fille fit la moue.  Elle avait l’air bien décidé de ne pas utiliser le maillot.  Sauf qu’à Montréal, il faisait une chaleur étouffante.  Et elle eut bientôt beaucoup, beaucoup envie d’aller dans la piscine de l’hôtel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Non seulement le maillot ne brillait pas mais il allait mieux à la jeune femme qu’à sa mère…&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-7498646609833025190?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/7498646609833025190/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=7498646609833025190' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7498646609833025190'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7498646609833025190'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/un-maillot-de-bain-oublie.html' title='Un maillot de bain oublié…'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2xnGc_yyWt4/TiSs8DfzrpI/AAAAAAAABZE/RCQ0xbPxR7U/s72-c/un%2Bmaillot%2Bde%2Bbain.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-844744626129427118</id><published>2011-09-08T04:20:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-08T04:33:16.950-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Canada Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-obj_bMVXBac/TiM5pBdEnHI/AAAAAAAABY8/wSNHbCIIT1U/s1600/Canada%2Bday.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-obj_bMVXBac/TiM5pBdEnHI/AAAAAAAABY8/wSNHbCIIT1U/s320/Canada%2Bday.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630407336071044210" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Canada Day is July 1st and this year, the family planned a road trip.  After picking up the two youngest from the oldest's apartment on Friday morning, Simone and hubby picked up the third oldest from Oshawa.  And they were off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Very, very slowly. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, the traffic was bad on the 401.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But they made their way to Ottawa, more or less.  Unfortunately, Ottawa was a mess.  A warren of one way streets was made even worse by road closures in honor of Canada Day and, later, in preparation for the William and Kate extravaganza.  Still, the family wound their way through the streets and, eventually found the new home of the second oldest.  He was moving in with his girlfriend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Their new home, a lovely loft in the downtown core, was packed solid with belongings.  Precious little floor space but this did not dim their enthusiasm in the least little bit.  They had their very own apartment!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The group went out to dinner at Lonestar after an extenuating drive out in the boonies to return the moving truck, which begged the question "Were there no car rental places IN Ottawa?"  After a hearty bout of spitballs and the question: do boys EVER grow up (no!), it was time to get back on the road and head for Montreal. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whew!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-844744626129427118?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/844744626129427118/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=844744626129427118' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/844744626129427118'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/844744626129427118'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/canada-day.html' title='Canada Day'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-obj_bMVXBac/TiM5pBdEnHI/AAAAAAAABY8/wSNHbCIIT1U/s72-c/Canada%2Bday.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-3501330744107075792</id><published>2011-09-07T04:22:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-07T05:12:41.554-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Le gardien d’enfants</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nzyMeADQUG8/Th7gG4K3fiI/AAAAAAAABY0/cDNP7XnnV64/s1600/le%2Bgardien%2Bdenfants.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nzyMeADQUG8/Th7gG4K3fiI/AAAAAAAABY0/cDNP7XnnV64/s320/le%2Bgardien%2Bdenfants.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629182993021500962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Tu es certain que ça ne posera pas de problèmes? » Insista Simone pour la énième fois.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Maman, arrête! » Dit le jeune homme de 22 ans.   « Tu devrais savoir que je suis capable de m’occuper de tout le monde! »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Oui, bien sur, » répliqua Simone.  « Mais là, tu vas te retrouver avec ta sœur de 13 ans, ton petit frère de 4 ans et les deux chiens.  Ça fait beaucoup! »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Maman! » s’énerva le jeune homme.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Je t’ai acheté assez de nourriture? » S’inquiéta-t-elle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Tu n’avais pas besoin de faire ça, Maman.  J’avais assez à manger chez moi.  Tu m’as acheté assez de nourriture pour deux semaines.  Je ne risque pas de manquer de quoi que ce soit. »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Tu voudrais que je nettoie la salle de bain avant de partir? » Demanda Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Oui! » S’écria la fille de 13 ans mais son grand frère la foudroya tellement du regard que son enthousiasme s’éteignit rapidement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Maman, tu as déjà nettoyé la cuisine, tu as balayé l’appartement et tu as fait le lit du petit B.  Tout ira bien.  Ne t’en fait pas. »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« C’est la première fois qu’il ne dort pas près de ses parents, » renifla Simone.  « S’Il y a quoi que ce soit, tu m’enverras un texto? »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Promis juré, » fit le jeune homme en dessinant un X imaginaire contre sa poitrine.  « Bye, Mom.  J’t’aime! »  Et il embrassa sa mère tout en la dirigeant vers la porte de sortie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et, un peu perdue, Simone s’éloigna.  Sans enfants.  Sans chiens.  Toute seule.  Même les bouchons de l’autoroute ne sont pas parvenus à la défaire du calme qui avait envahi ses pensées!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-3501330744107075792?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/3501330744107075792/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=3501330744107075792' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3501330744107075792'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3501330744107075792'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/le-gardien-denfants.html' title='Le gardien d’enfants'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-nzyMeADQUG8/Th7gG4K3fiI/AAAAAAAABY0/cDNP7XnnV64/s72-c/le%2Bgardien%2Bdenfants.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-6267531346795798627</id><published>2011-09-06T05:14:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-06T05:42:19.379-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Math?  Over the summer?  Ugh!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xw3kHCHvVoc/Th2Oa7SAOHI/AAAAAAAABYs/7txyyDyLR84/s1600/math%2Bover%2Bthe%2Bsummer.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xw3kHCHvVoc/Th2Oa7SAOHI/AAAAAAAABYs/7txyyDyLR84/s320/math%2Bover%2Bthe%2Bsummer.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628811702523934834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 13 year old did really well on her final report card.  This did not stop Simone from requesting that the girl provide her mother with all the math tests she'd written during the year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Grumbling that her locker had probably eaten them, the girl complied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Okay," said Simone,"You complained that your teacher did not teach very well.  You told me that you did not understand some of the concepts that were covered in class.  You told me that there was little review and even less explanations.  Considering that you have very poor marks on your earlier tests, I'd like you to choose the questions on the tests that gave you the most trouble and we'll review them over the summer."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 13 year old glared at Simone as only 13 year olds can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Or you can put the test papers in the recycling and forget about it," Simone said equably.  "It's really up to you whether you want to do better next year.  You have a resource, me, and you can choose to use me or not.  Your choice."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The test papers did not move from the table where the 13 year old had placed them for over a week, so Simone put them in the recycling herself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Where did the tests go?" Complained the 13 year old who'd sniffed out the "crime".  And didn't she retrieve them from the recycling..  Then again, she has yet to ask Simone for her help.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-6267531346795798627?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/6267531346795798627/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=6267531346795798627' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6267531346795798627'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6267531346795798627'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/math-over-summer-ugh.html' title='Math?  Over the summer?  Ugh!'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xw3kHCHvVoc/Th2Oa7SAOHI/AAAAAAAABYs/7txyyDyLR84/s72-c/math%2Bover%2Bthe%2Bsummer.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-3388637155414695823</id><published>2011-09-02T03:08:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-02T05:11:59.233-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Anti-moustique!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lD3-aS85CBY/Thw5pqBHh-I/AAAAAAAABYk/4MCgSU8stkU/s1600/anti-moustique.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 314px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lD3-aS85CBY/Thw5pqBHh-I/AAAAAAAABYk/4MCgSU8stkU/s320/anti-moustique.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628437022122674146" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone avait emprunté le sac à dos du petit B pour la sortie avec sa classe.  Dedans, elle avait rangé leurs lunchs ainsi qu’une bouteille de répulsif anti-moustique.  Malheureusement, si elle se souvint de récupérer les contenants de leur lunch, ceci ne fut pas le cas pour l’insecticide.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lorsque l’autobus scolaire du petit B s’arrêta devant chez lui, une jeune fille un peu décoiffée sortit du bus avant le petit B.  « Il nous a arrosé, » dit-elle, ce qui n’éclaira guère Simone qui ne se souvenait pas du tout du répulsif oublié dans le sac à dos.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Alors on l’a confisqué, » ajouta-t-elle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Les yeux de Simone s’écarquillèrent avec effarement.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heureusement que le petit B fut capable de lui expliquer de quoi il s’agissait!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-3388637155414695823?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/3388637155414695823/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=3388637155414695823' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3388637155414695823'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3388637155414695823'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/anti-moustique.html' title='Anti-moustique!'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lD3-aS85CBY/Thw5pqBHh-I/AAAAAAAABYk/4MCgSU8stkU/s72-c/anti-moustique.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-2261984246247807891</id><published>2011-09-01T03:03:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-09-01T05:08:08.999-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Tommy did it!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lNeOB-ulXb4/ThtMNJfz4VI/AAAAAAAABYc/mBoQ-Lz7x48/s1600/Tommy%2Bdid%2Bit%2521.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lNeOB-ulXb4/ThtMNJfz4VI/AAAAAAAABYc/mBoQ-Lz7x48/s320/Tommy%2Bdid%2Bit%2521.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5628175948100919634" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B was playing alone in his room.  Simone came in and surveyed the damages.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What happened?" She demanded, hands on hips.  She picked up a Swiper figurine.  "Swiper's tail is broken," she noted.  "And you only just got him.  How did you break the tail?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I didn't break Swiper," he countered.  "Tommy did it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone sighed.  Tommy happens to be little B's imaginary friend.  "Well, if Tommy broke Swiper, then I guess he can keep it for now until his Mommy can help Tommy fix it."  Simone placed the toy on a shelf, well out of little B's reach.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was little B's turn to sigh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If you want the toy back, you might want to tell me who actually broke it," Simone pointed out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No go...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-2261984246247807891?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/2261984246247807891/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=2261984246247807891' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2261984246247807891'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/2261984246247807891'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/09/tommy-did-it.html' title='Tommy did it!'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-lNeOB-ulXb4/ThtMNJfz4VI/AAAAAAAABYc/mBoQ-Lz7x48/s72-c/Tommy%2Bdid%2Bit%2521.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-5883365765579047646</id><published>2011-08-19T03:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-19T05:59:27.788-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Un costume Goth</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aMNFAbIluKw/Tho7MkS9gWI/AAAAAAAABYU/mcRxru2dYwc/s1600/un%2Bcostume%2Bgoth.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aMNFAbIluKw/Tho7MkS9gWI/AAAAAAAABYU/mcRxru2dYwc/s320/un%2Bcostume%2Bgoth.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5627875771440529762" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Un beau samedi matin ensoleillé, le mari de Simone sortit la robe noire et blanche que Simone n’avait pas portée depuis son achat.  Celle-ci, en effet, avait des mains de squelette sur les hanches ainsi que des cranes sur la poitrine.  Ce n’était donc pas une robe de tous les jours!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Afin de perfectionner le costume, Simone enfila une paire de collants trouée à souhait.  Pour finir, du maquillage noir et des bottes à talons hauts.  Elle était un peu nerveuse, surtout qu’elle s’était fait récemment demander par une inconnue pourquoi elle avait fait semblant de s’habiller avant de sortir.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pourtant, le premier commentaire fut itéré par une jeune femme qui s’extasia sur les collants. « Dites-moi où vous les avez acheté! » Insista la jeune femme.  « Mon chum adore ce genre de collant! »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Au restaurant, une dame âgé d’une soixantaine d’année dit à Simone, « J’adore, mais j’adore votre costume, Madame!  Il est tout à fait délicieux! »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et dire que Simone s’inquiétait avant de sortir…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-5883365765579047646?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/5883365765579047646/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=5883365765579047646' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5883365765579047646'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5883365765579047646'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/08/un-costume-goth.html' title='Un costume Goth'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aMNFAbIluKw/Tho7MkS9gWI/AAAAAAAABYU/mcRxru2dYwc/s72-c/un%2Bcostume%2Bgoth.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-4630607730596123520</id><published>2011-08-18T05:34:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-18T05:34:00.799-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Santa Claus's Village, Take Two</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OAxLszPQLts/ThWpzHQkcQI/AAAAAAAABYM/mczoOa2Pn_c/s1600/Santa%2Bclaus%2Bvillage%252C%2Btake%2Btwo.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OAxLszPQLts/ThWpzHQkcQI/AAAAAAAABYM/mczoOa2Pn_c/s320/Santa%2Bclaus%2Bvillage%252C%2Btake%2Btwo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626590005056270594" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone couldn't get over it: the place had not changed in nearly twenty years!  Even the same people worked the place.  Same Santa, same Mrs Claus and same boat driver with the crazy music and scary donuts in the middle of the river.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the important thing?  Little B loved the place at least as much as his older siblings had before him.  He fed the reindeer, rode the train, refused to use the potty (no WAY was he going into the ladies: he's a BOY!), and rode all the rides.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time ran short, as it inevitably does.  After the boat ride on the river, there was a bit of time left for climbing on the playground equipment but no visit to the animal farm and the ferris wheel got missed completely.  To top off the trip, Simone stopped at the gift shop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little B hunted somewhat desperately for a mug with his name on it (he's already got two) and had to settle for a bright red mini hockey stick.  Little J, who had accompanied them on their visit wanted candy.  She got a straw filled with blue powdery sugar stuff.  It promptly turned her mouth to a bright shade of blue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"What's with her mouth?" Asked little X on the bus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"She misbehaved and Santa saw her," said Simone.  "So he turned her tongue blue."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"That's not even true," little X retorted, hands on hips.  "I misbehaved and Santa didn't turn MY tongue blue!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Welcome to Santa's Village in 2011...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-4630607730596123520?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/4630607730596123520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=4630607730596123520' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4630607730596123520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4630607730596123520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/08/santa-clauss-village-take-two.html' title='Santa Claus&apos;s Village, Take Two'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-OAxLszPQLts/ThWpzHQkcQI/AAAAAAAABYM/mczoOa2Pn_c/s72-c/Santa%2Bclaus%2Bvillage%252C%2Btake%2Btwo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-5180706169196327862</id><published>2011-08-17T07:54:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-17T09:44:47.506-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Le village du Père Noël</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4NkhnjqYjG0/ThRb6ywNDDI/AAAAAAAABYE/lRp7NQ5-0Hc/s1600/le%2Bvillage%2Bdu%2Bpere%2Bnoel.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4NkhnjqYjG0/ThRb6ywNDDI/AAAAAAAABYE/lRp7NQ5-0Hc/s320/le%2Bvillage%2Bdu%2Bpere%2Bnoel.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626222900107086898" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pour fêter le mois de juin, la classe du petit B avait préparé un super voyage : à Bracebridge pour aller au village du Père Noël.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le petit B était très excité car sa maman allait accompagner sa classe et en plus, la petite J allait être dans son groupe.  Le petit B adore la petite J!  Et la petite J n’est pas loin d’avoir des sentiments réciproques.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Premier arrêt?  Au parc.  Tout bonnement.  Les deux enfants embarquèrent dans les glissoires entre bouchées de leurs sandwiches puis, finalement, direction les montagnes russes.  Pas rassurée par le rapport que les freins s’étaient brisés plus tôt dans la matinée suivi tout de même les enfants.  Il faut dire que si le manège roulait bien, l’arrêt était plutôt brusque.  Mais le petit B voulu y retourner à trois reprises.  La tête de la pauvre Simone lui faisait un mal fou…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Quelle idée… Des montagnes russes au village du Père Noël…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-5180706169196327862?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/5180706169196327862/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=5180706169196327862' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5180706169196327862'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/5180706169196327862'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/08/le-village-du-pere-noel.html' title='Le village du Père Noël'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-4NkhnjqYjG0/ThRb6ywNDDI/AAAAAAAABYE/lRp7NQ5-0Hc/s72-c/le%2Bvillage%2Bdu%2Bpere%2Bnoel.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-3124099592455161482</id><published>2011-08-16T05:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-16T07:01:17.202-04:00</updated><title type='text'>NOGRTRLV</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0EYJY1j331M/ThOFTxl5cuI/AAAAAAAABX8/xddTsal7bu8/s1600/nogrtrlv.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0EYJY1j331M/ThOFTxl5cuI/AAAAAAAABX8/xddTsal7bu8/s320/nogrtrlv.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625986934292181730" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone stared at her phone, unable to understand.  She had just received a picture of a license plate that said "NOGRTRLV". As an explanation for the plate, the caption below it stated, "A father's love for his daughter."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Much as Simone's father undoubtedly loves her, she doubted he would be the author of this license plate.  She sent hubby a reply asking what the picture was about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He in turn expressed his confusion: he had recently bought the license plate for his 17 year old daughter, the first and only child in the family to have a car, courtesy of her father.  He couldn't understand how the picture had been sent to Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An error, no doubt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A life lesson in being cautious about who text messages go out to as well...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-3124099592455161482?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/3124099592455161482/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=3124099592455161482' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3124099592455161482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/3124099592455161482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/08/nogrtrlv.html' title='NOGRTRLV'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0EYJY1j331M/ThOFTxl5cuI/AAAAAAAABX8/xddTsal7bu8/s72-c/nogrtrlv.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-7849707462502600524</id><published>2011-08-15T03:42:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-15T04:31:09.554-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Les coups de poing</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-__EMTzNhtFU/ThJF79WSAhI/AAAAAAAABX0/WFELhrWGfUE/s1600/les%2Bcoups%2Bde%2Bpoing.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-__EMTzNhtFU/ThJF79WSAhI/AAAAAAAABX0/WFELhrWGfUE/s320/les%2Bcoups%2Bde%2Bpoing.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625635780921786898" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone était de garde.  Elle faisait son va et vient quotidien sans trouver quoi que ce soit de remarquable lorsqu’elle aperçut une fille qui martelait fiévreusement la poitrine d’un garçon de son âge de coups de poing.  Horripilé, Simone se dirigea vers le « couple ».&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Les jeunes arrêtèrent leur manège et Simone leur adressa la parole.  « Vous devinez sans doute ce que je vais vous dire? »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;La fille fit une moue.  « De ne pas donner de coups de poing. »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Ça ne fait pas mal, » dit le garçon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« C’est parce qu’elle ne frappe pas comme il faut. »  Simone regarda la fille.  « Le pire c’est que tu risques fort de casser tes poignets si tu continues de le frapper comme tu le fais. »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« C’est vrai, » marmonna la jeune fille.  « Regardez, Madame!  Mes mains sont toutes rouges! »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;En effet, les mains de la fille étaient rouges.  Et aux mauvais endroits.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Est-ce que vous pourriez me montrer comment frapper comme il faut? » Chuchota la jeune fille dans l’oreille de Simone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Le garçon fit un pas en arrière.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ça ne se gêne pas, les filles ces jours-ci…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-7849707462502600524?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/7849707462502600524/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=7849707462502600524' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7849707462502600524'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/7849707462502600524'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/08/les-coups-de-poing.html' title='Les coups de poing'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-__EMTzNhtFU/ThJF79WSAhI/AAAAAAAABX0/WFELhrWGfUE/s72-c/les%2Bcoups%2Bde%2Bpoing.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-4702124650755704672</id><published>2011-08-12T04:16:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-12T04:44:59.534-04:00</updated><title type='text'>I like you...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N8VVY_t5ObU/ThF5cgwQe0I/AAAAAAAABXs/Ks7MiKIMuLo/s1600/I%2Blike%2Byou.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N8VVY_t5ObU/ThF5cgwQe0I/AAAAAAAABXs/Ks7MiKIMuLo/s320/I%2Blike%2Byou.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625410940298099522" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Little J sidled up to Simone for the third time that morning and hugged her.  So far, he'd hugged her left arm, her waist and her right leg, depending on what he could reach.  Each time he hugged Simone, a beatific smile illuminated his features.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He stared up at Simone.  "I'm going to invite you to my birthday," he promised.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone smiled at him a little distractedly as she was attempting to supervise the hand washing prior to lunch ritual in the classroom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'm going to be five years old," he added meaningfully.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Uh huh," said Simone, somewhat distracted by the group of 20 kids she was supervising.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Encouraged, little J hugged her once more.  "I like you.  You're soft," he said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmpf.  Soft?  Possibly, that's good.  Gotta be better than, "I like you.  You're hard." ...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-4702124650755704672?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/4702124650755704672/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=4702124650755704672' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4702124650755704672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/4702124650755704672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/08/i-like-you.html' title='I like you...'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-N8VVY_t5ObU/ThF5cgwQe0I/AAAAAAAABXs/Ks7MiKIMuLo/s72-c/I%2Blike%2Byou.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-1140786746797200009</id><published>2011-08-11T04:51:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-11T05:41:59.141-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Une nouvelle coupe de cheveux...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O3PuTs5IvFg/TgrrW5XWMqI/AAAAAAAABXk/t-M4oLgrS5c/s1600/nouvelle%2Bcoiffure.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O3PuTs5IvFg/TgrrW5XWMqI/AAAAAAAABXk/t-M4oLgrS5c/s320/nouvelle%2Bcoiffure.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623565863313879714" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone était fatiguée d’être blonde.  Ses cheveux étaient abimés et elle trouvait qu’elle avait la mine délavée.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« On passe au foncé, » déclara-t-elle au coiffeur qui s’obtempéra.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;« Et si on coupait tes cheveux plus courts, » suggéra le coiffeur, une fois la couleur faite.  « Ce sera pour ta prochaine visite. »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone fit la moue.  « Pourquoi pas maintenant? »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ravi, le coiffeur sortit ses ciseaux.  Une demi-heure plus tard, Simone ne se ressemblait plus du tout.  D’ailleurs, le petit B l’approcha timidement et murmura, « C’est toi, Maman? »&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Et il ne fut pas le seul.  Personne ne reconnaissait Simone.  Sauf le mari de Simone.  Lui, il la reconnaissait.  Et il n’était pas du tout content.  Alors là, pas du tout…  Histoire de dire que lorsqu’on ose se faire plaisir, il y a toujours quelqu’un qui y trouvera à redire…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-1140786746797200009?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/1140786746797200009/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=1140786746797200009' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1140786746797200009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1140786746797200009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/08/une-nouvelle-coupe-de-cheveux.html' title='Une nouvelle coupe de cheveux...'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-O3PuTs5IvFg/TgrrW5XWMqI/AAAAAAAABXk/t-M4oLgrS5c/s72-c/nouvelle%2Bcoiffure.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-6791070188124696331</id><published>2011-08-10T03:31:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-10T05:34:35.564-04:00</updated><title type='text'>After the grad</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9QAIOJl--M8/TgmEzgS6QgI/AAAAAAAABXc/cSsdqG31DCs/s1600/after%2Bthe%2Bgraduation.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9QAIOJl--M8/TgmEzgS6QgI/AAAAAAAABXc/cSsdqG31DCs/s320/after%2Bthe%2Bgraduation.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5623171630126219778" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simone had the opportunity to dine with three young men recently, immediately following the graduation of her oldest son.  The four of them were dropped off on Bayview Street in Toronto and left to their own devices.  Amongst the fancy establishments located there, the final choice (once sushi was ruled out on account of Simone having eaten there for lunch) was Wild Wings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The place was empty save for them and, miraculously enough for a slow Saturday night, the service was excellent.  The boys entertained Simone with stories and she laughed so much that she nearly forgot how much her feet ached in her new shoes after having walked in them for a mile from the grad to the parking lot.  Up and down stairs.  Please commiserate.  New heels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow, Simone is very grateful to the boys for their good cheer and enlightening conversation.  Hopefully, they drank in moderation later that night when they partied the end of undergraduate years for the 22 year old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nah... Moderation is for sissies.  And koalas :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-6791070188124696331?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/6791070188124696331/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=6791070188124696331' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6791070188124696331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/6791070188124696331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/08/after-grad.html' title='After the grad'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9QAIOJl--M8/TgmEzgS6QgI/AAAAAAAABXc/cSsdqG31DCs/s72-c/after%2Bthe%2Bgraduation.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8789816155110042576.post-1086296177415130715</id><published>2011-08-08T04:58:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-08T05:22:46.645-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Tête de koala</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RNxAaWuIFGE/TgfVzjfKHZI/AAAAAAAABXU/TmB6LlZoHvE/s1600/tete%2Bde%2Bkoala.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RNxAaWuIFGE/TgfVzjfKHZI/AAAAAAAABXU/TmB6LlZoHvE/s320/tete%2Bde%2Bkoala.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622697741471325586" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Il parait que lorsqu’on se rase le crâne, il faut faire très attention.  En effet, on doit raser les côtés de plus près car ces cheveux poussent plus rapidement que ceux sur le dessus de la tête.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Si on ne fait pas attention, ou si on est paresseux et on rase le crâne avec la même lame, il y a grand risque qu’on finira avec les deux côtés de la tête recouverts de cheveux ébouriffés alors que le dessus du crâne sera encore bien rasé.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;D’où le terme, tête de koala.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;C’est une mise en garde – prenez soin de l’observer!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8789816155110042576-1086296177415130715?l=simonemaroney.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/feeds/1086296177415130715/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8789816155110042576&amp;postID=1086296177415130715' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1086296177415130715'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8789816155110042576/posts/default/1086296177415130715'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://simonemaroney.blogspot.com/2011/08/tete-de-koala.html' title='Tête de koala'/><author><name>Simone Maroney</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/10163675138008301466</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-RNxAaWuIFGE/TgfVzjfKHZI/AAAAAAAABXU/TmB6LlZoHvE/s72-c/tete%2Bde%2Bkoala.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
