tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1838429350302334782024-02-07T01:38:13.815-06:00Injera and Chocolate GravyThese are my mostly funny, slightly insane, real-life, honest thoughts and stories as we live our lives just being a family with 12 kids!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger359125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-29335981365412261312014-05-08T20:32:00.001-05:002014-05-08T20:32:46.877-05:00Gluten hypocrisy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I feel it coming.<br />
The same way I can smell the rain before the storm and sense when someone is sneaking chocolate chips from the pantry after bedtime, I can see this coming.<br />
There's this growing disgust and impatience with all things gluten-free.<br />
Rather, with the people who claim to be "on a gluten-free diet". <br />
<br />Let's clear some things up here, mmmkay?<br />
<br />
First of all...I've been gluten-free since before it was cool. (where's THAT t-shirt?!) It was circa 2005 when I began struggling pretty seriously with some depression. I was deeeeep into my funk of 40,000 years when my mom (probably tired of getting sobbing phone calls from 8 hours away) insisted that I come see her doctor. Her doctor did his full exam, some scans and we talked a lot, then he handed me a copy of "The Specific Carbohydrate Diet" and said "read this. This is your new life."<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>They say there are 7 stages of grief</i>.<br />
<br />
Within the first 2 weeks I had spent most of my days waffling around between the 6 less-productive stages while bemoaning the lack of anything yummy in my (stupid, horrible, torturous) diet. Somewhere around the end of week 2, I hit my stride and decided to suck it up and be a big kid and just do the thing for the (whole stupid) 6 months. I immediately dropped 20lbs, felt better, had more energy, and realized how sick I had been for who knows how long.<br />
<br />
After 6-8 months on the super restrictive portion of the SCDiet, I began slooooowly reintroducing some foods into my diet. It was immediately/violently/horrifically obvious that gluten was NOT my friend. Think sudden onset of food poisoning while having the flu with a side of severe hangover and you've pretty much got it. Therefore, no gluten.<br />
<br />
What is gluten, you ask? Gluten is a protein found in wheat, barley, rye, spelt and triticale. It gives breads their stretchiness and allows for sweet little air pockets to form when the yeast eats the sugars in your breads and makes them rise and get all puffy and lovely. It hides in plain sight in mysterious ingredients like "modified food starch" and "malt flavoring". It is present in all forms of wheat - white bread, whole wheat bread, honey whatever brown colored bread, and sadly, biscuits with chocolate gravy. *sob*<br />
<br />
What happened within the past two years is that several books were written which prescribed a gluten-free diet for any number of issues from IBS and IBD to ADHD and RBGH. <i>(I made that last one up. Well, not totally...it's a thing. That's the growth hormone they give cows to make them produce more milk. But gluten may make those cows more gross... I don't know.)</i> Popular celebrities touted the GF diet for helping them lose weight or getting rid of ____ annoying issue they were having. I know that for ME... going off gluten DID solve some big health problems, but those problems were a symptom of my gluten intolerance. I didn't do this to lose weight. It IS possible to go gluten-free and gain a butt-load of weight. <i>(see what I did there?)</i><br />
<br />
However, suddenly in the past few weeks there's been this rising discontent with those who have decided to "go gluten-free". I feel ya. <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/05/06/gluten-free-people-have-no-idea-what-gluten-is_n_5273980.html?wwparam=1399487789" target="_blank">There's a BUNCH of uneducated sheeple out there who have jumped all onto this GF train without knowing even what gluten IS and what it is NOT. </a><br />
There are diners in restaurants all over the country (world?) who are ordering the gluten-free pasta with a mouth full of rosemary focaccia. They brag about being gluten-free "95% of the time... except sometimes I cheat a little!" <i>Therein lies the problem.</i> I can't just decide to "cheat a little". True gluten-intolerance or celiac disease is ONLY controlled through strict adherence to an absolutely 100% gluten-free diet. This means NO, if you have "a gluten allergy" you absolutely can NOT have just the tiniest piece of the "world's best triple cocoa chocolate chip mega ultra fabulousness cake" someone brought in to work. Not even a LITTLE! <i>AND YOU WOULDN'T WANT TO! You'd know that the "tiny taste" leads to near-death on the toilet.</i><br />
<br />
<u>This <b>gluten hypocrisy</b> is the problem.</u><br />
<br />
Here's what we (speaking for the majority of the truly intolerant/allergic GF community here) need for you part-time GF dieters to do:<br />
<br />
Say<b><i> "I try to limit the amount of gluten that I consume." </i></b><br />
<b><i></i></b><br />
<br />
See what just happened there? You've maintained your cool status by being on the latest trend, while admitting that you aren't going to be sick in bed for any number of days or spend your evening hugging the toilet if someone slips you the wrong bottle of soy sauce for your California roll. <br />
<br />
Because when you go out to eat and you blab on and on about your gluten-free dietary needs, and how you need a special menu and how you want to be sure the chef understands that your meal needs to be totally gluten-free... but then you nibble on the bread or grab a crouton off your neighbor's salad... you are unintentionally training the servers, kitchen staff, management and other diners near by to discredit TRUE gluten intolerance as a "thing". <a href="http://paulandchrissy.blogspot.com/2011/03/open-letter-to-chef-damian-cardone.html" target="_blank">(See previous blog I wrote about THIS tool who calls himself a chef, yet bragged on facebook about purposely serving wheat-based pasta to patrons requesting GF.)</a><br />
<br />
Why am I back on my blog after a 4 month absence to talk about gluten?<br />
Because I'm tired of feeling like a bandwaggon hopper for whispering <i>"can you be sure this is gluten-free? No like REALLY. I have an actual allergy, not a skinny jeans problem." </i><br />
<i> </i>I got sick today due to (probable) cross-contamination. That's when I order something safe (from the allergen menu on the nutritional information page from the company's own website) and somehow it comes into contact with something glutenny in the kitchen, gets sprinkled with the wrong seasoning, or SOMEthing... and I wind up wishing I had an in-home stomach pump machine. As I lay here in bed sweating with a horribly sick stomach,<a href="http://ifyoucantaffordtotip.com/gluten-rant-waitress/" target="_blank"> I read blog posts like this one</a> and I really wish I could talk to this server in person. I shouldn't have to prove my level of gluten sensitivity in order to be taken seriously by the restaurant staff.<br />
<br />
I am a mom of 12. My husband works in the food and beverage industry (read: gone alllllll the time). I guess you could say I don't get out much, and so when I do... I feel like I should be allowed the decency of your respect for my dietary restrictions. Does it kill you to leave off the croutons? Am I wasting your precious time if I ask what is in the marinade or if the fish is dredged in flour? You see, angry server/blogger, WE - the patrons of the restaurants - we make your job possible. No customers = no need for servers. I don't correct you when you tell me that "yes, it's wild salmon. It's wild Atlantic salmon.", because sweetpea... there isn't such a thing. All Atlantic salmon is farmed. So, please remember that even though a lot of patrons are simply testing the waters of the gluten-free abyss, there are others of us who are well-versed and know our way around a menu, we just need a little cooperation on your part.<br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-57455659998086371532014-01-26T14:34:00.004-06:002014-01-26T14:34:52.340-06:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
If you're a friend of mine on Facebook... I didn't block you. I didn't get my panties all in a wad because you posted something political/controversial and push that little "delete" button.<br />
<br />
I took some time off of Facebook.<br />
It's not about you.<br />
It was TOTALLY about me.<br />
<br />
I needed to do some soul-searching.<br />
<br />
I was in a giant funk. Like <b>really</b> big. Like if you took the grouchiness over driving 26 miles to the nearest Kroger with a Starbucks to do your grocery shopping just so you could have your iced coffee made by someone other than your own self only to discover the aforementioned Starbucks was closed for a <i>maintenance check up</i> and <b>COMBINED</b> that with having ANOTHER dead chicken because, clearly, your number one thing on your nightly reminder list (above "did you brush your teeth?" and "did you go to the bathroom" and "you better not be wearing your pajamas over your dirty clothes") is "did you remember to close the chicken coop?<i>" * </i>Yeah. I was in a funk. <br />
<i> *world's longest barely-coherent sentence. I'm not fixing it. See what a rebel I've become on my Facebook break??</i><br />
<br />
So what drove me over the edge?<br />
Well, I feel like I'm a pretty "real" person.<br />
I suddenly felt like a "real" person drowning in a sea of over-achieving, party-planning, fun-having, happy-go-lucky, sunshine-and-roses, pooping-out-sprinkle-dipped-rainbow-colored-unicorns, life-is-grand, Mother-of-the year types.<br />
<br />
Several of you out there have got this rose-colored-glasses thing DOWN!<br />
I mean, (in an effort to not offend my Facebook friends, names have been left off to protect the perpetually sunshiney) here is a sampling of what I was reading:<br />
(Artistic liberty taken, sarcastic flair added...) <br />
"OHMYGOSH! I could just explode I'm just so in LOOOOOVE with my kid's morning breath! I mean, I'm just so BLESSED! He literally smells like a spring meadow covered in dew! #fabulouslife"<br />
<br />
"My kids are such athletic geniuses!! All they do is WIN WIN WIN! #theygetitfromme #mygeneticpoolisbubblingwithlivingwater "<br />
<br />
"I just love homeschooling! Every day is such a fabulous encounter with knowledge and learning and fabulousness! I just LOVE glitter all over the house! Playdoh is FABULOUS! Look at these paper mache' busts we made of the founding fathers today in <u>History of every single minute detail of the American Revolution</u> class! Aren't they FABULOUS!? Oh my gosh! This one looks EXACTLY like John Adams! #homeschoolROCKS #INEVERwanttosendmykidstoboardingschool #yousuck #Iwin "<br />
<br />
"I'm just so excited for our gigantic, super expensive, you-and-your-giant-family-will-never-afford-this trip to DisneyVille with our 2 perfect, spoiled children! We only get to go once a quarter, so this is SUCH a treat!! I've hand-sewn these matching pima cotton jumpers in matching micro-Mickey-head swiss dot fabric that I purchased from a fair-trade, free-range, organic leprosy colony in Mozambique! Aren't they PRECIOUS! #notonlyarewegoingtoDisneybutIdoitbetterthanyouevercould"<br />
<br />
I think you catch my drift.<br />
<br />
<b>People, I was in a funk of comparison. </b><br />
"She's a better mom than me. She's NEVER annoyed at her kids. They will <i>arise and call her blessed</i> WAY before she's on her death bed for SURE."<br />
<br />
"She puts her kids in SO many activities! They're going to be so well-rounded. I can barely make sure my kids are wearing clean-ish clothes every day, much less make it to all those practices, games and coaching sessions! I must be a horrible time-manager."<br />
<br />
"She is like the president and CEO of homeschooling. If there was a Nobel prize for this, they'd definitely win. I would not get an invite to be a seat-filler at the Homeschooling Nobel Prize awards show. I'm just glad when we get through the day without someone crying because I told them they reversed their b and d again! What's with the homemade crafty stuff?! Don't these women sleep? Where do they come up with these ideas?? My kids should begin focusing on greeting people with a smile and saying 'would you like to super size that?' because that's about where we are headed if this is the standard."<br />
<br />
"My poor kids. They have so much less than their peers. We've never taken a family vacation that wasn't to visit relatives and we will likely NEVER get to Disney. The tickets alone are ridiculous, not to mention the FOOD these people put away! Are they storing it in their hollow leg in anticipation of the Zombie Apocalypse?? Who eats 5 chicken legs at dinner? I don't know if they'd have agreed to large-family-life if they'd known what all they'd miss out on."<br />
<br />
So, in a fit of "I'm tired of feeling like a failure AND tired of thinking everyone has their crap together other than me" rage, I deleted the FB app from my phone, then logged in from my computer and deleted my account. I didn't make any big to-do about it, just <b>Poof</b>. Gone. I went radio-silent. I have a separate account for my business (anyone who tried to add me there, I just don't use that page for anything which is why I haven't looked at my friend requests.)<br />
<br />
And here's what I learned.<br />
Facebook isn't about being REAL.<br />
It's about FACE value. It's about writing the fairytale BOOK about your life. The parts of the book you WANT people to see. It's not about being REAL in any way, shape or form. AND I'm able to get through the day without knowing what you put in your green smoothie or how much you looooove your new cockapootreiver, LoveBug. <br />
<br />
And so, I was talking with a friend a week or so ago and explaining my epiphany when she said<br />
"YOU are that person to me. YOU are the one I can't measure up to. YOU are the one I feel like I want to BE when I grow up."<br />
Uhmmmm... what?<br />
Suddenly it became very weird for me. The very thing I was avoiding, I had become.<br />
Was I giving people a false-view of my life? Was I portraying that everything here at Drama Llama Ranch is sunshine and sprinkles? What on earth...??<br />
<br />
So... after giving it some thought, I realized that Facebook is basically <i>hallway talk</i>. It's passing by someone in the hall after church. You're focused on getting your kids out of their classes and getting everyone loaded into the van and hopefully not forgetting anyone and figuring out what you can feed everyone for lunch because FOR THE LOVE it's been 3 whole hours since they've eaten anything and they might DIE... and you say "Hey! Long time no see! How is everyone?" and she replies "<i>GREAT!! The kids and I are loving homeschooling, my husband is able to be home 6 days a week now and we just bought a kiwi berry farm out on 500 acres just outside of town with a barn so we can get a dairy cow! How are YOU??</i>"<br />
<br />
For a moment you stand there and consider dipping it all in donut glaze and rolling it in happiness, but instead...<br />
<br />
"<i>Well, my husband is out of town for the next 10 days, my kids have eaten cereal for 3 of the past 4 meals, I've been plagued by migraines for which I'm blaming the Polar Vortex, I feel like I stink at homeschooling since the majority of my children can't read yet and one of the ones I've had since birth asked me this week if he doubled 1/4 if it was a cup or half a cup, I'm 37 with 12 kids and for some reason I STILL want a baby and I know it will never happen but I can't let it go and it causes me great struggle in my spiritual life, I wish I made more money to do things like vacations and building a barn and a fence so we could have a dairy cow and maybe raise some for beef, too...but... YEAH we are all just FABULOUS!</i><br />
<br />
What if we stepped out of the hallway every so often and shut the door into a quiet place with our friend and said "but how are you REALLY doing?"<br />
<br />
What IF we all realized that we ALL have good days and bad days, but most days land somewhere in between?<br />
<br />
What if we started to live life OFFline more than ONline?<br />
<br />
What if we suddenly were able to see THROUGH the fog of happy-shroud and see the real life moments behind the madness? What if we read those super over-the-top braggy posts and instead saw the bedraggled mom who really just needs a moment to breathe, pray, have a bite of something yummy and carry on with her day? Maybe she's just a name-it-and-claim-it Facebooker. Faking it until she makes it.<i> It's all good, Rainbow Brite! We feel ya!</i><br />
<br />
If I've ever given you the impression that I have all my junk together, please let this post destroy that notion.<br />
<br />
If I've ever made you feel inferior in any way by talking about something in my life, please know that there are 800 other things I feel like I fail at EVERY SINGLE DAY behind that one success.<br />
<br />
And to the mommas out there dragging themselves to the coffee pot each day and begging it to percolate faster so that you can MAYBE finish that one cup of joe before the kids are all clamoring for breakfast and fighting for the "best" seat at the table... I'm right there with ya.<br />
<br />
For the mommas who feel like they're failing at raising their children, failing at schooling them at home or failing while sending them off to school...you are NOT alone. <br />
<br />
For the mommas of a bajillionty kids like me who struggle with balancing the feelings we ALL have about what we can and can't provide...repeat my mantra after me "no one ever died from not going to disney." Our kids are growing up with the added benefit of living in a large family. Employers will know they can work well with others, they can be a team-player, and they will take few sick days because they've already been exposed to everything under the sun.<br />
<br />
<b><i>And with that.</i></b>.. I feel healthy enough to come visit you in Facebook land again.<br />
<br />
Until you start with that everyday-is-a-fancy-schmancy-holiday-at-our-home crap again.<br />
That's the day I block your sunshiney self in the name of my own mental health.<br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-39940332130591487952013-10-15T07:52:00.002-05:002013-10-15T07:52:45.489-05:00Get it out of my brain<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have a child who I find it particularly hard to connect with.<br />
I know....... you're all shocked.<br />
I'll give you a moment while you silently remove my "mother of the century" label from my contact in your phone and text your besties "Did you hear the one about Chrissy.....?!?"<br />
It makes me feel like a failure. And maybe I have failed in a lot of ways <strike>so far this morning</strike>. <br />
<br />
Anyway, this child.<br />
He's a pleaser. He is a perfectionist. He tries WAY too hard.<br />
He whispers when he asks for something. He insists others follow every rule, even some he made up because he thought it was a rule I'd like. He uses phrases he's picked up in the wrong timing like "Hey mom, <i>at least </i>lunch was delicious!" <br />
It has been known to drive me to the brink of insanity and make me say things like<br />
<i>"I just wish ONCE he'd break a rule or do something wrong so I would know he's really a child!"</i><br />
I know some of you are parenting a child like this...<br />
and you're laughing or maybe just solemnly nodding. <br />
<br />
Whew.<br />
Moving back towards the point... last night I was given a small gift.<br />
<br />
Ahhh, the "golden hour". Some refer to this time period as that magical few minutes when the sun is just creeping below the horizon in the evening and everything is bathed in its glorious golden light... when photos look magical and sparkly and have starbursts of light in the trees. For me, it's those few moments when I tuck the 9 younger kids into bed at night and they give me that last piece of information for the day. I've written about it before, but last night I was given some insight into the WHY behind the crazy-making behavior.<br />
<br />
I walked into the room just as this particular child was chastising one of his brothers and saying he was going to "tell mom". Gotta love it. I asked what was going on and when I found out that (as usual) it wasn't tattle-worthy, I asked him why he thought he should tattle or try to get his brother in trouble for something that wasn't a big deal? He answered.. "<i>I don't know... I just thought...</i>" and trailed off in thought.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
Then, as if God himself gave me this picture in my brain, I said "<i>Hon, WHY are you always so WORRIED about EVERYTHING?? You live your day WAaaaAAaaaY up here </i>(hands up above my head - frantically shaking)<i>... 'ohmygosh Mom is going to be mad at me! Ohmygosh what if I do something wrong!!' and I want you to bring it WAAaaaaAAAaaay down HERE </i>(hands out at mid-waist - smoothly washing back and forth)<i>... and just relax... breathe...it's all going to be okay. Do you understand?</i>" <span style="font-size: x-small;">(This is a very important question when dealing with kids who didn't speak English until they were mid-Elementary school aged.)</span> I could tell he didn't fully get it. </div>
<br />
So I walked over, knelt at his bed and said - <i>"You are SO worried all of the time... wanting everyone to follow all of the rules, wanting Mom and Dad to be happy with you, but when you are so scared and worried and 'way up here'... mom and dad get worried and frustrated and get 'way up here' too. Do you know why you are so nervous all of the time?"</i><br />
<br />
Then...<br />
I got this small glimpse.<br />
A tiny, itty bitty little glimpse into the world from whence he came.<br />
<br />
"<i>In my brain I just still think like I was when I was at the care center. I just still remember the nannies and they were not nice and I just can't stop thinking about them not being nice and I get scared and think I have to be very, very good. <u><b>I don't think I will ever get it out of my brain.</b></u>"</i> and he started to cry.<br />
<br />
I share this not to give too much personal information about our children... as I have not mentioned names or given specifics as to which child I'm referring to. I share because, sometimes we don't really SEE why the behaviors are there. I know I knew on a very logical level that he was pleasing in order to feel accepted, but I had no idea the depth of that fear. And I'm his mom. It's my job to know.<br />
<br />
So... I looked at him, touched his face and said...<br />
<i>"Oh, honey. That's not okay with Mom that you're sad. I'm going to help you get it out of your brain. Do you know that the way they treated you was wrong? The way they treated you was not kind. The things they said were not okay. Those ladies were NOT your Mom. They were just women working at their job. That's all. They may have made sure you had food, but they did too many things that hurt your heart, and that's not okay. Jesus is going to get this stuff out of your brain. Did you know that when Mom and Dad got to the care center and we brought you out of there and to the guest house, that was the first day you were really ours? You weren't the "care center boy" anymore. You became OUR boy and got OUR name. That was the OLD you. This is the NEW you. We even gave you a new name, didn't we? That's because we want you to be able to say 'that was the old life, this is my new life.' Those things happened to you, but they are over and done and far away now."</i><br />
<br />
At this point, I'm stuck between anger at the life my kids led for a year and such happiness that they don't have to live that life anymore.<br />
<br />
<i>"Any time you feel afraid, or feel like your brain won't let you forget how you were supposed to live at the care center, I want you to pray inside your brain, right where you are, whatever you're doing - 'Jesus, I don't want to be the care center boy ANYMORE! I want to be my Mom and Dad's son. Please change me.' Can you do that?"</i><br />
<br />
I empowered my son to rid himself of the fear, anxiety and distrust he's been living with for so long now. I taught him to lay his stuff at the feet of Jesus and that he doesn't HAVE to be stuck in that place anymore.<br />
<br />
<i>What an immense privilege. </i><br />
<i>What amazing power we have as parents.</i><br />
<i>And yet, often times we don't use it. </i><br />
<br />
And, as I have said a hundred times before...<br />
Because he can't say the words without smiling.<br />
And I know inside he gets warm fuzzies.<br />
Because I do, too.<br />
I looked into those weepy eyes, smiled, and said: <br />
<br />
<i><b> "I'm my mommy's baby. </b></i><br />
<i><b> My mommy loves me. </b></i><br />
<i><b> I am precious. </b></i><br />
<i><b> I am a treasure."</b></i><br />
<i><b><br /></b></i>
<i>And he smiled and simply said <b> </b></i><br />
<br />
<i><b>"Yes."</b></i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-48369681755903736632013-09-28T12:21:00.002-05:002013-09-28T12:21:56.903-05:00I was a cloud.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I just turned 37 this week.<br />
<br />
Let's let that sink in for a moment, shall we? Yikes. I don't "FEEL" 37... not sure what that's supposed to feel like anyway... but I think the years speed up after your early 20's and somehow you wake up one day and you're closer to 40 than you are to "young and stupid".<br />
<br />
I was thinking about that this morning when I woke up.<br />
<br />
I've come a long way, baby!<br />
<br />
Once upon a time, I was a pissed-off teenager. I was the oldest of two, my parents divorced then remarried, I became the oldest of 5, and my inner control-freak was fuuhreeeaking out.<br />
I was scared.<br />
Fear looks like anger sometimes. At least it does with me.<br />
They are my synonymous emotions.<br />
Fear/Anger. Usually those closest to me can't tell them apart. <br />
So, I looked angry.<br />
I was mad at my parents, mad at their new spouses, mad at myself, mad at life, mad at God - whoever I deemed Him to be at the time, and mad... well, just because it was easier that way.<br />
<br />
Pissed-off teenagers are even more stupid than regular, happy, well-adjusted ones. They make other people miserable. They ruin family events. They ruin the best days. It can be 70 degrees, sunny with a light breeze, great music playing and no pressing events to tend to... and one single pissed-off teenager can screw it all up.<br />
<br />
That was me. The screwer-upper.<br />
I remember when my mom coined the phrase <b>"you are such a cloud!"</b><br />
Ouch.<br />
<i>But it was so incredibly true.</i><br />
<br />
My parents were worried about me, with good reason. I consistently made poor choices. I hung out with the wrong people. I stayed out too late, snuck out, broke rules and broke laws. I was your everyday, ordinary, cliche delinquent teenager.<br />
<br />
I married my husband at 18. We thought we knew what love was. We thought we were SO smart and independent and wise beyond our years. We were <i>both</i> strong-willed, first-born, tough-as-nails, independent people. We thought we had this whole thing figured out.<br />
He was far wiser than me and we had a conversation one night under the stars that amounted to "if we get married, it's forever. There's no exit plan. Deal?"<br />
Yeah, I told you we had it all figured out.<br />
<i>Except not. </i><br />
<br />
<br />
For years, we struggled. We were head-strong kids playing house and learning that love is a decision and a choice. It wasn't always easy, but it has been worth it always.<br />
<br />
However, every time we got together with my family - even though I was married, had kids, and was living differently for all to see - I was reminded of
what a horrible kid I had been. I felt reminded of my poor choices, my
poor lifestyle and all of my mistakes. It made me angry, it made me
embarrassed, and it reminded me that my family hadn't magically
forgotten all of my sins...any more than God had. And He knew them ALL,
not just the public ones everyone could see. I'd never be forgiven. I'd never be able to move on. I'd never live down the junk in my past.<br />
I was marked, sealed, finished.<br />
<br />
Fast-forward a bit...<br />
we were living in Colorado Springs, land of beauty so amazing you just look around and know that none of this could have ever possibly have just accidentally happened. Glorious blue skies - bluer blue than anything you've ever seen, giant mountains that seem to guard you from whatever is on the other side... it's very small-making.<br />
One day I remember standing in worship realizing how screwed up my life had always been, wondering if I'd ever really meant any of those times I walked down front, got sprinkled, dunked or re-dedicated. I just knew I wasn't<i> really </i>forgiven.<br />
<br />
I realized I was tangled, trapped, caught, sinking, drowning in the weight of my
history and I was struggling to even gasp for air. Emotionally it
reminded me of the time I was caught in an undertow in the Atlantic. The
panicked struggle, the fight, the smothering weight of fear. It's so
incredibly heavy. <br />
I felt like a fraud.<br />
I felt like a failure.<br />
I needed help.<br />
I needed a rescuer.<br />
I needed a hero.<br />
<i><b>My husband couldn't save me. </b></i><br />
<br />
This is when if this were the Bible it would say <b>"but God..."</b><br />
<br />
Being an independent, strong-willed, first-born, tough-as-nails 20-something means you figure things out on your own. I didn't want to hear what the pastor said... he didn't know my story. I didn't want to listen to whoever was speaking at Women of Faith that year. She didn't know me personally.<br />
<b>I prayed.</b> I listened. I changed my radio dial to the Christian Music station. I absorbed those truths like I was being marinated in them. Slowly, slowly, slowly... my frantic gasps for air became life-giving breaths. My panic began to slow. My brain could reason again. I was able to hear, feel and speak to the Lord. The Holy Spirit was audible and palpable in my heart. I heard him louder than my failures, louder than my doubts, louder than my fears. When I felt myself again sinking back into the waves of failure, inadequacy and regret... I would hear <i>"Take my hand. I've got this."</i> I would breathe deeply the truths I was learning. I would shake off the ropes entangling me, dragging me back into the depths, and I was just so thankful to be rescued.<br />
<br />
So for those mommas and daddies out there parenting that first-born, strong-willed, tough-as-nails kid... don't give up on them. Love them in the middle of it. Speak truth into their lives. Tell them you love them anyway. And that you always will. Assure them of their value. Assure them they are worth it. Pray for them. Then pray for them some more.<br />
<br />
And me?<br />
<br />
This past summer my mom told me about how she had always been praying for me. All along. In the middle of the junk, the angry teenage years, and beyond. She told me that she'd given me over to Jesus and just asked that He wouldn't let me get hurt beyond repair. It was the first time I'd heard her heart in that way.<br />
<i>And she told me how proud she is of who I've become.</i><br />
<br />
All of those years, I thought she didn't care. I thought the "cloud" she saw when I entered the room was a storm cloud. Maybe she did. But, now<i> I see</i> it was the cloud that was blocking me from being ME. It was a cloud of fear, doubt, anxiety, lies and anger. These things don't come from Jesus. They come from the enemy.<br />
<br />
Now that I'm <strike>all old and junk</strike> 37 I can see that God TRULY does work ALLLLLLL the things together for good. It may not feel like it now. It may look hopeless. You may be saving up so you have bail money when you need it or just praying to get through each day with your child. You may still be that child.<br />
<br />
I'm here to tell you... He saves.<br />
He saves you, he saves me.<br />
You call, He answers.<br />
And... oh yeah, He forgives.<br />
All of it.<br />
<br />
I'm living proof.<br />
<br />And I'm no longer a cloud.<br />
<br />
I was fought for all along. Not just when I realized I needed rescue, but before that too. Way back in the beginning. I was rescued and saved for a purpose. For a time such as this. I'm going to do something amazing someday... even if it's done in my every day... and at the end of that and in the middle of it too, I can say "all because of Jesus." <br />
<br />
So, I'm sharing with you the words that meant so much to me, still do.
The verses that bring me peace, that give me a sense of worth and value.<br />
<br />
Psalm 18: 1-19<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span class="reftext"></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I love you, <span class="name">Lord</span>, my strength.
</span></span></div>
<div class="stanza" style="text-align: left;">
<div class="line1">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The <span class="name">Lord</span> is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer;</span></span></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge,</span></span></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">my shield<span class="nivfootnote"></span>
and the horn<span class="nivfootnote"></span>
of my salvation, my stronghold.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="stanza" style="text-align: left;">
<div class="line1">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="reftext">I </span>called to the <span class="name">Lord</span>, who is worthy of praise,</span></span></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">and I have been saved from my enemies.</span></span></div>
<div class="line1">
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The cords of death entangled me;</span></span></b></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">the torrents of destruction overwhelmed me.</span></span></div>
<div class="line1">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The cords of the grave coiled around me;</span></span></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">the snares of death confronted me.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="stanza" style="text-align: left;">
<div class="line1">
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">In my distress I called to the <span class="name">Lord</span>;</span></span></b></div>
<div class="line2">
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I cried to my God for help.</span></span></b></div>
<div class="line1">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">From his temple<b> he heard my voice;</b></span></span></div>
<div class="line2">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">my cry came before him, into his ears.</span></span></i></div>
<div class="line1">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="reftext"></span>The earth trembled and quaked,</span></span></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">and the foundations of the mountains shook;</span></span></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">they trembled because he was angry.</span></span></div>
<div class="line1">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="reftext"></span>Smoke rose from his nostrils;</span></span></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">consuming fire came from his mouth,</span></span></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">burning coals blazed out of it.</span></span></div>
<div class="line1">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span class="reftext"></span>He parted the heavens and came down;</span></span></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">dark clouds were under his feet.</span></span></div>
<div class="line1">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">He mounted the cherubim and flew;</span></span></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">he soared on the wings of the wind.</span></span></div>
<div class="line1">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">He made darkness his covering, his canopy around him—</span></span></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">the dark rain clouds of the sky.</span></span></div>
<div class="line1">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Out of the brightness of his presence clouds advanced,</span></span></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">with hailstones and bolts of lightning.</span></span></div>
<div class="line1">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The <span class="name">Lord</span> thundered from heaven;</span></span></div>
<div class="line1">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">the voice of the Most High resounded. </span></span></div>
<div class="line1">
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">He shot his arrows and scattered the enemy,</span></span></b></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">with great bolts of lightning he routed them.</span></span></div>
<div class="line1">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The valleys of the sea were exposed</span></span></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">and the foundations of the earth laid bare</span></span></div>
<div class="line1">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">at your rebuke, <span class="name">Lord</span>,</span></span></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">at the blast of breath from your nostrils.</span></span></div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="stanza" style="text-align: left;">
<div class="line1">
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">He reached down from on high and took hold of me;</span></span></b></div>
<div class="line2">
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">he drew me out of deep waters.</span></span></b></div>
<div class="line1">
<b><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">He rescued me from my powerful enemy,</span></span></b></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">from my foes, who were too strong for me.</span></span></div>
<div class="line1">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">They confronted me in the day of my disaster,</span></span></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">but the <span class="name">Lord</span> was my support.</span></span></div>
<div class="line1">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">He brought me out into a spacious place;</span></span></div>
<div class="line2">
<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">he rescued me because he delighted in me!</span></i></span></b></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-31721014086681009172013-09-11T23:25:00.000-05:002013-09-11T23:25:08.801-05:00Where have you BEEN!??<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Oh, hi there!<br />
This may have been the single longest blogging hiatus in my humble blogging history.<br />
Sorry 'bout that!<br />
<br />
July... we had an extra baby friend visiting while my friends were in Lithuania bringing home their newest baby boy! He was with us for 18 days and was absolutely the most adorable distraction to everything else I probably should have been doing!<br />
<br />
Also in July we found a house to buy! As soon as my sweet baby friend's mommy and daddy came home we started packing and we moved August 2nd!<br />
<br />
The first two weeks of August were unpacking here and cleaning/painting/repairing at the other house to get it on the market, which happened mid-month, and then in testimony to the amount of hours spent cleaning/painting/repairing at the old house... we were under contract in 11 days! Woohoooo!<br />
<br />
Also noteworthy...<br />
We (hello, my name is "We") started homeschooling.<br />
(I'll give you a moment to <a href="http://paulandchrissy.blogspot.com/2012/08/things-id-like-to-say-to-homeschooling.html" target="_blank">address the irony of this while reminiscing over this post from last fall)</a><br />
HOWEVER, I still totally stand by what I said in the original post. And I saw some of that from the homeschooling mom pages I'm on when school started back. "All of these moms celebrating that their kids are going back to school today... it's so sad how happy they are to just send them away!" HARSH! And GEEEEZ... I was a twinge jealous of those cute Pinterest-y chalk board first-day-of-school photos! AND, this year I would have just two kiddos at home during the day. Those grocery carts that look like race cars seat two kids. See how easy that would be?? Yeah. I GET IT! But, right now, this is the season we are in.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfUY_qQqwBbfQC3e5VLmhIq2YWCPR9XkWFwp7zWjZruOvtLV8stvx1U5g1i9zPKx9T4FAOWTGFwxgEnQvsqKOdyhv9Z9Vcmh4r6FluFudiR3Gpi_gZUOkGF_CtFpSP330saWNz2XBMzjWq/s1600/IMG_0554.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfUY_qQqwBbfQC3e5VLmhIq2YWCPR9XkWFwp7zWjZruOvtLV8stvx1U5g1i9zPKx9T4FAOWTGFwxgEnQvsqKOdyhv9Z9Vcmh4r6FluFudiR3Gpi_gZUOkGF_CtFpSP330saWNz2XBMzjWq/s320/IMG_0554.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
And, truth be told, it's slightly fun.<br />
I may even be enjoying portions of this season.<br />
But don't tell anyone. <br />
...more on home school later.<br />
<br />
So...our new house! <br />
We bought 15 acres with a great house that was a foreclosure property... and with that got apple trees, blackberry bushes, walnut trees, a run-off pond, 14 Muscovy ducks and assorted critters that live in the woods! We also got mystery wiring, a few leaks, some drainage issues and vintage appliances!<br />
But it's awesome and we love it.<br />
We've already put up a tire swing and the trampoline, picked 150lbs of apples, gone shooting shotguns in the woods.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLPslTL-giMdAlVow2TLncaUCmVsWHJVADf23PRvRXpp7fg5TaNoXNpy8lE_7qYb4IP2tcf4Hgb3O8VmYSx1r7MrTSOKL4n_nbSCULmUiNChzdH0Xa-w2qPyjTSBh9hAqIdSMjXbPXtI8i/s1600/IMG_0351.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLPslTL-giMdAlVow2TLncaUCmVsWHJVADf23PRvRXpp7fg5TaNoXNpy8lE_7qYb4IP2tcf4Hgb3O8VmYSx1r7MrTSOKL4n_nbSCULmUiNChzdH0Xa-w2qPyjTSBh9hAqIdSMjXbPXtI8i/s320/IMG_0351.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">So, the baby duckling needed to be separated from the others.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">S'mores... yummmm</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoMylTiZSSxI04R1NA5wIKUjOFB0urH1ixMvFDdnH7I0ypamAdqvbqr64duC9BMtx5CQgEOWLe56Jyg960uPgyM6NRQltnaDQAZfqnMgQQ_4xefqVL7ljqR4rK6KOIZibWd2G-cRogr18O/s1600/IMG_0394.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoMylTiZSSxI04R1NA5wIKUjOFB0urH1ixMvFDdnH7I0ypamAdqvbqr64duC9BMtx5CQgEOWLe56Jyg960uPgyM6NRQltnaDQAZfqnMgQQ_4xefqVL7ljqR4rK6KOIZibWd2G-cRogr18O/s320/IMG_0394.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Giant hydrangeas by the front door</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZ0hBEEOwHW4zLiZm1ECJha8pu1PvKoWAay-VaJm9TIrDOz26ihjWiy3kc08ams0dhJRwpJKSJZG7xnWd4uVfiB9PgqS6kDLR3_HZQNKAgTRNx7h0Of8ssHhn3HcxRd5DPs1ynkYMylNI/s1600/IMG_0401.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZ0hBEEOwHW4zLiZm1ECJha8pu1PvKoWAay-VaJm9TIrDOz26ihjWiy3kc08ams0dhJRwpJKSJZG7xnWd4uVfiB9PgqS6kDLR3_HZQNKAgTRNx7h0Of8ssHhn3HcxRd5DPs1ynkYMylNI/s320/IMG_0401.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking in the backyard</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs56ry8vMRdqGwIf61-sI96tyFbHpdCh21ywuVglfTLFmvfQ36N3zEW8KIPQndCRVUYJKt_nsteJxzXVHJQrqf3eHTQxXp_5h8UDR_gHrL5MxcrxDmZLLoGdqqkQSnewekewT-iV7RHD2V/s1600/IMG_0437.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs56ry8vMRdqGwIf61-sI96tyFbHpdCh21ywuVglfTLFmvfQ36N3zEW8KIPQndCRVUYJKt_nsteJxzXVHJQrqf3eHTQxXp_5h8UDR_gHrL5MxcrxDmZLLoGdqqkQSnewekewT-iV7RHD2V/s320/IMG_0437.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Muscovy ducks</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKW2GnC3TEisPoFv_-uCRwISotdzZBwRzPqVmEEr5-t90nBHDk4D7aHkS8z8Ipf6WZfL1vBHoUuliZaIcb3QyNZNs_wakD5vffspnZU4SV_vRg1qSMogHnQSJAUWf4znE2ydCmzbV5TzVU/s1600/IMG_0519.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKW2GnC3TEisPoFv_-uCRwISotdzZBwRzPqVmEEr5-t90nBHDk4D7aHkS8z8Ipf6WZfL1vBHoUuliZaIcb3QyNZNs_wakD5vffspnZU4SV_vRg1qSMogHnQSJAUWf4znE2ydCmzbV5TzVU/s320/IMG_0519.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The kids found this cow bell and tag in the yard</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgak-51BcvremfQUAtiZX-0xlMcgXRt8nL_UE28_u2SKel6TZJvbQliKE668WhtYeXBNak479WBZ96ta57Oj5sirzfK_zX_N__gsGusyCLTd1sL1hQEysY9FbKWhrEDT0O-LDk79pzVSjgi/s1600/IMG_0681.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgak-51BcvremfQUAtiZX-0xlMcgXRt8nL_UE28_u2SKel6TZJvbQliKE668WhtYeXBNak479WBZ96ta57Oj5sirzfK_zX_N__gsGusyCLTd1sL1hQEysY9FbKWhrEDT0O-LDk79pzVSjgi/s320/IMG_0681.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bringing some crushed moving boxes to the fire pit</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpObNvTyooUIKzhBZ8QVgBq1XDy_vxFnGVKMwoDxFEyGYT81a_YqN4sorKvcx_2CzV9lHCdMx5yLoAr2-8-1hXomqNirQeKAYhgW0yaghNyb9VPU4taF8S7CYS_YOQ48UVgwI9F9sqjNhB/s1600/IMG_0682.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpObNvTyooUIKzhBZ8QVgBq1XDy_vxFnGVKMwoDxFEyGYT81a_YqN4sorKvcx_2CzV9lHCdMx5yLoAr2-8-1hXomqNirQeKAYhgW0yaghNyb9VPU4taF8S7CYS_YOQ48UVgwI9F9sqjNhB/s320/IMG_0682.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boys + fire</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhblqhf1ayzwL4r-VdYstUnPnEB_0Wg7reP2mvoBq2ZXga3ClPryAhhqQvueewHUPunyv63Zp1WCqDwGX-zn9ZQDmqa4PYyxSn6N7MjTSilrOd2wloJWHnPJzHt59jYo41Firt8TdbRIQQe/s1600/IMG_0689.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhblqhf1ayzwL4r-VdYstUnPnEB_0Wg7reP2mvoBq2ZXga3ClPryAhhqQvueewHUPunyv63Zp1WCqDwGX-zn9ZQDmqa4PYyxSn6N7MjTSilrOd2wloJWHnPJzHt59jYo41Firt8TdbRIQQe/s320/IMG_0689.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boys + mud</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ypxMnpAay9ypYkcPW5UTqGopJdLpBj9fTUkoXv8d4pkvW6ObFxFVO9_eWJJcXqGq_p-1Qjxd3vE6OWks_1SEPcRbYwzZe4Pjce-6GBhPkE2bLDYndIkT7t1mXBD-usBx7azo50uB4O_n/s1600/IMG_0698.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2ypxMnpAay9ypYkcPW5UTqGopJdLpBj9fTUkoXv8d4pkvW6ObFxFVO9_eWJJcXqGq_p-1Qjxd3vE6OWks_1SEPcRbYwzZe4Pjce-6GBhPkE2bLDYndIkT7t1mXBD-usBx7azo50uB4O_n/s320/IMG_0698.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boys love turtles</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjj1L_OYXd6W4H5QZD_nIkX66j5S2ek0UmApjGoppBESaZtwgIEVsO058jR31r3HvsxdSMVXn_svr1hC19kajJjLWjsVzgfonMQGAByooJxZWAPtBRErEpexodmOahUQCsRnwR5p4WMzA2/s1600/IMG_0732.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjj1L_OYXd6W4H5QZD_nIkX66j5S2ek0UmApjGoppBESaZtwgIEVsO058jR31r3HvsxdSMVXn_svr1hC19kajJjLWjsVzgfonMQGAByooJxZWAPtBRErEpexodmOahUQCsRnwR5p4WMzA2/s320/IMG_0732.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Applesauce!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
So... that's where I've been!<br />
More updates and topical stuff soon!<br />
-Chrissy</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-56432459328218939542013-06-03T00:48:00.001-05:002013-06-03T18:36:37.612-05:00Being a chef's wife<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My husband wished me a Happy Anniversary (on facebook...from out of town) by sharing this blog post <a href="http://chefandsteward.com/2012/05/25/marrying-a-chef-what-you-need-to-know-before-saying-i-do/" target="_blank">written by a chef on "what you need to know before marrying a chef".</a><br />
<br />
While I can definitely identify with a lot of what the chef/author said, there's quite a few benefits to being married to a chef that I'd like to point out... on our anniversary! (I love you, honey!)<br />
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Two words: Burre Blanc. </li>
</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>No one else has three compartments in the fridge dedicated to strange looking jars of sauces "just in case the mood strikes" and someone really wants (for example) Vietnamese food tonight.Neighbor calls asking for hoisin sauce? Why of course! Black sesame seeds? Done.</li>
</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Him: "What are you in the mood to have for dinner?" Me: "Pteradactyl! Make it happen!" Him: "Second choice?" Me: "Something that I want." .......And every single time this happens- it's always exactly what I didn't know that I wanted. </li>
</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li> It's a major benefit to have someone around who can dice an onion in like 3 seconds...and doesn't mind doing it. </li>
</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>I can text or call when he's at work to ask super important stuff like "does millet have gluten?" (no) or "how many minutes on these boiled eggs?" and he always has the answer. Faster than google. (okay, maybe not faster than google... but more reliable than clicking through results.)</li>
</ul>
<br />
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>He's used to cooking for a bazillion people so he has taught me how to think more like a chef in cooking large quantities of things. I was still buying the little cans of tuna until he showed me where they have the giant ones! He also was the first to buy the 40lb bag of brown rice and convinced me to buy fruit by the case from our local co-op. </li>
</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>Yes, sometimes my favorite nutmeg grater disappears when he's doing a competition somewhere... but we do have more kitchen gadgets than a small gourmet shop. I have 4 sizes of ice cream scoops, two types of microplanes, multiple cheese slicers, spatulas in every size and material... and a lot of things I don't know how to use.</li>
</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>When he complements my dinner, it's a REAL complement! He's got a dozen initials after his name, judges other professionals, certifies new chefs... and so when he sincerely tells me something I made is really good, those are the complements that really matter!</li>
</ul>
<ul style="text-align: left;">
<li>He may see no problem with the super expensive cheese or dry-aged-for-longer-than-makes-sense-to-my-brain cut of beef... but he can also take a few leftover chicken thighs, some random condiments and whatever is in the pantry and make lunch for all the kids with some kind of leftovers to put in the freezer for another night. I see "we have nothing to eat here..." he sees "Mystery Basket!" </li>
</ul>
So, yes... being married to a chef means lots of nights alone, permanent markers in the washing machine, criticism on how you store items in the fridge, no offers from friends to come over for dinner, and being given bites of food and told "just taste it... don't worry about what it is"....<br />
but they are passionate, artistic, creative and driven. They see solutions. They can tell sole from flounder, fresh from frozen and point out menu errors for sport. They tell great war stories about a super busy night, that lady who ordered the well-done filet, or the myth of the 40-hour work week, and wake up saying "I just dreamed my next menu item!"<br />
<br />
I've been blessed to be married to an amazing man who happens to be not only an awesome husband, friend and father to a dozen kids who think he hung the moon... but he's also a chef, and a really good one, and I'm very thankful that he chose me!<br />
<br />
Happy Anniversary, sweetheart! I love you!<br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-1886443778782953402013-04-16T10:05:00.000-05:002013-04-16T10:13:04.883-05:00The magic of the one-year mark<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
If you adopt a child you'll hear "just wait until it's been a year..." or "you won't really find your new 'normal' until one year at home" or "all of this stuff will be a distant memory once you hit the one-year mark."<br />
<br />
Oh, the hype.<br />
<br />
Let me clear something up for you, sweet unsuspecting momma.<br />
<br />
There is nothing magical about hitting that circled date on the calendar except that you survived and everyone survived along with you.<br />
<br />
At the one-year point your child (consciously or not) may remember the year before, the trauma that happened, the loss... and grieve again.<br />
<br />
At the one-year point you may be disappointed in your level of attachment. Them to you, or you to them.<br />
<br />
At the one-year point you may be still struggling with lies, sneakiness, language barriers, trust issues and resentments.<br />
<br />
At the one-year point you may still be grieving the life you had before.<br />
<br />
At the one-year point you may believe the lie that "this is as good as it will ever get between us"... and it may be your marriage you're talking about.<br />
<br />
At the one-year point you may be struggling more than you were at the one-month point and feel like a failure.<br />
<br />
At the one-year point you may still be "one day at a time" surviving.<br />
<br />
And it's okay.<br />
It IS normal.<br />
It will get better.<br />
It may not ever look like you thought it would... but it can be beautiful in a different way. <br />
This is not the end of the story. The story isn't over until the day you meet Jesus. <br />
<br />
It's called being a parent. Parenting is sacrifice. Not in the "ohhh look what awesome people we are for our huuuuge sacrifice" sort of way, but in the daily "this sucks but I'm doing it anyway because I know what's right" kind of way. Every time you respond with patience and kindness when every fiber of your being wants to snap and look like a guest on Maury Povich... you've sacrificed. You've grown a tiny bit and you're becoming better. Every time you look up, give your full attention and don't send the child away but listen to the story about the pretzel that looked like an A or a V depending on the way you turn it... you've made progress. You're getting there. You're doing it. Bit by bit. Day by day. Moment by moment. And you're succeeding!<br />
<br />
It's been one year since we brought our 5 home and yes, there are still struggles! Yes, we love our family! Yes, I still snap and freak out when someone uses the wrong verb then makes it plural. Yes, I fail and toss and turn at night thinking about how my children will only ever remember me losing my junk over the 15th spilled drink of the night or the time I wore noise-cancelling headphones while eating dinner because they could NOT for the sake of their lives and mine use their inside voices.<br />
<br />
But then I have little successes:<br />
a boy comes all the way back inside to give me a hug before school because he forgot;<br />
<br />
one tells a sister to 'go get mom to help you' instead of being the parent this time;<br />
"Mom! Did you see me?!" and I did.<br />
<br />
And I realize... we're doing it.<br />
<br />
It may not be magical at the one-year point... but I'm here to tell you that the 2 year mark is coming. Then the 3-year. Then the point will someday come when your child has been in your family more than they ever weren't... and THAT is magical.<br />
No, that's redemption.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-9283304442195891322013-03-27T00:30:00.000-05:002013-03-27T00:30:02.229-05:00When you're 15<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
My very first little girl is 15 today!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It doesn't quite seem possible...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
seeing as how there's <i>no way </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'm old enough to have two teenagers..!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(humor me)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Dear sweet daughter,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I thought about what to write for your birthday. I thought about being all sappy and sentimental.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I thought about reminiscing about all the birthdays before today. I thought about telling the world some of the funny things you've done/said/written. I thought about just posting that picture of you covered in mud from Sunday. (I reserve the right to post it here further down the page.)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Ultimately, I decided that I'd like to share with you the things I hope for your future.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A Mommy's Fifteen Wishes for her Baby Girl on her Fifteenth Birthday!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /><div style="text-align: left;">
1. <i>Friends.</i> I hope you have a couple of good friends. The kind that call you out on things that aren't right, support you when the whole world tells you "you can't", cry with you and make you laugh and spit liquids out of your nose. </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
2. <i>Selective Hearing</i>. I wish I could sit on your shoulder and whisper in your ear every time someone says something unkind, untrue, unwholesome or hurtful. I would whisper truths - you are good, you are kind, you are beautiful, you are worthy, you are wonderful. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>3. Childhood.</i> I wish for you to slow things down, enjoy the simple things, enjoy being a kid a little while longer. Twirl in your dresses, sit in your blanket fort and color, sleep with your blankie. These things go by so fast but they don't have to be gone just yet. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
4. <i>Silliness</i>. You have such a great sense of humor... don't ever lose that! The hardest things in life are lightened up with laughter! Spend some time being silly, practice laughing at yourself, and don't take life too seriously. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
5. <i>Safety.</i> Listen to the still, small voice in your spirit... the one that tells you to freeze right where you are, or leave right away. Trust it. Obey it. And keep your phone in your purse in the back seat when you finally get to drive a car. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
6. <i>Direction</i>. Like a compass that always points north, I wish for you a lifetime spent seeking after the heart of Jesus. Let Him be your North and all of the decisions you need to make will be easier because you know which way you are heading. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
7. <i>Comfort.</i> I wish for you to be comfortable in your own skin and comfortable with who you are. You are beautiful. Your heart is kind. You are fearfully and wonderfully made.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
8. <i>Smile. </i>You have such a beautiful smile! I hope you can be the type of young adult who has a happy heart and brings joy to those around you (and skip the moody/brooding/dark/emo years. Please.)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
9. <i>Clarity.</i> I hope you see through the fog of this world and are able to simply see the right way to go. I pray you don't get bogged down sifting through the shiny new offerings the world wants to distract you with, and that you can always tell the fools gold from the real thing. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
10. <i>Modesty</i>. I know it's hard in our society... but I wish for you to value yourself and your future husband so much that you dress the way you'd want other women to dress around him. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
11. <i>Independence.</i> I hope you grow up to be the type of woman who can change her flat tire AND make homemade bread with dinner. A woman who can install a ceiling fan AND walk in heels. Not that you "don't need a man" but that your need for him is more than just what he can do around the house.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
12. <i>Travel</i>. Go - see stuff! Swim with dolphins, climb mountains, hike trails, feed the hungry, bandage the wounded, pray with the oppressed... then come home. Because I'd miss you if you were gone for very long. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
13.<i> Siblings. </i>Yeah, you figured I'd throw this in... but I wish for you to have a great relationship with them (yes, all of them... even the teen boy and pre-teen girl). You have an amazing gift in having so many brothers and sisters. You will always have family. You will always have nieces and nephews. You will be someone's favorite Aunt. You will always have a place to go for holidays and you will always have someone who is willing to drive to wherever you are just to sit with you when you're facing something hard. Don't squander your gift.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
14. <i>Saving.</i> Save money for a rainy day, save notes, save journals, save ticket stubs and mementos. Save time for what's important, save your wisdom for those who ask for it, save your love for the one who deserves it.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
15. <i>Love.</i> Oh, yes, baby girl... I wish for you to find love some day. But right now, fall in love with the One who IS Love. Let Him show you what it is to be loved and what love should look like. Don't fall for the lies of this world, for the infatuations and the crushes. Wait and see... wait and be sure... because I've been praying for the one man God has for you for your someday! I've been praying for him since you were a baby. He's going to be something special. He will be patient and kind, strong and sincere, romantic and smart, wise and discerning. He will be enthralled with your beauty and you will be his treasure. Dad and I - we want only who is right for you. Trust us in this. We love you too much to trust you to anyone but the one God has in store for you.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So, sweet baby girl... this is my list of hopes, dreams, wishes and prayers for you on your 15th birthday! I'm so proud of you you are, who you are becoming, and who you hope to someday be. You are amazing. You are lovely. You are my treasure and I'm so thankful you are mine!</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Happy Birthday! </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Love,</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Mom</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-80608239866848258002013-03-20T13:36:00.003-05:002013-04-16T10:10:31.336-05:00Women of Planks<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This is one that's been rolling around in my head for quite some time now.<br />
<br />
I've noticed that online, in print, and on social media outlets people have lost all decorum and sense of self-control. They no longer think about who they hurt with their words and instead just go all-out vigilante on whoever they think is doing wrong in the world at the moment.<br />
<br />
The one that really got to me recently was a series of posts by a friend who is a pro-life activist in her area.<br />
<br />
Now, before you start heading for the "x" button to get the heck out of this blog post ASAP... hear me out.<br />
<br />
I'm pro-adoption, pro-babies, pro-mommies, pro-people.<br />
I'm pro-making good choices and I'm pro-marriage. I'm pro-waiting. I'm pro-choosing what's best for another even if it hurts you personally. I'm pro-loving people who don't think like me. I'm pro-Jesus and I think he's anti-hate.<br />
<br />
When I scrolled through some pictures from a church event at a pro-life rally recently I noticed SO much hate. So much looking-down-our-noses at those who would/are/did choose abortion. I saw fear and hate and guilt and disgust and pride and ickyness. I saw the clear absence of Jesus. I saw name-calling and condescending terminology. I saw Christians acting like Pharisees. I saw Godly women with plank-filled eyeballs calling out others' sins in disgust. I wanted to puke. Then sob in a corner.<br />
Because, people... <b>this is NOT what Jesus would do.</b> I've yet to find one reference in scripture to Jesus blasting someone's sins with hate mail or wearing an outer-garment emblazoned with "babies>murder". I've yet to find him not reaching down to touch the hand of the broken, healing the wounded, and comforting the mourning soul. I've yet to find him preaching via sign-on-a-stick.<br />
<br />
The pro-lifer's call it "going to march at the abortuary" or "murder office"... pro-choicer's call the pro-lifers "forced birthers" and say they "seethe with hatred and disgust while preaching about God's laws".<br />
<br />
Am I saying don't be active with causes you feel strongly about? Absolutely not.<br />
What I AM saying...<br />
<br />
Choose life, yes. But choose LOVE in how you speak.<br />
Choose to help, not to hurt.<br />
Choose to support, not to shame.<br />
Choose to love, not to hate.<br />
Choose to empower, not to fear.<br />
Speak kindness and love and compassion over those who are fearful.<br />
Speak kindness and love and compassion over those who are ashamed.<br />
Speak kindness and love and compassion over those who feel stuck.<br />
<br />
And put down your freaking signs.<br />
They are disgusting.<br />
<br />
If you MUST carry a sign, carry a sign that simply says "Please, don't."<br />
Carry a sign that says "I'll help."<br />
Carry a sign that says "Signs hurt, Jesus heals."<br />
And then carry plentiful hugs, smiles, compassion and tears.<br />
Consider their sins no worse than your own.<br />
Consider if this was your daughter, or sister, or neighbor or best friend.<br />
Consider your greatest failures on display for all to see... then trying to hide from the fear and shame...<br />
but instead you are doubly shamed by those who were commissioned to love you.<br />
<br />
Shame on us for ever looking down on another in disgust.<br />
Shame on us for using our "christianity" to bring condemnation on another.<br />
<br />
*EDITED TO SAY**<br />
Thank you sweet friends who are concerned about my stance on abortion. I'm pro-life, but pro-ALL-life. I think that with as much passion as we have for the unborn, we should love the already-born. I think pro-lifers should be pro-adoption. They should be pro-teen mothers and pro-incarcerated mothers and pro-homeless mothers. We should love others the way we've been loved. And if love is the ultimate way we can BE Jesus... we should love that way and I don't think that way includes being hateful. Yes, pray. Yes, discussions in love. Yes, march on Washington. NO hateful, shameful, angry signs written to the women visiting the clinic.<br />
I hope that clears up my position. :)</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-38844968801073103262013-02-22T13:57:00.003-06:002013-02-22T13:57:34.989-06:0020 things I've learned<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I realize it's been awhile since I've blogged anything.<br />
It's not for lack of activity... I just feel like anything I have to say goes like this:<br />
"Hi there! Well... things are busy... mostly good... it's winter... I'm tired of cold...the end."<br />
<br />
So... I decided instead of 2 months of posts like THAT, I'd share with you some things I've learned over the past many weeks of radio silence.<br />
<br />
I present to you: "<br />
20 Things Chrissy has learned and feels the need to pass on to you, unsuspecting blog readers!"<br />
<br />
1. The 6' tall shelf in the pantry is no match for a 4 year old in footsie pajamas who REALLY wants Girl Scout Thin Mints at 5:45am.<br />
<br />
2. A 4 year old who is startled at 5:45am while eating stolen cookies will not drop the bag of cookies, but will drool chocolate while formulating an excuse.<br />
<br />
3. The inner cardboard tube does not go down the toilet. Ever. Just put on gloves and pull it out. Long gloves.<br />
<br />
4. You don't want to know what the sticky thing is on your sock. Just pull them off and throw into the washing machine.<br />
<br />
5. Birthday cake for breakfast is totally acceptable. Just do it. It's no worse than donuts or Cap'n Crunch - no offense, Cap'n. <br />
<br />
6. There is no vacuum in the world that is a match for 12 kids and a Great Pyrenees. A shop vac with an extension cord is your friend.<br />
<br />
7. Noise cancelling headphones are also your friend.<br />
<br />
8. Drink lots of water. Migraine-free for 15 days on 80oz a day! Woot!<br />
<br />
9. If you spend 2 hours making homemade soft pretzels 5 of your children will think they are toxic. Actually 7 will... but two will see the reaction the 5 caused and decide to quietly choke it down anyway.<br />
<br />
10. The amount of time spent doing a new hairstyle is directly proportionate to the difficulty your daughters will have locating their elusive sleep hats. You will threaten to wrap their heads in underwear. Take deep breaths.<br />
<br />
11. 2100 square feet is not quite enough for 14 people and a giant dog. Well, the people can fit... it's all of their stuff. Not my stuff. My stuff is awesome.<br />
<br />
12. If you plan to relax with a cup of hot something and read a book for an hour during nap time it WILL be the day your children act as though your quesadillas contained ephedrine.<br />
<br />
13. Chalkboard paint + red sidewalk chalk = no bueno (in keeping with the quesadilla theme). Let's all ban together to outlaw Red Dye #40. And all other red dye too. I hear you can use beet dye to make Red Velvet cake. If this is true, I'm starting that petition.<br />
<br />
14. The Care Bear Stare does not work on a sink full of dishes. It's not moving. Stubborn.<br />
<br />
15. A coughing child is pitiful. Two coughing children grate on your nerves. 4-6 coughing children drive you to noise-cancelling headphones and googling "world's strongest cough suppressant" even though three of your kids are allergic to dextromethorphan. Yes, I spelled that without looking it up. (and just so you know... the general consensus is that the world's strongest stuff tastes like "melting down a Vicks mentholated cough drop, steeping a bunch of pine needles in it and then sprinkling in some ground-up moth balls for seasoning." I'm totally getting some.)<br />
<br />
16. Your straight-A earning, honor-roll making, AP class taking daughter who has missed 13 days of school without getting a doctor's note will not be granted any special exceptions to the "over 10 absences" rule and will have unexcused absences listed. You will not care because she's a straight-A earning, honor-roll making, AP class taking sweetheart of a girl who was legitimately sick but didn't go to the doctor because who wants to pay $40 to hear "rest and fluids... it's a virus"? Certainly not you. Or me.<br />
<br />
17. As much as you don't like to play the "give me a freaking break. I have 12 kids." card, the day you email the wrong info to the wrong person about the wrong children, then send in the wrong field trip permission trip form with the wrong kid, then forget a doctor's appointment and realize you never made a follow-up ortho appointment... you can play that card and play it you shall. Get a t-shirt made. Order business cards. Or make them yourself out of empty toilet paper tubes and red sidewalk chalk - that would be more effective anyway. And pat yourself on the back when you go to bed knowing you kept everyone alive for another day - even if you didn't once call a child by their actual name on the first try. There's always tomorrow. Or the day after that. And accuracy stifles creativity. Go with it.<br />
<br />
18. Do not try to do yourself any favors and get the sugar-free or lite version of any coffee at Starbucks. You will hate it and it won't be the same. Get a small instead and enjoy it. Sheesh.<br />
<br />
19. Small children yelling from the back seat - even in a giant 15-passenger van - CAN and WILL be heard at the drive-thru yelling "CAKE STICK!! CAKE STICK!!" Assure the drive-thru operator that they are not cake-stick deprived and no, you don't wish to crawl through the van trying to find the rogue cake ball to stop the shrieking of one very small 4 year old with ZERO cake-stick coordination.<br />
<br />
20. Never underestimate the power of a well-timed Disney movie. DVR shows and don't allow them to be viewed until juuuuuuuust the right time that you need it... then WHAM! Instant TV-trance and you have a few moments of peace! Win-win.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-31120613994309118262013-01-07T08:43:00.000-06:002013-01-07T08:43:02.504-06:00Melkam Genna, a year later<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A year ago this morning in Addis Ababa, I anxiously awaited a driver named Binyam (who ran on Ethiopian time) to arrive at the guest house to drive me and the other parents who had arrived in Ethiopia before me over to the orphanage to meet my children!<br />
<br />
I had consumed multiple cups of super strong coffee, forced down some eggs with shells mixed in for good measure, chatted with the families I had only previously met through emails, and kept glancing out the door like a crazy person.<br />
<br />
Finally, he arrived, I ran around announcing to the other families that he was here and it was time to GO!<br />
<br />
The long, bumpy ride through the streets of Addis seemed to take forever. It was a familiar ride - horns beeping, goats and cows interweaving with people on the sidewalks, children in tattered and torn clothing, mothers begging at cracked open car windows, buses crammed so full of people I started suffocating just looking. Finally, one of the other mommies said "this is the street" and I felt my heart rate triple instantly. I fumbled with my cameras, asked others to take photos, mumbled something about not photographing my hindquarters, wiped sweaty palms on my jeans and grabbed the seat in front of me as we hit every pot hole down the alley to the gate. The van stopped with a jerk and the driver turned off the engine. Immediately little hands and toes appeared at the gate as children were shouting that someone was here.<br />
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<br />
I was so incredibly nervous.<br />
<br />
Would I recognize them from their photos? Would they know me? Would they run away? Would they even like me? Would they be afraid of me or turn into show-offs? Would I like them?<br />
<br />
As we piled out of the van and fumbled towards the gate, I remember thinking this was lacking any sort of pomp and circumstance. I'm about to meet my children! Where is the ceremony? Where is the parade? Life just goes on all around us like the entire world isn't aware of how this meshing of two worlds is about to change the lives of 14 people forever!! Don't they care? Shouldn't there be a moment of silence and some sort of... something?? This is EPIC, people!! Somebody make an announcement or stack up some rocks as a monument to this moment!<br />
<br />
Then the gate creaked open on it's rusty metal hinges in that sound that normally races up my spine like a horror film sound track... but I barely noticed. I was scanning the sea of faces looking for the ones that belong to me.<br />
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<br />
I saw her. The baby of the five... looking up at me with those big eyes that we now joke would allow her to get away with anything. She looked nervous, so I smiled and walked inside the gate. I recognized them immediately, even mingled in with the other children. In my head, I was matching names with faces and trying to absorb everything my senses were picking up.<br />
<br />
In this 15 seconds of elapsed time, suddenly I realized I was standing within the same 4 walls as the children I'd been dreaming and praying about for the past 5 months and I reached down and scooped up that baby girl and squeezed her tight.<br />
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She giggled, hugged me back and started inspecting my necklace, sunglasses, ponytail and face. The other four were right behind her, clamoring for hugs and inspecting this white lady from their photo albums. There was this somewhat awkward moment when we were all just looking at each other and across the lines of two languages there was an understood emotion of "It's really YOU!" in the air. <br />
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Photos were taken, videos were rolling, and I think the only word I was able to say was "Wow..." for about 5 minutes.<br />
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This day was incredible to say the least. It also happened to be Genna - Christmas in Ethiopia where they follow the Julian calendar. We played and hugged some more, saw everything there was to see that they wanted to show me, and then had a Christmas feast together complete with goat, lots of things I couldn't identify, lots of injera and lots of coffee. The kids drank soda and I attempted to choke down a tiny glass of honey wine out of respect.<br />
<br />
I don't remember much of the rest of this day except for an overwhelming sense of peace - I had met them, they were wonderful! Any fears I had previously had about adopting older kids, older boys, a large group of children all at once, or anything else I'd imagined or read about online... were gone. <br />
<br />
Melkam Genna, Ethiopia. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-15582849474245307712013-01-06T00:16:00.003-06:002013-01-06T00:16:56.519-06:00Blessings of Christmas<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
December blew me away.<br />
I've talked before about how the Lord<u> always</u> provides for our family...but I need to share about the past month.<br />
<br />
The first blessing of Christmas occurred just after we returned from Thanksgiving with Paul's parents in NY.<br />
We were just running low. Low on gas, low on groceries, low on cash and low in spirit. It was just one of those times...more bills and unexpected stuff on top of an already tight budget and we were waiting on payday. It was no fun.<br />
I just prayed <b><i>"Lord...what's going on?! I feel forgotten right now."</i></b><br />
I got a call from a friend who asked if I was home. Frankly, I had no desire to see anyone... I was just in a funk. I had a headache (and a side of pity party) and I almost said for her to please come any other time... but that nagging voice in my head said to tell her to come now. Well, she showed up with 3 cases of leftover cans, boxes, bags and turkeys from some local holiday meal thing! Suddenly I was standing in the kitchen filling up the pantry and planning meals.<br />
<br />
Christmas continued to amaze us when church friends started leaving anonymous cards with cash or gift cards, cards came in the mail with grocery cards and Target cards and people were dropping envelopes in my purse at church!<br />
One life group from our church collected money to bless a family with and they picked US! The same friend who brought the food over that day called to see if I would be home for another delivery... so you can imagine my surprise when it wasn't her carrying a turkey, but the sweetest couple at my door with a small box! That little box contained MULTIPLE gift cards so that we could go shopping for food or gifts or whatever we needed!<br />
I cried. Big huge tears. It was simply amazing! Christmas shopping was suddenly less stressful, and every time I used money from one of those gift cards I was just so grateful to those sweet families who blessed us in this way. <br />
<br />
A sweet friend of mine called me one evening to tell me she had received a strange phone call... someone who said they got her number from a mutual friend and wanted her to contact us and be sure someone would be here at a certain time so that they could make a delivery. Not sure what to make of that (and having watched a few too many episodes of NCIS and CSI) I wasn't sure if we SHOULD be here at that time... but considering I was more curious than fearful of certain death... we waited for the mystery to arrive! Somehow the local <a href="http://www.aaa.com/" target="_blank">AAA (yes the auto club)</a> had heard about our family and their office chose us to shower with gifts! They showed up with two cars - both trunks full of wrapped gifts addressed to each of our kids by name - and some for Mom and Dad, too! It was SUCH a shock! The kids all enjoyed the gifts they received, but nothing was as incredible as MY gift (well, it said "family"...) a new 6qt KitchenAid mixer!! My 17-yr old mixer had died earlier this fall! I was so surprised and I have already tested it out on a quadruple batch of muffins and some biscotti! I have NO idea how they got our name, or how they knew that I had been drooling over this mixer for months now... but that was such an amazing gift and something that will be used VERY often! <br />
<br />
Another day a local family contacted my husband and said that they had hoped to bring us a meal back when we were first home with the 5, but our meal calendar was filling up and they wondered if that night might work well! What they didn't know is that he had just left town, things were CAH-RAZY around here with school and stuff, and that meal could NOT have had better timing. They brought pizza, salad, cookies and apples AND a gluten-free pizza for me. They also gave us a card with an additional gift inside to use later. <br />
<br />
After Christmas, we were heading up to Pennsylvania to visit with some of our closest friends (Paul had work in the town where we previously lived, so we made it into a family trip!) and after driving through the night and being completely exhausted, we decided to stop at a Cracker Barrel for breakfast. We had to wait for a table (something about there being 14 of us? hahaha!) for a bit, but everyone handled the wait very well by playing with the toys in the store area. We sat down, ordered our food, spilled cups of water everywhere three separate times... but three separate people came over to complement us on how well-behaved our children were. When you stand out like we do, those are the absolute sweetest compliments anyone could give! One kind older gentleman walked over to our table, asked if these children all belonged to us and when we said yes, told us how blessed we are and said to Paul "Santa told me to give this to you... Merry Christmas" and handed him money... enough to pay for breakfast!<br />
<br />
Twice in December someone dropped off clothes on our porch.<br />
<br />
One of my daughters' Sunday School teacher cleaned out her toy room and brought over a ton of Rescue Heroes (which have become an instant favorite), a basketball hoop and some other toys! I was going to save the Rescue Heroes for Christmas, but they saved the day when we had a full day of rain and all these kids stuck inside!<br />
<br />
A very close friend received an amazing gift, one that restored her heart from brokenness, and I got to count down the minutes with her and watch it unfold. (sorry to be vague...but it's her story to tell)<br />
<br />
A friend "got an AMAZING deal" on a Keurig machine... which she gave to me... because she knows I bleed dark roast arabica.<br />
<br />
Another friend handed us cash for the car trip home...because she knew it would help. It bought lunch! <br />
<br />
Finally, but certainly the top of my list...<br />
watching my children experience Christmas - several of them for the first time. The joy on their faces and the pure excitement and honest appreciation for every single gift is something that words don't every accurately depict. It was wonderful.<br />
<br />
The blessings lavished upon all of humanity in the gift of Jesus, blessings lavished upon my children through the generosity of others... all a picture of that kind of love that gives with no expectation of return, just to bless the recipient.<br />
<br />
If you're reading and you were a part of any of this...<br />
please know how much we appreciate everything. This past month I've felt the presence of the Lord in these gifts, and I've heard him say with each thoughtful gesture from friends and strangers...<br />
<b><i>"You are never forgotten."</i></b><br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-31159202962449812222012-11-28T20:01:00.003-06:002012-11-28T20:09:10.343-06:00Laundry Logistics <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I remember it well.<br />
We brought home our <i>third baby</i> and the laundry seemed to quadruple overnight.<br />
<br />
I was so naive.<br />
<br />
Enter the fourth, fifth-seventh, and eighth- twelfth children and...<br />
well...<br />
the laundry fiasco consumes my life.<br />
<br />
Kids pile clothes in gender-specific baskets by the washer and dryer, teens not included (they do their own laundry). I wash clothes multiple times per day, dry, take them out of the dryer and put into a basket to be folded. Lots of times I bring the baskets to the living room and declare it a "folding party" and get all the kids to help fold clothes really quickly, which means I find girls jeans in the boys piles and boys pajamas mixed into the pink silky stuff. These piles get sorted by bedroom and I either put them away myself or delegate that to the kids, which results in multiple mornings of "moooommmmm.... I can't find jeannnnnssssss!!" when I know they are clean, but not put away correctly. <b><i>This part makes me insane.</i></b> When you have 3 boys in a 8-10 and they share a closet, you'd think it would be easier to find ONE pair of jeans that fit one of them. You would be wrong.<br />
<br />
So... one day, I had asked the kids to clean their play room ONE TOO MANY TIMES which resulted in a version of "clean" that looked like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVi8Jd2ImyOlkuKzMvMSAQjwkwlqdUeqgJIDeeLIC8xK8cGwQVk3tdxspNTIFOz634li-B7xnGqInJu7P4BCV56uf4rKwlfOEyTyySuoVVnakQtADEev83f5k2B2se5rGUZLfU68gqb6r2/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+086.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVi8Jd2ImyOlkuKzMvMSAQjwkwlqdUeqgJIDeeLIC8xK8cGwQVk3tdxspNTIFOz634li-B7xnGqInJu7P4BCV56uf4rKwlfOEyTyySuoVVnakQtADEev83f5k2B2se5rGUZLfU68gqb6r2/s400/from+iPhone+November+2012+086.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV2SuWJOhJjkM0rWM3KiW16BCEK8G0379o7Qu6DSUgmWdET3ZHaeUghuNeD7a1nRJtSo9ITC4itfvxLfrsqfUt3ILNzz_Qh0v5MjbYreYtSnY0325M4SMleqZ4exHc4C08DjhATaHWn1Vz/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV2SuWJOhJjkM0rWM3KiW16BCEK8G0379o7Qu6DSUgmWdET3ZHaeUghuNeD7a1nRJtSo9ITC4itfvxLfrsqfUt3ILNzz_Qh0v5MjbYreYtSnY0325M4SMleqZ4exHc4C08DjhATaHWn1Vz/s400/from+iPhone+November+2012+088.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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Clearly not okay.</div>
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I mean, I'm not the most organized person on the planet... (dear husband: stop laughing.)</div>
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but I had organized bins and labeled containers for everything to get put away in the right place. </div>
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I had made this easy on them - they CHOOSE to be lazy and not do it the right way.</div>
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So... I did what any logical, calm, thinking person would do.</div>
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I totally flipped out and pulled EVERYLASTSINGLESTINKINGTOY out of the playroom into the entry and started bagging them up like garbage.</div>
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Uh huh. I do that too. Oh, you thought it was just you? Nope. I have the patent on freaking-out-mommy-ism.</div>
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Then I decided I was repossessing this room. They can't have it and not take care of it... space is at a MAJOR premium in this house and I'm not dealing with THAT kind of mess on the main level, right by the front door. Nope. Done.</div>
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So I went around and assessed the clothing situation. </div>
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Again, for your viewing pleasure...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiohRLyWzp2w9qVxStDpj9x86UdVKGvhq8exeR_CPWM7lq86DDr5sTO-ciJ11W_Q6rYoBnG3QN_m3wPy2Ly8UGKKQictNgMfMHgDTZvkADzkF0i5-ZJ3pePE0nldqC_UI6a8VKwRSBJuP4Q/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+091.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiohRLyWzp2w9qVxStDpj9x86UdVKGvhq8exeR_CPWM7lq86DDr5sTO-ciJ11W_Q6rYoBnG3QN_m3wPy2Ly8UGKKQictNgMfMHgDTZvkADzkF0i5-ZJ3pePE0nldqC_UI6a8VKwRSBJuP4Q/s320/from+iPhone+November+2012+091.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqvU6TPn0FXncqRsmswEz_8M2Qdb4PlEcK2C2yQZnSwuYmmkQc9crYKlXF_11sWCcC2AViE0fIR_zcVbPrnXJMxv6n4xbG93D_xkPzJ7gWognEPdnrOR9hGl5Mla3ocx9YVfokdacVz4R/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqvU6TPn0FXncqRsmswEz_8M2Qdb4PlEcK2C2yQZnSwuYmmkQc9crYKlXF_11sWCcC2AViE0fIR_zcVbPrnXJMxv6n4xbG93D_xkPzJ7gWognEPdnrOR9hGl5Mla3ocx9YVfokdacVz4R/s320/from+iPhone+November+2012+100.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiwWc_N5TDBiLK6cYh8INGdkFH-TU49Mpm7Vl94zMQqplbNNiVQt1Db1FS5_ohNXpka98l5AsQx2Cpdeu8dgp3MW7lpSa75xIcIJ96ILL95gcwLbF6a1ek7Xkrf0ouWPobZwRHu66xzipT/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiwWc_N5TDBiLK6cYh8INGdkFH-TU49Mpm7Vl94zMQqplbNNiVQt1Db1FS5_ohNXpka98l5AsQx2Cpdeu8dgp3MW7lpSa75xIcIJ96ILL95gcwLbF6a1ek7Xkrf0ouWPobZwRHu66xzipT/s320/from+iPhone+November+2012+093.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGgDnQqH_R0mra-LZv6uovQkgfHjpvj_2ZAscVIH0BxOTEYCIdjsdUHFn-Sj8DoypSGRzzt2n7muMP-C5q_9GPybrcoJvBzQjresS0H3-U0-zAECwloMArPjG51EGSLF5PZSNikYgOt-P-/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGgDnQqH_R0mra-LZv6uovQkgfHjpvj_2ZAscVIH0BxOTEYCIdjsdUHFn-Sj8DoypSGRzzt2n7muMP-C5q_9GPybrcoJvBzQjresS0H3-U0-zAECwloMArPjG51EGSLF5PZSNikYgOt-P-/s320/from+iPhone+November+2012+098.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil8pInyOumPFVUtRYZQdsDzzjqYPrr25R9L5gy0PrHRcKdDjp8klL2b6Lu52ixiSTPSFDpX_XAVEjgTFgxlGyP_i7ehRzjS2zXAUxs-v-w-fhcqfhGkh_5wTM9CCuOLLltnGddPPv_OEFG/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil8pInyOumPFVUtRYZQdsDzzjqYPrr25R9L5gy0PrHRcKdDjp8klL2b6Lu52ixiSTPSFDpX_XAVEjgTFgxlGyP_i7ehRzjS2zXAUxs-v-w-fhcqfhGkh_5wTM9CCuOLLltnGddPPv_OEFG/s320/from+iPhone+November+2012+096.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNswDDCeG4w1CkxQMWDv_AEnY7-MIOsrBN_ha8ecsc2lWkBAX95ulBppCVGlyzrRFMVyqGhfxJ0DNeQC69uEDNvQl0bx8wQ-xo_e_LiCNqjnot74XHDsHmO09GAPOW3trRxIIqAte6Y-4/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidNswDDCeG4w1CkxQMWDv_AEnY7-MIOsrBN_ha8ecsc2lWkBAX95ulBppCVGlyzrRFMVyqGhfxJ0DNeQC69uEDNvQl0bx8wQ-xo_e_LiCNqjnot74XHDsHmO09GAPOW3trRxIIqAte6Y-4/s320/from+iPhone+November+2012+097.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn9WK0NTZsWmXKAjF0osp5I4KgbCc3N3tSzBeOYd-nbnFYs6-KLP6YVooF3vwo9OAcw7HYRp7q05LTZu2zdlW6l9r8tAQydNrZs4vlt6gG21QRTtroL0cL-WhOh-dGhvCti8nkF7QJ01kI/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn9WK0NTZsWmXKAjF0osp5I4KgbCc3N3tSzBeOYd-nbnFYs6-KLP6YVooF3vwo9OAcw7HYRp7q05LTZu2zdlW6l9r8tAQydNrZs4vlt6gG21QRTtroL0cL-WhOh-dGhvCti8nkF7QJ01kI/s320/from+iPhone+November+2012+095.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6E6Fz1Yy-l-ZJulyE-Gyht5JSVTOMF8WhtIPJH7m2GzIhxPdZHlJdRqntN6oiyXYdE0w6TABorGsu-C220jC1UTEYxqvn5mhKwtSgzG1w2j-MCpZQtbxH1ypf_5H_ly8tHZ42eHexOoWt/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6E6Fz1Yy-l-ZJulyE-Gyht5JSVTOMF8WhtIPJH7m2GzIhxPdZHlJdRqntN6oiyXYdE0w6TABorGsu-C220jC1UTEYxqvn5mhKwtSgzG1w2j-MCpZQtbxH1ypf_5H_ly8tHZ42eHexOoWt/s320/from+iPhone+November+2012+094.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMReJdlN9ygk0wUN5rz5R74rmHVpjv0gQVliCeFNocGxETE5tG7cdriruO5D9oRPOIwMQPdUGAmCCe64EpQN05u4zgD9OoPWEK32MFGn2xS-o5r9X1ovi2v0ijSnyqKwVb4T9npLpEe6EW/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMReJdlN9ygk0wUN5rz5R74rmHVpjv0gQVliCeFNocGxETE5tG7cdriruO5D9oRPOIwMQPdUGAmCCe64EpQN05u4zgD9OoPWEK32MFGn2xS-o5r9X1ovi2v0ijSnyqKwVb4T9npLpEe6EW/s320/from+iPhone+November+2012+101.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA-KF9F27Qwd9d6Y6gMhXj8vz-BjeKGp-d2IKCV3qJ00dJ3ByY9M8u-Zt-LjMyTtWwevHoFV8bZv-hSKUcbL78780j17BuiJWZS_sYXwqm6_gQC_qSyGf4oh_B9hotlxsb-oYEVgkZcq_1/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+102.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA-KF9F27Qwd9d6Y6gMhXj8vz-BjeKGp-d2IKCV3qJ00dJ3ByY9M8u-Zt-LjMyTtWwevHoFV8bZv-hSKUcbL78780j17BuiJWZS_sYXwqm6_gQC_qSyGf4oh_B9hotlxsb-oYEVgkZcq_1/s320/from+iPhone+November+2012+102.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbwJx1ss1GOfHDIInud91fchtIVlIIF6T91QF5jo15kYq70i8GCmai-Af-EVLMcdOpOUkbVZ4lLPgsxxoWfO403NcqQ0xVh2YRPX5pSDsPCwJdlzIGPVX4yIkhypCNFuYHlpYLtzmXwrb7/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbwJx1ss1GOfHDIInud91fchtIVlIIF6T91QF5jo15kYq70i8GCmai-Af-EVLMcdOpOUkbVZ4lLPgsxxoWfO403NcqQ0xVh2YRPX5pSDsPCwJdlzIGPVX4yIkhypCNFuYHlpYLtzmXwrb7/s320/from+iPhone+November+2012+106.JPG" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibbZAxFybbbMo2hQOQTFBe2GdXBbzXkqtyexk-bS_L_o86c_nAQEwf7Vps1YMTP_vEmje4rcrLpRJA21yGbLMh6WAPLb9RhEI7aoP7o3N3EORUiH62FvP-xwUZSXx_7HLnbBCbU1ubAqha/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibbZAxFybbbMo2hQOQTFBe2GdXBbzXkqtyexk-bS_L_o86c_nAQEwf7Vps1YMTP_vEmje4rcrLpRJA21yGbLMh6WAPLb9RhEI7aoP7o3N3EORUiH62FvP-xwUZSXx_7HLnbBCbU1ubAqha/s320/from+iPhone+November+2012+105.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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I'm so not kidding. These were all taken in a matter of 10 minutes. This was not staged for some dramatic blog purpose. These are actual rooms/hallways/closets IN MY HOUSE! I can't physically stay on top of this mess. It's impossible for one person. Not possible. IMpossible. I have other things to do besides laundry... like cooking for 14 people multiple times a day. Sheesh.</div>
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So... my social worker and I were talking that day (not about laundry specifically) and she said "you know, your complaints are never about the kids, or about behaviors, or about the noise... it's always the mess. You need a helper."</div>
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Well, I thought about that... and since I'm a major introvert/private type person and the thought of having someone come help me clean up my house causes me to break out in hives with a rapid heart rate and breathing abnormalities... I decided instead that I'm TAKING MY HOUSE BACK, dadgummit!! </div>
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So... the logical conclusion was to move ALLLLLLLLLL those baskets of clothes into the play room, ahem... "kids closet"... and begin to sort, box up wrong sizes and wrong seasons, and put things into size order by child - not by number. I have a 6 year old who can wear the same size as our 4 year old, and two 7/8 year old boys who wear basically the same size except one has more trunk space than the other and therefore the same jeans don't work with both of them. </div>
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More pictures:</div>
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I had found some shelves up in the attic that were previously in the closets and above the laundry area before my husband did his awesome built-in cubbies. I used those and had to buy one more long shelf and some brackets... which was not very much expense for the whole project.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb8-1T5nSbq-OcbEDs_AbAOcJtwb13otLD3pywhJ5UUgAtXPyexB11SvVAJdWNpnCwHEmH8rmFcPzEObeYwG9bMTaO9r0_u-v1NAqwzkstiE2r57v6T5c4eGzZrLK17qjOVn_Lr2JAI4h3/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb8-1T5nSbq-OcbEDs_AbAOcJtwb13otLD3pywhJ5UUgAtXPyexB11SvVAJdWNpnCwHEmH8rmFcPzEObeYwG9bMTaO9r0_u-v1NAqwzkstiE2r57v6T5c4eGzZrLK17qjOVn_Lr2JAI4h3/s320/from+iPhone+November+2012+120.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dremels are awesome. </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Level. Uh huh. Awesomeness.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkY1fIy-xLpt_-vHWvsJX_89u0eACiaHnHwSuGlWGaZKjjb23VdZ5JFodeiNMIkWn1IRN1_CXD0pLXQMzDe17sZXb0VpajyxTgkDNll1A3W2SrMpCWh8OqvhGnYpIKEaunQ7rsbs4i3atl/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkY1fIy-xLpt_-vHWvsJX_89u0eACiaHnHwSuGlWGaZKjjb23VdZ5JFodeiNMIkWn1IRN1_CXD0pLXQMzDe17sZXb0VpajyxTgkDNll1A3W2SrMpCWh8OqvhGnYpIKEaunQ7rsbs4i3atl/s400/from+iPhone+November+2012+126.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Half of the room... bookshelf that still has toy-room remnants. That was quickly fixed.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTd06kLGi5RyZ_u9cpK4-8n8fY38qqAeaeoIWGIbtW63ef0Pcxu_ichF7a_wMmYGyJmKHB8sxfu9hHFlZAZJ33qu25U6G0aonmmcK9qSb0wOUEQtmoMTcsRHh0KHrv0gKkhWrhNhtWnUvA/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTd06kLGi5RyZ_u9cpK4-8n8fY38qqAeaeoIWGIbtW63ef0Pcxu_ichF7a_wMmYGyJmKHB8sxfu9hHFlZAZJ33qu25U6G0aonmmcK9qSb0wOUEQtmoMTcsRHh0KHrv0gKkhWrhNhtWnUvA/s400/from+iPhone+November+2012+125.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the center of the room - windows. I added benches for shoe-application.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN2S8aCRyEhAgOiqhewvgBQoicFl9j9k_JbB9eYSkRgVVBnqlynMXtNbDC0xcmYy9aVNuFiyuf9vjBNrnhjilLGI8Vaf55Y-8ECUpCqrOIiejuDTwbPso0O1k_GivklHN_cm-OwWv3p9uO/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN2S8aCRyEhAgOiqhewvgBQoicFl9j9k_JbB9eYSkRgVVBnqlynMXtNbDC0xcmYy9aVNuFiyuf9vjBNrnhjilLGI8Vaf55Y-8ECUpCqrOIiejuDTwbPso0O1k_GivklHN_cm-OwWv3p9uO/s400/from+iPhone+November+2012+127.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Right side of the room... boy's side.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
After I put up these shelves, I spent a day just admiring the cleanness of the room. No chaos, no piles of junk, no stepping on Legos... it was nice. The next morning... that came to an abrupt halt.<br />
<br />
I brought ALLLLLLL the clothes to the room and bought every child-size hanger at the Everything's-a-dollar store. Every. Single. Hanger. <br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtb4IZFc7BqYXdjd-yIYN-YhMdf49Ff-oHtP0MldIwQhF5p_SQ8Zx3KPKD_UxBcP5gUqIDmrnjphaJClF9dduvaUsDl6e0GodDa1cNdoz0UCD1NB0VKXc-TSbPNSpw7ptLDYhHGugtanDh/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtb4IZFc7BqYXdjd-yIYN-YhMdf49Ff-oHtP0MldIwQhF5p_SQ8Zx3KPKD_UxBcP5gUqIDmrnjphaJClF9dduvaUsDl6e0GodDa1cNdoz0UCD1NB0VKXc-TSbPNSpw7ptLDYhHGugtanDh/s400/from+iPhone+November+2012+163.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I wish I had a better size comparison for this. Some sort of scale.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2LzfYaQwXO67dGOaufo4f5l7oELEimRFb6BrCHOSpq7C_1mUfUOtvnJEvifHrGSv8CqsfSa-W5yqX0pcg62DvRRUWkhq8eLAqP6eYaC-8Tcc5RGWoUZws1zRWas0psKgAclpZd-ddSARr/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2LzfYaQwXO67dGOaufo4f5l7oELEimRFb6BrCHOSpq7C_1mUfUOtvnJEvifHrGSv8CqsfSa-W5yqX0pcg62DvRRUWkhq8eLAqP6eYaC-8Tcc5RGWoUZws1zRWas0psKgAclpZd-ddSARr/s320/from+iPhone+November+2012+165.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This pic is a little better. The red bin is a large storage rubbermaid tote.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, I started sorting. A pile for "out-of-season", a pile for "won't fit anyone next season" and a pile for "stained to embarrassing levels" and two piles of "keep-wearing now", one on the boys side of the room, the other on the girls side. This was fast. It was furious. It was decisive and cleansing.<br />
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After that was done, I started sorting the girl piles. One for the younger girls (who thankfully wear the same size) and one for the older girls (who also wear the same size). I sorted them into full outfits - skirt/leggings/top, pants/turtleneck/sweater, dress/leggings. I left some jeans by themselves and some tops by themselves for those days they want to choose an outfit for themselves. I put the outfits on the top hanging rod and the single items below. I sorted and folded pajama sets together. I put undies into two bins - 4T and 6X. I made a bin of socks and I put things I think they may grow into very quickly on the top shelf. DONE!<br />
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I moved to the boys clothes piles and did the same thing, except I didn't make "outfits". I sorted pants from tops, divided by size and type, and put everything on hangers. I have two small open dish pans for t-shirts, one for athletic pants, and one for dress pants that they ALWAYS try to wear to school. (That one went up high.)<br />
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I bought more dollar-store dish pans for shoes. They slide right in under the boys' clothes racks and I labeled them by person. I have yet to hear "I can't find my shoes" at 7:58 on a school day since.<br />
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Here are some mostly-complete version photos: <br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQb8AWtprReVKSEQD1ktIYcDh7vMfRNPM_AZX6uujCBGXLmRfPmXDc62YhGZ1_T6JH7QMrSwCOhocjcK-OqXkhnXNT5tpsfM331hJG3VibLNNSRJzS4XIonmId-ge0rsq1X2TlQ48oUVx/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+195.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQb8AWtprReVKSEQD1ktIYcDh7vMfRNPM_AZX6uujCBGXLmRfPmXDc62YhGZ1_T6JH7QMrSwCOhocjcK-OqXkhnXNT5tpsfM331hJG3VibLNNSRJzS4XIonmId-ge0rsq1X2TlQ48oUVx/s400/from+iPhone+November+2012+195.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">girl side taken at night... weird lighting.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_eu7wqrxyexDhqFp5Uq12c1-l6Y27xYMNSZpYzRNljqIFdHonJiFdUMfvWw07ZqKD-w2CE_lACaQ8Ms43ZZ3MLMG0y8xX_yXh_XMKQIcD8f9x9nemE8LS5Vvh_afoE5TT_CTemraN14IO/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+191.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_eu7wqrxyexDhqFp5Uq12c1-l6Y27xYMNSZpYzRNljqIFdHonJiFdUMfvWw07ZqKD-w2CE_lACaQ8Ms43ZZ3MLMG0y8xX_yXh_XMKQIcD8f9x9nemE8LS5Vvh_afoE5TT_CTemraN14IO/s400/from+iPhone+November+2012+191.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boy side - it was dark when I took this, too.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiQb8AWtprReVKSEQD1ktIYcDh7vMfRNPM_AZX6uujCBGXLmRfPmXDc62YhGZ1_T6JH7QMrSwCOhocjcK-OqXkhnXNT5tpsfM331hJG3VibLNNSRJzS4XIonmId-ge0rsq1X2TlQ48oUVx/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+195.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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You can sort of see the bins in these last two pictures. The bins on the middle shelf above on the left are extra leggings and tights by size. On the bottom are dressy shoes, but those got moved up high and pajamas took those bottom two shelves. The undies are in the blue buckets. <br />
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My next problem was that those french doors to this room... well, they don't exactly help me hide my new organizational heaven from those who come to visit and who might not understand the decor.<br />
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So... my friend Shauna reminded me of these french doors I had seen online covered with maps... and I just happened to have a giant stack of old National Geographic maps...<br />
so I used a few of the less-popular ones and covered the windows! Now there's privacy, cute design, and I can shut the doors when we have company and not worry about them wondering why I have 9 kids worth of clothing in what used to be the office (that turned into the playroom).<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td><td style="text-align: center;">The picture on the left,</td><td style="text-align: center;"> you can see bags...</td><td style="text-align: center;">those are gone now. I was unpacking from our trip! </td><td style="text-align: left;"><br /></td><td style="text-align: left;"><br /></td><td style="text-align: left;"><br /></td><td style="text-align: left;"><br /></td><td style="text-align: left;"><br /></td><td style="text-align: left;"><br /></td><td style="text-align: left;"><br /></td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwkkEYV0v9sIfsk6-fWWSw3Y8bjLSnTWJjjZ6qGrjB6c2c9xp-P4zFKjj-3rMib9zISjzElqmPkqZ74hxlDLo2OjUGgf-M97hEXwf_U8W9jjxgfDug_SZJNK_AdHh88l0yBBRfAVST1VkP/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+601.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwkkEYV0v9sIfsk6-fWWSw3Y8bjLSnTWJjjZ6qGrjB6c2c9xp-P4zFKjj-3rMib9zISjzElqmPkqZ74hxlDLo2OjUGgf-M97hEXwf_U8W9jjxgfDug_SZJNK_AdHh88l0yBBRfAVST1VkP/s320/from+iPhone+November+2012+601.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYrMYxlMh_kgRVVwFM2a2Ock0jU5H6Wu5qmdhe4eb8rY22EvRbKGvh8DizfO57iaRMe4ivu3WVNenkatd5pO7Qlci6BwUdH3tOneSAsqmfBqbHTWLGr3MjDtupWO4xT8kSWakxfSNJ4_jW/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+596.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYrMYxlMh_kgRVVwFM2a2Ock0jU5H6Wu5qmdhe4eb8rY22EvRbKGvh8DizfO57iaRMe4ivu3WVNenkatd5pO7Qlci6BwUdH3tOneSAsqmfBqbHTWLGr3MjDtupWO4xT8kSWakxfSNJ4_jW/s320/from+iPhone+November+2012+596.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrGo63YX-AtxtAtr6ssBCkHqyL3zpbkJNVVT0p_8cEGJ-lA7BkCCuOi9IpD5wdG_hz8x8T3ZEyhN-52y0vp3VAVfgTwcaxbvffft7v-u_Zp25LAjoDl_U4mSPsBy1013wttFay-1rQcVDJ/s1600/from+iPhone+November+2012+600.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrGo63YX-AtxtAtr6ssBCkHqyL3zpbkJNVVT0p_8cEGJ-lA7BkCCuOi9IpD5wdG_hz8x8T3ZEyhN-52y0vp3VAVfgTwcaxbvffft7v-u_Zp25LAjoDl_U4mSPsBy1013wttFay-1rQcVDJ/s320/from+iPhone+November+2012+600.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
Oh, and I left the TV in there...<br />
so I can still use this room as a quiet retreat for a few littles if need be!<br />
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P.S - what happened to their toys? Well, the room I created in their bedrooms by removing all the clothes left nice cubbies and organized spaces to put crates of toys! Now the boys can sit in their bedroom and play legos or the girls can go build their doll house and play tea party in their bedrooms without bumping into each other and dragging the tiny parts all over the entry way and into the dining and living rooms. Amen.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-65604933478046992292012-11-03T22:04:00.000-05:002012-11-03T22:04:09.157-05:00That three-question thingy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
(this post isn't funny. there are no pictures. it's not about my kids. <strike>sorry.</strike>)<br />
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I am fairly certain I've written before about my three-question test to try to determine if a path you are considering is God's Will for your life.<br />
It's presumptuous, I know...<br />
but I think when you're dealing with something like free-will and you're a Jesus-loving person trying to discern God's Will when it's not spelled out to the letter in Scripture... you need some kind of road map.<br />
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Thus was born...the <i>Three-Question Test</i>.<br />
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(a recap for those who missed that post... and since I can't find it...)<br />
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Before you get all legalistic on me... I'm talking about big decisions in your life... the ones you pray about and spend hours pondering, make pro's and con's lists about, the ones that keep you up at night. These are the things we are talking about here... not "<i>which flavored syrup to add to my latte</i>". Got it? Okay.<br />
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1. <b>Do I have scripture to back it up one way or the other?</b> I believe that this forces you to open up your Bible, check the concordance, read scripture, allow it to permeate your soul, and breathe deeply the Word of God the Father.<br />
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2. <b>When I pray about it, do I feel peace</b>?<br />
The Holy Spirit inhabits the very inner workings of Christ-followers.<br />
He can NOT lead you astray and like the song says:<br />
<div style="text-align: right;">
Kickin' it OLD SCHOOL with Newsboys.... <i> "It's just a spirit thing<br />
It's just a holy nudge<br />
It's like a circuit judge in the brain<br />
It's just a spirit thing<br />
It's here to guard my heart<br />
It's just a little hard to explain<br />
It pushes when I quit</i>
<i><br />
It smells a counterfeit<br />
Sometimes it works a bit like a teleprompter..."</i></div>
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3. <b>Would it PLEASE God?</b> This requires you to know the heart of God through Jesus. I imagine myself sitting at His feet... going over choices and decisions with Him and I look up with exasperation in my eyes and say "but... would this please YOU, Lord?"</div>
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And if my answer is YES... well... what else is there?</div>
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My Three Questions always stopped there. </div>
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I had my answer. </div>
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Three. </div>
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Trinity. </div>
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Triune-decision-making. </div>
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Then recently I began to be bothered by something.</div>
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<i>I think there should be an over-arching fourth question.</i></div>
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<i>Now... hang with me. </i></div>
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<i>This is where my train of thought smashes a lazy cow standing in the middle of the tracks and keeps on going. Thump. Moo.</i></div>
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The fourth question... maybe a final thought on these big decision moments... </div>
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<b>What would bring God the MOST glory?</b></div>
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Maybe the answer isn't what you'd think. </div>
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Maybe what would bring God the most glory would not make sense otherwise. </div>
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<br />Sometimes God allows weirdness to take place to draw attention to us... to bring Him glory. </div>
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(see family picture above)</div>
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Sometimes... we presume we know God's will, but we have not really considered what brings Him glory. </div>
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Sometimes what brings Him the most glory alienates us from the common-sense crowd.</div>
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Sometimes He points us down a path that seems absurd... </div>
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just so He can say "but do you TRUST me?" </div>
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I don't know if anyone needed to read this... or if it's just for ME... but I know that whenever I/we have had to try to make a big decision, this method of figuring things out has really helped bring me/us peace! </div>
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<b>Thoughts??</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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Okay, I lied... one quick picture.</div>
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This makes me smile:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp8DJGupqBm9zoEUxnIAmPD_wUsHRw-syZ2Cc3CG1paxwNIh5bgaMHykxFj2fRL93b9pt5LErVdL8sSrHTMZFe9eB5E73Kp3kJmNAH8KvdI1PnccqXtrvIUJFHamWSQ_bde-LdpUFnmFnr/s1600/photo(21).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp8DJGupqBm9zoEUxnIAmPD_wUsHRw-syZ2Cc3CG1paxwNIh5bgaMHykxFj2fRL93b9pt5LErVdL8sSrHTMZFe9eB5E73Kp3kJmNAH8KvdI1PnccqXtrvIUJFHamWSQ_bde-LdpUFnmFnr/s400/photo(21).JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-86382987597162533672012-11-02T14:27:00.002-05:002012-11-02T14:27:45.046-05:00Words < Photos<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sorry... I know it's been nearly a month since I posted anything</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(to the three of you who come to see if there's anything new to see here).</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I do have things to say...</div>
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but at this time, I'm not sure how to say them.</div>
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</div>
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I'm spending the month in daily thankfulness on Facebook...</div>
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so that's a nice way to keep my heart squared up nicely.</div>
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</div>
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I'll combine those thoughts a week at a time and post them here to save them.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So... until I put some things into words... </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
here is a quick snippet of what's going on around here!</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Babycakes-making... </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7sf0zt9RlzPji8YSp6_o4Z1KDHqPZbP05fCDyYvcGzWwsAT8CfzCy2trkUFzGmZXpmZPT9CPHytL2QUN2e6GrBhyXJmmZXaHLQm2qllRypJKaq-6RjszNOXXT2juznJipAanuYkiL_wbY/s1600/from+iPhone+030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7sf0zt9RlzPji8YSp6_o4Z1KDHqPZbP05fCDyYvcGzWwsAT8CfzCy2trkUFzGmZXpmZPT9CPHytL2QUN2e6GrBhyXJmmZXaHLQm2qllRypJKaq-6RjszNOXXT2juznJipAanuYkiL_wbY/s320/from+iPhone+030.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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which led to the death of</div>
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Sir Mix-a-Lot.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGk0qfWd67xq3Ru4wTytqyumSi7CfF_zbHUlLgYukca5ka2ENO9nqsqUF29t7DZGGPEV6qnlgwd17-KJYx2eyPkxOuks9dVEFB-r__Y5rS7FpuclDIarpj1NcFu2ml8aQORvdAZljtauNJ/s1600/from+iPhone+016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGk0qfWd67xq3Ru4wTytqyumSi7CfF_zbHUlLgYukca5ka2ENO9nqsqUF29t7DZGGPEV6qnlgwd17-KJYx2eyPkxOuks9dVEFB-r__Y5rS7FpuclDIarpj1NcFu2ml8aQORvdAZljtauNJ/s400/from+iPhone+016.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialfGSPaIztNSX3PZxiVadqLZjzt4Nb1in1Sm9t0krgaizhF-N9_RLkUw_WHYfdT56BWy6S56xJHx0IlUCOcEyKSP67nnlDby168V9ZfS1rZ-5OFRpPYESoQNX_TOzUNZujaYB4dRNnSzV/s1600/from+iPhone+032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialfGSPaIztNSX3PZxiVadqLZjzt4Nb1in1Sm9t0krgaizhF-N9_RLkUw_WHYfdT56BWy6S56xJHx0IlUCOcEyKSP67nnlDby168V9ZfS1rZ-5OFRpPYESoQNX_TOzUNZujaYB4dRNnSzV/s1600/from+iPhone+032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialfGSPaIztNSX3PZxiVadqLZjzt4Nb1in1Sm9t0krgaizhF-N9_RLkUw_WHYfdT56BWy6S56xJHx0IlUCOcEyKSP67nnlDby168V9ZfS1rZ-5OFRpPYESoQNX_TOzUNZujaYB4dRNnSzV/s1600/from+iPhone+032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialfGSPaIztNSX3PZxiVadqLZjzt4Nb1in1Sm9t0krgaizhF-N9_RLkUw_WHYfdT56BWy6S56xJHx0IlUCOcEyKSP67nnlDby168V9ZfS1rZ-5OFRpPYESoQNX_TOzUNZujaYB4dRNnSzV/s1600/from+iPhone+032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"> </a>Very sad.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
One day my husband was cooking while I was not home and had trouble finding cinnamon. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I wasn't thrilled.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialfGSPaIztNSX3PZxiVadqLZjzt4Nb1in1Sm9t0krgaizhF-N9_RLkUw_WHYfdT56BWy6S56xJHx0IlUCOcEyKSP67nnlDby168V9ZfS1rZ-5OFRpPYESoQNX_TOzUNZujaYB4dRNnSzV/s1600/from+iPhone+032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEialfGSPaIztNSX3PZxiVadqLZjzt4Nb1in1Sm9t0krgaizhF-N9_RLkUw_WHYfdT56BWy6S56xJHx0IlUCOcEyKSP67nnlDby168V9ZfS1rZ-5OFRpPYESoQNX_TOzUNZujaYB4dRNnSzV/s320/from+iPhone+032.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So I spent some time reorganizing and did this:</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9D9cJkrBQ4UPmuHbBadPk9rU4y0Gg_vU0-dhANNG3U-9UZS4djvdhoFsXLJm1t1ZeQUTibfyIolGYOoChVoppVIUjCRW485Mhd_XIr3MAP4ga02Qb8Gkt3TkUdzZqSDaAarHgJZfu5C6/s1600/from+iPhone+035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv9D9cJkrBQ4UPmuHbBadPk9rU4y0Gg_vU0-dhANNG3U-9UZS4djvdhoFsXLJm1t1ZeQUTibfyIolGYOoChVoppVIUjCRW485Mhd_XIr3MAP4ga02Qb8Gkt3TkUdzZqSDaAarHgJZfu5C6/s400/from+iPhone+035.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at THAT! Cinnamon: row two, far right. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Last week, our 16-year-old got his license...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
finally.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And ever since,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I've been handing over my keys.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Yikes.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
However, if your kid can take and pass his driver's exam in a 15-passenger van...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I think he's a pretty well-qualified driver.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And super cool.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Way cooler than most other 16-year-old boys.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
This is leaving the DMV: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCKCem1713f8P66bv_85ECgtnWBzii1eu-p_kSDbXqaBqiVqQSRkEpEMTOqvyoWGlzfOQOnow0hRX4ENTmPVmgtnIWIN6D_hbfMYFiPQmRbCt5TSnUTkM8G2VmFp2cmclLxi_a3BieTnaI/s1600/from+iPhone+045.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCKCem1713f8P66bv_85ECgtnWBzii1eu-p_kSDbXqaBqiVqQSRkEpEMTOqvyoWGlzfOQOnow0hRX4ENTmPVmgtnIWIN6D_hbfMYFiPQmRbCt5TSnUTkM8G2VmFp2cmclLxi_a3BieTnaI/s400/from+iPhone+045.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
And later that day...taking his sister out for free taco day at the 'Bell:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-Tp1IwAIUNSaQwepHDMDuUsIjlXxFCVkyIdaimn1_k03QTfBEJwgX7wEX9qtrcWeF8jTJBPl_w7CT7j3ggnBu0SbRO8n1f9WIRNKG8HNv7fot1GRlOxwejsJ18_EUonT2tKmlcy34EBo/s1600/from+iPhone+052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn-Tp1IwAIUNSaQwepHDMDuUsIjlXxFCVkyIdaimn1_k03QTfBEJwgX7wEX9qtrcWeF8jTJBPl_w7CT7j3ggnBu0SbRO8n1f9WIRNKG8HNv7fot1GRlOxwejsJ18_EUonT2tKmlcy34EBo/s400/from+iPhone+052.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">note terrified look on daughter's face. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzhbdUC8dCt6MxTZFoEZ4Nmfo54HdpThQVHfrII1Q2HwucbWtcAuhluyRAFl58c8Z9TyWQ0EQ-BQG8ZSzEdC6Az-GUby1lGRLHL21DNcZuxHf7oOYAyJqEvAPKErn2qL5-greYEedffP69/s1600/from+iPhone+059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzhbdUC8dCt6MxTZFoEZ4Nmfo54HdpThQVHfrII1Q2HwucbWtcAuhluyRAFl58c8Z9TyWQ0EQ-BQG8ZSzEdC6Az-GUby1lGRLHL21DNcZuxHf7oOYAyJqEvAPKErn2qL5-greYEedffP69/s400/from+iPhone+059.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Double checking... they thought I'd cry. Nope. Pick up some TP on the way home.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8a9ClGv_V59TjyDbAhpEKNQzP-HJizkq2hbXfE0z_HtE8pSC60IguTWl3YZEBF6AmsEXrK8oqErvpp_-o0n8ZSmBbyPPfJDw5c8AZk6q0OOIQKDGW1OefuP1XbMYTvuGkfH7CFep6gO9t/s1600/from+iPhone+062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8a9ClGv_V59TjyDbAhpEKNQzP-HJizkq2hbXfE0z_HtE8pSC60IguTWl3YZEBF6AmsEXrK8oqErvpp_-o0n8ZSmBbyPPfJDw5c8AZk6q0OOIQKDGW1OefuP1XbMYTvuGkfH7CFep6gO9t/s640/from+iPhone+062.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And I'm now officially old. Commence grey hair and dinner before 5pm.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikcQqRUmQbq4WzpEpbfA8DZoTQakxbZBpaILm_qhZRxJxbn_q01XXKT-WFPDwg4k5hnlKqV_F18szNGPHAG6VU9rOWkszsXRK1HHlhpQBlwDI5W-opjeqMEGKl-LpKAGrZKC-owLNvfClU/s1600/from+iPhone+046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
We spent a LOT of time at soccer...</div>
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These boys make me smile:</div>
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And we watched a lot of football:</div>
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And we watched soccer some more... </div>
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And I found this Wonder Woman cape at a thrift store...I love it... </div>
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These two turned FOUR... </div>
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We played at the park... </div>
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and we acted all super-cool. </div>
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So, that's pretty much our October! </div>
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I'll post something more thought-provoking soon... just organizing my words in my brain!</div>
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Happy November!</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-51443912884776349212012-10-05T06:00:00.000-05:002012-10-05T06:00:19.086-05:00Finish line<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Bedtime.<br />
That magical moment during the day when otherwise exhausted children suddenly decide to drop their deepest, most troubling thoughts or memories at your worn-out feet and look up at you with giant brown eyes that say "okay, lady, now what are you going to do with this?"<br />
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Bedtime sometimes leaves me speechless.<br />
Like last night when I was doing my nightly whack-a-mole routine trying to get 5 boys into bunk beds, prayed up, tucked in, laying down, and staying in that position when out of the blue...<br />
"Mom, Ethiopia is very, very hard."<br />
And so it begins.<br />
The snowball effect of three precious boys recalling events, retelling stories, acting out behaviors, and asking for confirmation that THIS place is where they will stay forever.<br />
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"Mom, I don't want to go back to Ethiopia. There's mean, mean people there. I want to stay here."<br />
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It is out of this hard place that my previous post on the Jesus who is the warrior, defender of the weak, reigning world champion comes in and holds me up from falling over into a puddle on the floor as I reach for that sweet boy and squeeze him tight and whisper in his ear<br />
"Baby, you stay with ME. I'M your Mommy and I love you. NO ONE is allowed to hurt you here."<br />
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Bedtime.<br />
It was at that magical hour one night when I could see the hurt in our son's eyes and I came up with this little affirming statement for them that they repeat after me. I kneel down to their level and look at those gorgeous chocolate eyes and say<br />
"I am my Mommy's baby.<br />
My mommy LOVES me.<br />
I am PRECIOUS.<br />
I am a treasure."<br />
<br />
Yes...It gets me every time, too.<br />
<br />
Bedtime.<br />
Sometimes it's mundane.<br />
Sometimes I'm just over it and I wish they'd all just get in the bed and go to sleep by themselves.<br />
But, I would have missed it when our former-youngest-child suddenly stood up for his brothers and said "when I get big, I'm going to go to Ethiopia and PUNCH them TWICE. In the FACE!" and inside my spirit did this giant "YEAH!!" shout of success and I couldn't help but smile and think... wow, he's protective of them. We've come a long way, baby! That's progress. That's bonding. That's brotherly love and that's a watering hole in the desert of attachment.<br />
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Oh, bedtime.<br />
Mine needs to be earlier for sure... but the silence and the rest I feel in those few hours of quiet are at least as refreshing for my brain as the extra hour or two of sleep. I need that time to unpack my day, re-think things I said or did, compose myself for tomorrow and go over my mental checklists. I just need that little space between the days for myself.<br />
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Bedtime - it's the finish line for the day. It's the end of the "stuff" and it's the pause before the next "stuff" hits. It's one last hug and kiss, one more drink of water, prayers for stuff only kids think of, and walking out of the room with a deep exhale that says "see? you made it after all."</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-61163355404263189212012-10-04T13:39:00.000-05:002012-10-04T13:39:34.004-05:00Omni-Omni <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I'm in a Wednesday night small group/Bible study right now that's really been good for my soul. We are studying Revelation in parallel with our Sunday morning lessons in church and it is slowly opening my eyes and confirming to me why it is that my entire Bible-reading life, I tend to turn to Revelation when I don't know what else to read. I'm always confused when people say they don't like this particular book, or don't think it belongs, or that it scares them... I'm in the "intrigued" camp.<br />
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Here's what I'm slowly realizing.<br />
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I've been taught what's in the Bible.<br />
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Don't skip that. Don't skim right over it.<br />
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I've been taught. We teach our kids to tie their shoes, to clear the table after a meal, to walk on the sidewalk on the way to school and to drive a car. We teach our dog to sit/down/stay. We teach our children multiplication and how to color inside the lines neatly.<br />
I was taught the Bible by my family, the world, cliches, sound bites and 80-something credits of college Bible courses. <br />
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But I'd submit to you that the Bible - the Word of God - needs to be LEARNED. It needs to be absorbed slowly, intentionally, and often. You need to put down your commentaries, put down your favorite lady-teacher Bible study books, put down your motivational poster quotation snippets and plaques above your door and actually READ the WORDS for yourself. Let them seep into your soul. Each word is there intentionally - so ask why it's there! You should be so familiar with the words and stories that when you hear a phrase, your mind immediately jumps to the words you've read. When a friend is struggling, you have an idea where to go for encouragement because you've read that encouragement yourself.<br />
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Last night in Bible study we were asked "What is your mental picture of Heaven?", and how our view may have been skewed over the years. I've thought more about my own answer last night and more about my own ideas that I was taught over the years (if you ever need to be entertained, be in a Bible study with me. I'm not famous for my "Sunday School answers").<br />
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The idea of sitting on a cloud for all of eternity strumming a harp is not exciting.<br />
It's not even desirable.<br />
Okay, some days I'd take a cloud-sitting break in a heartbeat because the silence might be nice for a while. But for ETERNITY?? No thanks. So is it any wonder that when we try to "sell" salvation via eternity in this kind of fabricated, cartooned, movie version of Heaven - we lose the attention of those we hope will hear?<br />
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And what of the Jesus we offer to the broken and hurting?<br />
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The idea of an <a href="http://hermeneutics.kulikovskyonline.net/hermeneutics/omni.pdf" target="_blank">Omni-Omni Jesus</a> (yes, I made that term up, unless someone else has already said it...) who looks like that Sunday School Bible story Jesus sitting on a rock holding a lamb while the little kids gaze up at him... frankly... He would be GREAT for story time at my house, or maybe in a particularly quiet time he could lead some little songs or hold someone's hand while I go get an ice pack. But strong enough to lift me up out of my deepest despair? Mighty enough to come rushing the gates of Hell to save me from myself? Umm... no offense, but I wouldn't want him to hurt himself rushing to my rescue.<br />
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Now, I'm not saying Jesus isn't big enough to be both... but there's a particular brand of effeminate Jesus that I just find distasteful by the standards I read in MY Bible. Mark Driscoll once said "I cannot worship a guy I can beat up." By the artists' interpretations of Jesus over the years, they have stripped him of all masculinity and reduced him to some sad, tame, metrosexual version of the lanky unpopular kid in high school. I mean this with ZERO disrespect to the Christ of the Gospels... but really people??? Is that YOUR Jesus?<br />
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I need the Jesus of Revelation and Daniel and Ezekiel.<br />
I need the Jesus who storms in with lightening and thunder and brightness that knocks the strongest men on their faces in awe, fear and reverence.<br />
I need the sword-wielding Jesus on a white horse who says "You are MINE and NO ONE will take you from MY hand."<br />
I need the Jesus that inspires worship - spontaneous, genuine, heart felt, I-have-no-other-option-in-my-being-but-to-worship WORSHIP. Not some half-hearted, lip synced song on Sunday mornings.<br />
I need the Jesus who fights for injustice.<br />
I need the Jesus who says<i> "I SEE where you are. I KNOW how hard this is. I struggled too and I'm WITH you in this." </i><br />
The Jesus who grabs your face, turns it to his and looks right in your eyes and says with authority <i>"I know the life are living right now is CRAP, but hold on because I've got you and WITH ME you CAN do this. I'm right with you."</i><br />
For my friends who are dealing with horrible stuff and wonder where Jesus is... they need the warrior Jesus clearing the path for them, holding them up when they fall and strengthening them when they can't do it for one more minute. <br />
For my daughters, I need the Jesus who says <i>"unless I hold his heart- he's not the one for you." </i><br />
For my sons, I need the Jesus who says<i> "Seek justice, love mercy, walk humbly with Me and lead your family in that same path." </i><br />
For my daily routine I need the Jesus who puts my busy hands in His and says <i>"You are the mommy/woman/wife/friend/sister/daughter that I love! Your love is your worship. Loving them is loving Me! Quiet your heart and know that I am strong enough for all of this."</i><br />
This is not what I hear coming from the mouth of pacifist 60's "Peace, Love and Lambs" Jesus in my kids' illustrated story book Bible.<i> </i><br />
<br />
To my non-believing friends, maybe your picture of Jesus was drawn by stained glass windows, felt boards and illustrated children's books.<br />
Maybe you were hurt and someone said something like "This is God's Will!"<br />
Maybe you blame Him for not being stronger.<br />
Maybe you need someone to stand up for you, too - to toss some people out of your life, flip over some tables and show them who's the boss.<br />
Maybe you need the Jesus we find in Revelation.<br />
After all, it's the same Jesus from Genesis who crushes the heads of serpents.<br />
<br />
He loves fiercely. He is strong enough. He knows. He feels. He protects and He saves. <br />
He's the conquering King, I tell you.<br />
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<h1 class="quoteText">
<span style="font-size: large;">“Safe?” said Mr. Beaver; “don’t you hear what Mrs.
Beaver tells you? Who said anything about safe? ‘Course he isn’t safe.
But he’s good. He’s the King, I tell you.”
</span> </h1>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-72400200345392668372012-10-02T22:20:00.002-05:002012-10-02T22:20:51.385-05:00Moose cupcakes<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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This is not a food blog.</div>
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There are places you can go to read about food,</div>
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recipes, ingredients, and stuff like that...</div>
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this is typically not that place.</div>
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However...</div>
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I made these cupcakes that I think are cute,</div>
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and since I couldn't find instructions online when *I* wanted to make them...</div>
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here ya go!</div>
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One of our daughters birthday fell on Labor Day this year. </div>
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This meant I got an extra few days to send in her</div>
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"my happiness as a child in this class and ultimately my success in making friends and having good self-esteem depends on what birthday snack I bring in" birthday cupcakes.</div>
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Okay, so it's not quite that bad.</div>
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(yes it is.)</div>
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I emailed the teacher and found out they were reading the "If you give a Moose/Mouse/Pig..." series at school that week...</div>
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so a Google search was born.</div>
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This is what I came up with:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxepLFNYdNqCWFYRPAz8xjcKuLbJQZKqhuLWdyTRsEEuLGOS5LPKJOkaBJef1nIxCOCLBPm0cwGnF4AkJbCkdSCwTV4S_V_w-iGBYZqetkIiTUEwvxFsDKjQYVXFgKYIywvQ0w8RKSi0vA/s1600/from+iPhone+1192.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxepLFNYdNqCWFYRPAz8xjcKuLbJQZKqhuLWdyTRsEEuLGOS5LPKJOkaBJef1nIxCOCLBPm0cwGnF4AkJbCkdSCwTV4S_V_w-iGBYZqetkIiTUEwvxFsDKjQYVXFgKYIywvQ0w8RKSi0vA/s320/from+iPhone+1192.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div>
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So. </div>
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I made some cupcakes and some chocolate mouse frosting.</div>
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(hindsight -When you make these - use regular frosting. Don't go fancy. Keep reading for why.)</div>
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While they were cooling, I free-hand drew some moose antlers on plastic wrap.</div>
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(hind-sight - make some going in the opposite direction or you have one bumpy antler, one smooth antler. Also, make 20% more antlers than you think you need.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxNe3F4AeXpaIFKaNGmNknYKRweRPv9HDzr9wlRltZkPt-fOrC3Mt96JRUYbAJnE3J7eVH1ncWBwu2vTXxTtfzCI6vGrrIFbOmTaSkAtOhRngsvRT8t-e0mqQwBsL71P5mrif4xiXqqus/s1600/from+iPhone+1186.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrxNe3F4AeXpaIFKaNGmNknYKRweRPv9HDzr9wlRltZkPt-fOrC3Mt96JRUYbAJnE3J7eVH1ncWBwu2vTXxTtfzCI6vGrrIFbOmTaSkAtOhRngsvRT8t-e0mqQwBsL71P5mrif4xiXqqus/s320/from+iPhone+1186.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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Then, I had those large rolls of tootsie roll stuff - the ones that look like a Lincoln log. </div>
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I cut them into pieces and used my rolling pin to flatten them into a moose head shape.</div>
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Having never seen a moose in person, this was up to my interpretation.</div>
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Use a decorating marker to draw a moose-ish face on each one. I used a dab of white chocolate with a smaller dab of dark chocolate to make the eyes. I was going for non-creepy, cartoon-ish eyes.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh85DXlAyJE7vF06-t348XXdarRuvQR-oVK78X_vTlrPAt245CeKfg3ZurQKUNTtaEa3WT1qX6XhwOD0PHp6X8clAS_a2Z73C4QExvUkqwrsY88A6Kr4z6trJZ1ctrnCqCm07IpjRQTxQDO/s1600/from+iPhone+1188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh85DXlAyJE7vF06-t348XXdarRuvQR-oVK78X_vTlrPAt245CeKfg3ZurQKUNTtaEa3WT1qX6XhwOD0PHp6X8clAS_a2Z73C4QExvUkqwrsY88A6Kr4z6trJZ1ctrnCqCm07IpjRQTxQDO/s320/from+iPhone+1188.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Then, assemble your moose. (plural)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMAFQd8J8fwN-k8kjEGqdkvH_sHjv8SsZHSLnpL_51FiGOv5Kf2QcsGkYnpkD7QQ0sXHyYbkfUvvKj_IwvGGyr8BIw0QA9fOgaCseTNzf_jK4guKA_SrwTtz2WlU26bWNLJ1x2Nhg4I2T/s1600/from+iPhone+1194.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMAFQd8J8fwN-k8kjEGqdkvH_sHjv8SsZHSLnpL_51FiGOv5Kf2QcsGkYnpkD7QQ0sXHyYbkfUvvKj_IwvGGyr8BIw0QA9fOgaCseTNzf_jK4guKA_SrwTtz2WlU26bWNLJ1x2Nhg4I2T/s400/from+iPhone+1194.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div>
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Cute....</div>
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Okay. I have the world's most awesome cupcake carrier.</div>
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It holds 36 cupcakes and it's the sweetest shade of blue!</div>
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It was a gift - so no, you can't go buy one.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4vlq0GNH1dnXc7oDpY1sWHFwgSbIbHo8q86ALpFwNW21MIIK3XSgftUWPXCUVCV6b9Rst-32knUBIsRqoYkOwMOISZHone5ylCiVOVl8ZChFpG3PWHE5mkdBIFk4PYSYYN3JYZuXf-MK/s1600/from+iPhone+1193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ4vlq0GNH1dnXc7oDpY1sWHFwgSbIbHo8q86ALpFwNW21MIIK3XSgftUWPXCUVCV6b9Rst-32knUBIsRqoYkOwMOISZHone5ylCiVOVl8ZChFpG3PWHE5mkdBIFk4PYSYYN3JYZuXf-MK/s320/from+iPhone+1193.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Moose Lodge. (hahahaha!)</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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Okay.</div>
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Final note...</div>
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Refrigerate.</div>
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And if you happen to have leftovers that travel home in the Moose Lodge with their newly-7-year-old captor...</div>
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they may look like this when they get home:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6EUAHsq_899XVX5NuHR0Bidn3DB4JrTbyBRiaS2Yc6AYKr9M9jEonyET3EMswEn4SFgKN0s_g6Xn2sF71wXO3Auo-D7scI7sRj5b1egmO6jZHkv0KLCUX-QfLCi37wnsxxQRaPcTeG0c0/s1600/from+iPhone+1203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6EUAHsq_899XVX5NuHR0Bidn3DB4JrTbyBRiaS2Yc6AYKr9M9jEonyET3EMswEn4SFgKN0s_g6Xn2sF71wXO3Auo-D7scI7sRj5b1egmO6jZHkv0KLCUX-QfLCi37wnsxxQRaPcTeG0c0/s400/from+iPhone+1203.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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Pitiful. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-67286153531101658732012-09-24T10:39:00.001-05:002012-09-24T10:49:32.941-05:00Birthday Money Bible Re-Do!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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(For my Granny... what I did with my birthday money this year!)</div>
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My Bible was falling apart.</div>
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Everything after Hebrews was pretty much loose leaf.</div>
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This one is sentimental to me because my husband gave it to me the year we got married.</div>
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Up until then I had a paperback bible I used in school, but never a grown-up leather Bible.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAzpx4IFfJ6L32xVp58Vt5xJV5yVa8n-oPDGnUVLVhlpOZpjHfJTyzQgHPoHC5vJOPcLCFsOQt17NC5dakBqVm9OSUkvt24kCMU1Zeuggj-_Dqs7MvTA39TSXaD4RxvlVaffKcZv3_v-q/s1600/2012-09-24" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhAzpx4IFfJ6L32xVp58Vt5xJV5yVa8n-oPDGnUVLVhlpOZpjHfJTyzQgHPoHC5vJOPcLCFsOQt17NC5dakBqVm9OSUkvt24kCMU1Zeuggj-_Dqs7MvTA39TSXaD4RxvlVaffKcZv3_v-q/s400/2012-09-24" width="400" /> </a></div>
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This is funny because:</div>
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A. He used our last name</div>
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B. He wrote NOTHING else! </div>
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My bullet-point husband... I love him! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCR0rHoME8uUDe04B8ML7EAS6fiUjPWvbWlD2ThQYaO1s0ewBf4GTaZYWz149roH4R8MxkooCOxL8xt6ji6i_MF1arD5LsyD6pZlZ5rFbyDTvJuxkQ7ieHJHuvhHvpbGFdJV5EuxrqlAXs/s1600/photo%252811%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCR0rHoME8uUDe04B8ML7EAS6fiUjPWvbWlD2ThQYaO1s0ewBf4GTaZYWz149roH4R8MxkooCOxL8xt6ji6i_MF1arD5LsyD6pZlZ5rFbyDTvJuxkQ7ieHJHuvhHvpbGFdJV5EuxrqlAXs/s640/photo%252811%2529.JPG" width="480" /> </a></div>
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So... I read on this website about this guy making a <a href="http://spurgeon.wordpress.com/category/blank-bible/" target="_blank">"Blank Bible"</a> which was pretty cool... </div>
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but since this is one of two that I routinely carry around and I wasn't planning on purchasing a new Bible to chop up...</div>
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I decided to do a Chrissy-version of the same thing.</div>
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First...</div>
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I got over the voice shouting "HERETIC!!" in my head.</div>
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I mean, come on. </div>
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It's not like I'm adding a C.S. Lewis book in there and calling it the inspired word of God.</div>
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NEXT...</div>
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I finished pulling the Bible off of the glue on the spine...</div>
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and measured.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLNzhNmk7lVqFb5_YVAlXeqNNUVawqCufvc6Q59bwnnjAN5lvb71cqKDHZqqZAdil10Dpal5gSQdnWregv1tvdJS-liOiZFYBXFcO1Q3DKzrBoSzEsl7w_EZ0igoXO7AFb79ATo6pgJN1Q/s1600/photo%25286%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLNzhNmk7lVqFb5_YVAlXeqNNUVawqCufvc6Q59bwnnjAN5lvb71cqKDHZqqZAdil10Dpal5gSQdnWregv1tvdJS-liOiZFYBXFcO1Q3DKzrBoSzEsl7w_EZ0igoXO7AFb79ATo6pgJN1Q/s400/photo%25286%2529.JPG" width="400" /> </a></div>
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Since I have these thumb-cheater-tabs on the side, I decided I needed to make the paper a bit smaller in width than the actual Bible.</div>
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This was a VERY difficult decision, but I figured with the curves on the edges AND the recessed tabs... this was my best bet. And I will not obsess about it. Much. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEXxBP_b7qCSmRPNjQ9lwQdjk2hCbt9WIx8UFYrDMPrZqE6j6qBvQvVZv1qB7x09wdBqJ5tH6SvQAFvwmF2Qqox72vODTwgIp_54PH5GuNXP9qsjwZvSvt-gsY67AGdHTL9aYaiHNDc3Bb/s1600/photo%25289%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEXxBP_b7qCSmRPNjQ9lwQdjk2hCbt9WIx8UFYrDMPrZqE6j6qBvQvVZv1qB7x09wdBqJ5tH6SvQAFvwmF2Qqox72vODTwgIp_54PH5GuNXP9qsjwZvSvt-gsY67AGdHTL9aYaiHNDc3Bb/s400/photo%25289%2529.JPG" width="300" /> </a></div>
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See? If the paper was at the edge - the pointy part sticks out</div>
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past the circular edges. Not okay.</div>
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Third step... I took my paper measurements to Kinkos and asked the Hipster guy to cut 200 pieces of paper to the measurements I had figured out at home. This took 2 hours... so we went to Chik-fil-a. </div>
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Came back, paid for the paper chopping service (around $8) and I went out to the car and sat there listening to VeggieTales sing-along songs and inserting 3 pages between each book of the Bible (unless it was a one-chapter or one/two page book... then I did one page. </div>
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Nothing personal, Obadiah... I just presumed I wouldn't take more/longer notes than you used in your whole book.)</div>
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Then I took the book back inside Kinko's and debated with the Kinko experts about how to bind the thing. I removed the extra stack at the front and back and it was still too fat for a spiral binding (which is what I was hoping for). </div>
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They had a hard-back book type binding... but then it wouldn't lay flat.</div>
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(the whole point of doing this was to add pages for notes - hard to do with a very stiff binding.)</div>
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They suggested breaking it into two volumes... but I just couldn't do that... I mean, I'm carrying this to church and Bible study. I don't want two volumes. I want one. Dadgummit.</div>
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So we went to comb binding. I could put my extra pages back inside and still comb-bind it... </div>
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and they swore to me it wouldn't tear the pages and if the comb became stretched out or started making me think I was about to have 800 pages of scripture blowing around the church parking lot, I could bring it back in and replace the comb for around $2. Fine. Comb Binding it is.</div>
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Another $8 later...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKEAk0uggxdsWUorgzv58BA49E5dLQ0GBi6Q9FeZp2aNPO9lrTFrBhNJDud1Rkq8arF1sAlJTT2qiIxMPZ_YhQSQ6QUpFbFIHl4uZcP4UYqA0GLc8j83QI3QyYh2Z3n-Z88OF8yAiHgJB/s1600/photo%252815%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFKEAk0uggxdsWUorgzv58BA49E5dLQ0GBi6Q9FeZp2aNPO9lrTFrBhNJDud1Rkq8arF1sAlJTT2qiIxMPZ_YhQSQ6QUpFbFIHl4uZcP4UYqA0GLc8j83QI3QyYh2Z3n-Z88OF8yAiHgJB/s640/photo%252815%2529.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-prn1/523672_10151032138181386_348984758_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://sphotos-a.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-prn1/523672_10151032138181386_348984758_n.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div>
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Ultimately, I'm really happy with it!! I would have loved a big fat spiral more...</div>
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but since that's the Loch Ness Monster of the office supply world, I figure this is the best I can do with what I have. </div>
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I took it to Small Group last night and I LOVED how it would lay flat in my lap so I could read out of our study materials and not lose my place! </div>
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*I have yet to write in my new note-taking space... because I am going to go get special pens today! </div>
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Happy Birthday to ME!!</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-65271481438142512422012-09-21T09:19:00.004-05:002012-09-21T09:40:58.247-05:00Picture Pages<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
(There are a BUNCH of photos at the end... read on, dear friends!)<br />
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When I was a kid (a lot of years ago... clearly)...<br />
Bill Cosby did "Picture Pages" on TV.<br />
You could beg/plead/cry/whine/stomp/remind your parents to call the special phone number and order your OWN set of Picture Pages with the special marker, so that you could play along with Bill Cosby at home.<br />
I doubt I had the official Picture Pages at my house.<br />
(reminder: your child's life will not be permanently altered if you do not give in to every item on their ever-changing wish list.<br />
I'm fine.<br />
I believe I only have mild long-term trauma from my lack of Picture Pages and Mortimer marker.) <br />
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I still remember the song... and I can picture Bill standing there, talking to us all about drawing the picture together. This is only slightly higher up on my Bill Cosby memories than Pudding Pops. (ahhh, <i>pudding pops</i>... I loved them so much. I loved the sheet of ice on the sides and especially the swirl ones since no one else liked those and I could have them all!)<br />
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Because I know you can't stand it... here ya go: <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FWg0U3fi7sE" target="_blank">Picture Pages with Bill Cosby on YouTube</a><br />
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Click... watch... enjoy.<br />
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Clearly, I survived my lack of Mortimer The Marker in my childhood experience.<br />
I do remember freaking out one Christmas because whatever I had asked my grandparents for had been given to me, and my sister got a Cabbage Patch doll... which, obviously, was the more awesome choice of the two items... and I know they went out and got me a Cabbage Patch doll also.<br />
(*insert "spoiled brat" comment by my sister HERE*)<br />
<br />
My kids have gone without a lot of the THINGS that their friends have over the years.<br />
Frankly, I'm certain their lives are no less meaningful because I never bought them Heeley's or a Blizzard machine... or whatever toy they are selling on TV this month.<br />
<br />
People are always asking me how we afford having such a big family.<br />
I usually give them my line about "children aren't expensive - lifestyles are."... but frankly, I want to roll my eyes and say "do you think we live like everyone else around us??"<br />
We aren't going out to lunch after church each Sunday.<br />
We aren't sending our kids to school with laptops or iPads.<br />
We don't buy 10 pairs of new shoes for each kid every time their feet grow .5 inch.<br />
Our yard looks like CRAP.<br />
We don't hire yard people or house cleaners or a laundry fairy (*sob*)...<br />
and we don't throw birthday parties with clowns and ponies and limo rides.<br />
Sure... we like to lavish "things" on our children just like the rest of you...<br />
but we have to be very choosy and thrifty with our lavishing. (thrifty lavishing?)<br />
I have a mental list of some items the kids like individually.<br />
One loves a certain type of dried fruit bar...<br />
one loves those special water drinks.<br />
Another likes mini-wheats cereal...<br />
and another likes anything neon yellow.<br />
When I can fit those things into the budget, I get them.<br />
<br />
Sometimes it's something bigger... like our annual trip to Beech Bend Park in Kentucky.<br />
When we decided to make this an annual trip on Labor Day, we had a normal sized family that fit into a standard mini-van. Now?? Well... we pack lunch, beg everyone around us for their BOGO coupon from the school fundraiser book... and hope we can figure out the entrance price with our budget.<br />
<br />
We get memberships to places... that's our family-fun day. The zoo, the aquarium, other local fun places... the membership for a year is way cheaper than one day's entrance for us... and it gives us something to do that's basically free for the rest of the year!<br />
<br />
Of course I'd love to buy our kid the iWhatever they want for their birthday. Of course I'd like to throw the 11th birthday party of the century for all her friends. Those things don't change just because your family size outstretches your ability to purchase anything on a whim.<br />
<br />
<i><b><span style="font-size: small;">But.....</span></b></i><br />
<i><b><span style="font-size: small;">you know what else I know?</span></b></i><br />
Those kids who DID get the special Mortimer Marker and all the Picture Pages books...<br />
all that <b>stuff</b> is long gone.<br />
And their <i><b>memories of that stuff</b></i>... are memories of sitting in front of a TV screen and "playing" with a 2D person.<br />
<br />
Our kids' memories may be less "spendy"...<br />
but they will be full of PEOPLE not things.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbhf6uJR61_za1lwdSS5LNPYVORVXt5CILFMP5OIEpcYkFyUEedUPvIq-kKOmTVKsjxPalG04iDPfgpoK6SbPNypHIzyDvHWc8CbJ29WScPtth1qx-Bf3U7tScHKLVTKQKzkga09EL1Cmx/s1600/IMG_1452.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbhf6uJR61_za1lwdSS5LNPYVORVXt5CILFMP5OIEpcYkFyUEedUPvIq-kKOmTVKsjxPalG04iDPfgpoK6SbPNypHIzyDvHWc8CbJ29WScPtth1qx-Bf3U7tScHKLVTKQKzkga09EL1Cmx/s320/IMG_1452.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yes... that's our SON in the bottom center. Crazy kid...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ15GCUpoEfmWAluvCn0CGbYif9mj1kKtbCeDLqej-vjKAqv6aXBIy65THZmSmOGgp0jfJHNfJYHwoHXny3AFLgUBr3WSW2h_zBfYuF76F9-XFid52MwjtoK-wVhi0BQG-6-1kAslTn_2g/s1600/IMG_2183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ15GCUpoEfmWAluvCn0CGbYif9mj1kKtbCeDLqej-vjKAqv6aXBIy65THZmSmOGgp0jfJHNfJYHwoHXny3AFLgUBr3WSW2h_zBfYuF76F9-XFid52MwjtoK-wVhi0BQG-6-1kAslTn_2g/s320/IMG_2183.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I'm told all these tiny braids are a great fine motor activity. Ouch.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKaIbRBuhC4aCJvb1d-KBHmrJoHqLkBvlOAHhrIeyw8AZs_tlxiJL6ggwWtgz-StzHsv3Bw9NCDjv5hVnDpdVJ7X3ogRlPRaAR9IH-aJFT03tBDMMeirHt9TWyzVljQHuRkI3TIMpuI5pm/s1600/IMG_2217.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKaIbRBuhC4aCJvb1d-KBHmrJoHqLkBvlOAHhrIeyw8AZs_tlxiJL6ggwWtgz-StzHsv3Bw9NCDjv5hVnDpdVJ7X3ogRlPRaAR9IH-aJFT03tBDMMeirHt9TWyzVljQHuRkI3TIMpuI5pm/s320/IMG_2217.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Assembly line </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwyv2KS4hz2tuodAoKi7vdZ5VrBTg_6x2tB05swqre-ZBqg-BkleWCH8-HsQTwC_5e4cGNN-rOcPw1kETgYoFcCPmUBQcOHxZ5Iz5wkNR7kb1Q94_NJ9h54g87KR9dmPkGWKOz_8caapRy/s1600/IMG_2221.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwyv2KS4hz2tuodAoKi7vdZ5VrBTg_6x2tB05swqre-ZBqg-BkleWCH8-HsQTwC_5e4cGNN-rOcPw1kETgYoFcCPmUBQcOHxZ5Iz5wkNR7kb1Q94_NJ9h54g87KR9dmPkGWKOz_8caapRy/s320/IMG_2221.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Building with Dad.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmhHg6Ru_OQw6HHYEK4maL33cY2Yl80IrFf4fY6C3frQL352TSOaH1Q_w4bC9goew-6m4zfuMtrJwTkCMFjW1JbJfC5GP3R0aRWv_0_jI52Jp6qtPm_ZZJi1WoC5yf1ns6iDlnyw96RMOX/s1600/IMG_2229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmhHg6Ru_OQw6HHYEK4maL33cY2Yl80IrFf4fY6C3frQL352TSOaH1Q_w4bC9goew-6m4zfuMtrJwTkCMFjW1JbJfC5GP3R0aRWv_0_jI52Jp6qtPm_ZZJi1WoC5yf1ns6iDlnyw96RMOX/s320/IMG_2229.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiding in plain sight</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcUFDq2xto1A4OGAvueAKB7UuqvexT-QpuMwb4eA95szf0edlt7CykU7F_kH13qZ7c-9B5cnDdNwUXLZyWWNrD41FdqJuY_6ekQa9uQvB3hciz6LInOowEW3ELICCfIF_5hvkQ9hpPr8M8/s1600/IMG_2345.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcUFDq2xto1A4OGAvueAKB7UuqvexT-QpuMwb4eA95szf0edlt7CykU7F_kH13qZ7c-9B5cnDdNwUXLZyWWNrD41FdqJuY_6ekQa9uQvB3hciz6LInOowEW3ELICCfIF_5hvkQ9hpPr8M8/s320/IMG_2345.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just before bed... her last night of being 6 years old!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnoPl-WlHMoqjZptingv0ZADSHTN27q4gFw8wC4ErJ8ckhMAkfc9mn54veIeo7TvY5obrS9PcgGBqcRglDQb5t607si_ImimVO4bjUOg9iYXmqw5HojVv5iuW-hoJDgpmQvKvK0iBGK4Cg/s1600/IMG_2348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnoPl-WlHMoqjZptingv0ZADSHTN27q4gFw8wC4ErJ8ckhMAkfc9mn54veIeo7TvY5obrS9PcgGBqcRglDQb5t607si_ImimVO4bjUOg9iYXmqw5HojVv5iuW-hoJDgpmQvKvK0iBGK4Cg/s320/IMG_2348.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crazy Bus</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtU_BpH6s9f922hCSlS-GccT9-dqCh0TFnIyakit_wiMaslZpGcdj16a20q0DDeWVsiYfz7V8AusPc9320cj3SEgqeHF-0hgL1M0jvjzY-xWz4pr1kDz26M-9NsXwFI7I_-4eMMQOsi_MR/s1600/IMG_2362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtU_BpH6s9f922hCSlS-GccT9-dqCh0TFnIyakit_wiMaslZpGcdj16a20q0DDeWVsiYfz7V8AusPc9320cj3SEgqeHF-0hgL1M0jvjzY-xWz4pr1kDz26M-9NsXwFI7I_-4eMMQOsi_MR/s320/IMG_2362.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Aquarium... before the day-of-fun.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPuU7_S7A9b_tRrw1hYwNhjMLnSYgetqgxTKUDJr78xJk-nJEiJzI-IFH4YGZcv3dLKsGdwlM3JdM0nfiMzYhH5W7cYzfvo_prIKNjuZyPX9HLLLQ9Ax6-4-_8bhw4uzrgYMsq-vsjZjyj/s1600/IMG_2372.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPuU7_S7A9b_tRrw1hYwNhjMLnSYgetqgxTKUDJr78xJk-nJEiJzI-IFH4YGZcv3dLKsGdwlM3JdM0nfiMzYhH5W7cYzfvo_prIKNjuZyPX9HLLLQ9Ax6-4-_8bhw4uzrgYMsq-vsjZjyj/s320/IMG_2372.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We scare people.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoINbDXmG6gvXQ-9gLm3MN1zuDo6ppJFHFtZBNR6VfoN2fG52WN5TRlCN3Ev11VXj202T06kbp3Eh4eaj9Q2zWJ-RmSBHQyaJgO3bellk5lWnlJ0cU7Gu6JfJZc9iyiAEi7b7hjlfhsynj/s1600/IMG_2429.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoINbDXmG6gvXQ-9gLm3MN1zuDo6ppJFHFtZBNR6VfoN2fG52WN5TRlCN3Ev11VXj202T06kbp3Eh4eaj9Q2zWJ-RmSBHQyaJgO3bellk5lWnlJ0cU7Gu6JfJZc9iyiAEi7b7hjlfhsynj/s320/IMG_2429.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pretty girls!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF6fDwpdhgOm-Fj_NCFT6fdPMCHgOHKmw4JePz8CFTGi0GJ8ufvaHNKdyi5o1nRQ_uwx8P7_YECloarW5456T9ZIBhM3CLnoNtFcJCyYgFXS0DfvfhH_lLXQ2WpeCAncc1_yG-1XIzk5bb/s1600/IMG_2458.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF6fDwpdhgOm-Fj_NCFT6fdPMCHgOHKmw4JePz8CFTGi0GJ8ufvaHNKdyi5o1nRQ_uwx8P7_YECloarW5456T9ZIBhM3CLnoNtFcJCyYgFXS0DfvfhH_lLXQ2WpeCAncc1_yG-1XIzk5bb/s320/IMG_2458.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">You can touch the scary fish... if you'd like to.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUpaAqJk69h_ka7bdf6q5bzec_CVooukFYjvVOw_VUlWD05HwjbNm91hKDTR-q9N8Eyt9MaRpiBHGU6_pbQ8zc3FP3Mr-ZYrVgtOVnGSGM5TEgGBNLa74gtwrK7uGmr4IYYW14D_XI_ySm/s1600/IMG_2472.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUpaAqJk69h_ka7bdf6q5bzec_CVooukFYjvVOw_VUlWD05HwjbNm91hKDTR-q9N8Eyt9MaRpiBHGU6_pbQ8zc3FP3Mr-ZYrVgtOVnGSGM5TEgGBNLa74gtwrK7uGmr4IYYW14D_XI_ySm/s320/IMG_2472.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fish whisperer.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutSysZ1DDvsStffJFRX5oc_7jX3tkGA4U_R0Iv29xFVHU8pGfwUn0hyphenhyphenY0qhbouf2Gr_5CDUq0Fz3hzK_z8AttgQ2sNTgJYsEUiJgPPI82_PLnqF3MwbZFgC3CVFMi-AIwWwGlmLNrSRYz/s1600/IMG_2514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutSysZ1DDvsStffJFRX5oc_7jX3tkGA4U_R0Iv29xFVHU8pGfwUn0hyphenhyphenY0qhbouf2Gr_5CDUq0Fz3hzK_z8AttgQ2sNTgJYsEUiJgPPI82_PLnqF3MwbZFgC3CVFMi-AIwWwGlmLNrSRYz/s320/IMG_2514.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet boys</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLIZg5Da2qRvVnsCFwNCHMP9-ieD-6Dj-A3jAY_T9W1k8M_CAE8JGycF_ylZ2D-uxQ7LlaAt2jCdzh4InNPA57AOAJ-ZpWfGoB6Wt55mMVh0_KOofoW0hDBQmFje6P4DW8BCmvI_6lZGXu/s1600/IMG_2555.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLIZg5Da2qRvVnsCFwNCHMP9-ieD-6Dj-A3jAY_T9W1k8M_CAE8JGycF_ylZ2D-uxQ7LlaAt2jCdzh4InNPA57AOAJ-ZpWfGoB6Wt55mMVh0_KOofoW0hDBQmFje6P4DW8BCmvI_6lZGXu/s320/IMG_2555.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Posing by the Penguins</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvIXiVuLUJgArO0SvoH91iTar74aDreUR0fzUPCcEZ-x-syobQbfNT69B94jsdle3VO_ADqUdkJ8-WlWcVePShtJYMpjaboGp-Iz0_Lb9imqjrzQAclQsEb8r15M9uxxSue46gX9x2MjB9/s1600/IMG_2868.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvIXiVuLUJgArO0SvoH91iTar74aDreUR0fzUPCcEZ-x-syobQbfNT69B94jsdle3VO_ADqUdkJ8-WlWcVePShtJYMpjaboGp-Iz0_Lb9imqjrzQAclQsEb8r15M9uxxSue46gX9x2MjB9/s320/IMG_2868.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Carousel at Beech Bend Park </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY6-riXMnz9JQhDQQIU-6sD_MeXFMfytEUWfYsxA14c-4tqwuVz_LPd-hezBkiJo1smRafPzsAA9B54sgMaLj4M1RuDj0h07JdR7-UhkCyizv3lxNnsFp3KVRu85xbZQOkkgq0vYAo07f7/s1600/IMG_2996.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY6-riXMnz9JQhDQQIU-6sD_MeXFMfytEUWfYsxA14c-4tqwuVz_LPd-hezBkiJo1smRafPzsAA9B54sgMaLj4M1RuDj0h07JdR7-UhkCyizv3lxNnsFp3KVRu85xbZQOkkgq0vYAo07f7/s320/IMG_2996.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I promise they were having fun...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2fX2ArOurG68mISpV9YDquzUurMlKqfxrifGV0yvoyJ2EcK5AZaYbAK-IJM1HXwfvJHXSv_Ml5GCj0w28n3cXXOorvjS99pLTtFdmlgZbadIZvHyl2JdgdEKIisUldtqJPxBqmNBDXeR/s1600/IMG_3079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz2fX2ArOurG68mISpV9YDquzUurMlKqfxrifGV0yvoyJ2EcK5AZaYbAK-IJM1HXwfvJHXSv_Ml5GCj0w28n3cXXOorvjS99pLTtFdmlgZbadIZvHyl2JdgdEKIisUldtqJPxBqmNBDXeR/s320/IMG_3079.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My little Vikings</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRr_D5amBpQ4uEhm6_1h-GS6rtHf0QhuvUrNR18veSohAmunQLqQU4Yd_hKScMAGIS5eZjDcSaUfqcJTOaGphPeyf1pwESs97h8zheD2oFfZYGH9ItcgXxiT8SN2BDJn8AurDoPAXMKowT/s1600/IMG_3081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRr_D5amBpQ4uEhm6_1h-GS6rtHf0QhuvUrNR18veSohAmunQLqQU4Yd_hKScMAGIS5eZjDcSaUfqcJTOaGphPeyf1pwESs97h8zheD2oFfZYGH9ItcgXxiT8SN2BDJn8AurDoPAXMKowT/s400/IMG_3081.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This is the happiest 3 year old I know!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<b> Sorry, Bill. </b><br />
Even eating Pudding Pops WHILE doing Picture Pages couldn't top these kinds of memories.<br />
<strike>(but maybe if I had a Mortimer Marker too.) </strike><br />
(no, not even with a Mortimer Marker.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-27530147192372477642012-09-12T00:38:00.000-05:002012-09-12T00:38:03.520-05:00Just stuff...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's late. I should be sleeping.<br />
My children will begin to wake up in 5 hours and 25 minutes.<br />
But who's counting?<br />
<br />
However, as is the case a lot of nights... I can't sleep.<br />
My favorite person travels for work and when he's gone I hear things that aren't there, work myself through my worst-case-scenario-survival-plans (<i>Fire Alarm going off at 2am. Exits on the 1st floor are blocked. How will you and 12 children escape? Answer... shimmy down basketball pole in the back yard, or use children as a human ladder, or call 9-1-1 and wait. Or, attempt all of the above.</i>) or read until I fall asleep mid-paragraph.<br />
<br />
<b>I was just thinking tonight about how I never would have imagined my life looking like this.</b><br />
I saw that cute picture of all the kids lined up youngest to oldest on the top of my blog page and I thought "wow, I remember looking at blogs of families with a bunch of kids like this and thinking... that is one STRANGE group of people!"<br />
Just keeping it real, yo. <br />
And now, here I am... with a dozen children.<br />
When I was 15 I told my mom I was NEVER having children.<br />
Clearly, I do not have the gift of prophesy.<br />
<br />
<b>People keep giving us stuff. </b><br />
Bags of really nice clothing, shoes, fun little extras like costumes for play...<br />
a big fish tank for my oldest's scary snake (he's too big for his current home... shiver)... <br />
some fun craft things that someone thought our kids might enjoy (and no evil glitter!)...<br />
a desk for one of my kids' bedrooms...<br />
a previously used, but still very cool, desktop computer...<br />
books... <br />
school supplies...<br />
backpacks...<br />
I mean, really. Sometimes we look at the numbers and wonder how in the world it's all going to work out... and then we are able to provide things for our children that we never thought we could, because someone dropped if off on our porch!<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>We are super conspicuous.</b><br />
Yeah, I know... I should be used to this...<br />
but sometimes I forget.<br />
I forget how we look different to a lot of people.<br />
I forget that we don't "match".<br />
But then I notice people staring... and frankly, I don't know if they are staring at my awesome rain boots (they are bright blue and lovely)... or because we have so many kids tagging along at whatever event... or because a gorgeous Ethiopian baby girl in a tutu just called me "MOMMY!!"<br />
Or, maybe they aren't looking at us and I'm just becoming paranoid.<br />
<br />
<b>My <a href="http://www.lovemybabycakes.com/" target="_blank">Babycakes</a> business has been doing really well!</b> I'm very excited about this because my goal was once to just have some spending money, then it became our adoption fundraiser, then it became the birthdays/holidays fund... and now I'm hoping to actually pay some bills out of that money! I can't believe something I wasn't even sure I wanted to sell... a hair and body product I invented for my kids... could now actually be helping us financially! It's such a blessing to me that people re-order and tell their friends about Babycakes!! <br />
<br />
<b>I have a few really sweet women in my life who "get" me.</b> They listen to me tell my stories, tell me their stories, laugh with me about my movie and tv show references, and make me laugh with their random Friends quotations. They text me something to make me laugh, commiserate about homework assignments, and let me be part of their lives. I'm so thankful to have a few friends like this who will meet for coffee after the kids go to bed and help me feel like a human again! <br />
<br />
I think that's about all for now... sorry for the random pile of thoughts... more cohesive blog post another day! <br />
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-20501943135274037952012-09-01T07:28:00.000-05:002012-09-01T07:51:06.157-05:00Check out my new cubbies!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="mobile-photo">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcU28pOeBPajW7ucC_s8HyNlR7h_B1Q0yEFvlJlFybWxYJX0F1hgz2cn2IIYsGBFa05WuTEWK_1Z0gtvHC8gKUvRSQ6eGjUW1sdTgsMQTTCLcXC0RldtKf8luWOWATVRqgff6u23DiSrdJ/s1600/photo-741934.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" height="640" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5783184382421690738" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcU28pOeBPajW7ucC_s8HyNlR7h_B1Q0yEFvlJlFybWxYJX0F1hgz2cn2IIYsGBFa05WuTEWK_1Z0gtvHC8gKUvRSQ6eGjUW1sdTgsMQTTCLcXC0RldtKf8luWOWATVRqgff6u23DiSrdJ/s640/photo-741934.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
My husband built these for the hallway by the laundry area! Aren't
<br />
they FABULOUS?!! Everyone gets their own color towel, a cup with their
<br />
own toothpaste and toothbrush inside. I put the boys' combs in their
<br />
cubbies and the two oldest girls have a brush and other hair things in
<br />
their cubbies.
<br />
Someday when I have unused/overflowing creative juices I plan to put a
<br />
photo of each kiddo over their cubby!
<br />
I just love these! Thanks, honey!!<br />
("cubby"... it's a weird word.) </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-91559769331285695272012-08-30T10:16:00.001-05:002012-08-30T10:35:27.855-05:00Calling the NOT called.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: center;">
Shocking statement:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
NOT everyone is called to adopt.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Some in the adoption-advocacy world would have you think</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
that every family should add to their numbers through adoption. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I find that a dangerous statement to make.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Adoption is HARD.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It's not for everyone.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
There are situations, circumstances, dynamics</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
that shouldn't be messed with.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sure, I read my bible.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I know what it says about</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"defending the cause of the fatherless"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"help widows and orphans in their distress".</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But I can't find in my Bible the idea that </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"adopting a child makes you more Christian"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
because it doesn't.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Of all the orphans in the world </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
only 4% are under the age of 5 years old.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Did you know that?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I know I didn't when we first thought about adoption. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I pictured snuggly babies in fuzzy blankets.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Apparently, that's the exception rather than the rule.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Older child adoption is HARD.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Kids come with their own sense of "right" and "wrong".</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They have survived more than most Americans will ever witness, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
much less actually experience.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They are stubborn and define "strong willed child".</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They can act out.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They can make you want to rip out all of the hairs on your head by the roots.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They machine gun attack you with questions when you just need a moment of quiet</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
to have your first cup of coffee.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They think they know EVERY thing there is to know about EVERYTHING.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You EARN their love.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They don't freely give it away.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But if you're lucky enough to earn it..</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
it's a beautiful thing.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sometimes I get a glimpse of the fear and desperation </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
that inhabits the hearts of my "older" children.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It reminds me that while NOT ALL are called to adopt personally,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
we really need to rally around those who are.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This is not rookie stuff.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW7d6ypSSN12O5ak0uzuItT4-2wslO4TYPSsIJ9wMEPNLIUhON2nSazYAcmhqCNyGQUmhABNK5XoriEj7RblGqGKpyhkSF6ldHQjjAul1qxw3RiWdC9mu0hJH1I4p0_qYbwpk2jAzcvSx1/s1600/photo(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW7d6ypSSN12O5ak0uzuItT4-2wslO4TYPSsIJ9wMEPNLIUhON2nSazYAcmhqCNyGQUmhABNK5XoriEj7RblGqGKpyhkSF6ldHQjjAul1qxw3RiWdC9mu0hJH1I4p0_qYbwpk2jAzcvSx1/s400/photo(2).JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
This isn't just a pile of junk.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
These are the treasures of a 6 year old boy.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
These things are under his mattress. This is half of his stash.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Most of the items I gave him when we met in January of this year.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A notebook, photo albums, a pencil pouch...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
a magazine from Ethiopian Airlines, a loose picture of his brother,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
church papers, a bible, a gold medal from our Kidlympics.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He stores away his treasures.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He sleeps on top of this lumpy mess every night.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He keeps it safe. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Someday he won't feel the need to save everything he has.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Someday he will feel safe enough to let some things go.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
That day is not today.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It's only been 4 1/2 months.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I have a friend who is advocating on behalf of a special pair of children.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
She met them personally in Ethiopia and she's helping them get home.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They have a family who is coming for them</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
when many others wouldn't.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"but they are SO old!"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"wow... what about previous abuse? would it even be SAFE?"</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Faith is hearing the thing you're supposed to do</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and believing that the Lord who calls you wants what is best for your life</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
and trusting Him to lead you into the best.</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLCe_xu_z4mg2E_F_vRTE1oY6cYND0jIJfVdAH7k-4AttSDIeVG1tQUGC_GMgeznOAOe62iqkur7JAWTapS01QUEfCHcrlya4aCT69DfQBkxTs-GcG3wHhUrWni5kfbB2uzlVGTYs2MwQc/s1600/Tracy+Siler%27s+advocated+kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLCe_xu_z4mg2E_F_vRTE1oY6cYND0jIJfVdAH7k-4AttSDIeVG1tQUGC_GMgeznOAOe62iqkur7JAWTapS01QUEfCHcrlya4aCT69DfQBkxTs-GcG3wHhUrWni5kfbB2uzlVGTYs2MwQc/s320/Tracy+Siler%27s+advocated+kids.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet brother and sister pair who have been given their heart's desire: a family coming for them.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Nope...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
not everyone could take on these two.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Not everyone should.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But if you personally feel that the Lord has blessed you</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
so that you can be a blessing to others</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I know a family who would greatly treasure</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
any sort of donation to their adoption fund.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
They are under a time crunch to get the money needed to continue </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
their pursuit of these two sweet faces.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Here's the link if you want to help bring them home:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://www.projecthopeful.org/waiting-kids/matched-children-and-families" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Help Helen & Habtamu Home!</a><br />
(click then scroll down to<b> </b><span style="font-size: small;"><b>"</b><strong>Helen and Haptamu found their family!")</strong></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><strong> </strong></span><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong></strong></span>I'd prefer "Helen and Haptamu's family found them..." alas.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
Could you donate and tell them you believe in them?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Could you toss a few dollars into their bucket and tell them it's going to be okay?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Could you tell them you'll put their names on your fridge and pray for them because you know there will be hard stuff... but you'll hold up their arms through it all?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Could you encourage them as they armor-up for the journey ahead?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'd appreciate it.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And as for us?</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Our "older kids" are learning and growing and doing some amazing stuff!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Just last night I helped our 8 year old son with his 3rd grade homework.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
He's been in America for 4.5 months and he's sounding out words and learning to read!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It's amazing.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I'm humbled and blessed to get to be a small part of this.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-84138004998114089752012-08-27T14:49:00.003-05:002012-08-27T14:49:46.723-05:00Sixteen.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: left;">
Late summer 1996.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We were a couple of kids playing house in a little apartment.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I was a 19 year old mommy-to-be and he was my adorable, doesn't-look-old-enough-to-drive hubby.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Sporting a giant belly with the rest of my body following that leader.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Stifling summer heat, a pitiful apartment maintenance man constantly on call to fix the A/C that could NOT get cold enough. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Typical first-baby style: several false alarms, tears and "I'm going to be pregnant FOREVER!!", and sweet family lovingly reminding me "no one was ever pregnant forever".</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
August 19th, 8lbs, 2oz of cute chubby baby goodness was born.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
A little girl becomes somebody's Mommy.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
A big strong tough guy becomes a Daddy.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We become a family and were forever changed.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Colic and diapers and spit-up and wardrobe changes.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Couch naps with him on my chest, feeling him hiccup - but, on the outside this time. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Vacuuming while bouncing with him in the snuggli attached to my chest - every.single.night. starting at 9pm. Because otherwise he would just cry and scream.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
First-time mommies learn a lot by trial and error.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
First-time mommies learn about boy stuff like peeing across the kitchen while uncovered during a bath. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Little baby boys get bigger. They grow and they grow and they learn to walk. They grow some more and learn to run and jump over big things and climb trees and make their mommy nervous. Very nervous. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The first time he got hurt and bled... I cried too.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The first day of Kindergarten...I cried too.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I was the first mommy waiting outside that day... because I just couldn't stand the thought of him walking out of the school on his first day and not seeing me standing there. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Now, that sweet baby boy is sixteen.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
He has turned the corner into becoming a big tough guy, too.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I struggle with this change.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I still look at him and see that scar from the first big ouchie - with rushing to the doctor and getting super glued back together.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I still look at him and hear him singing "Tinkle, tinkle, widdle staww!"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And yet, he's pulling farther away. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
He hardly even needs me anymore, you know.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I've taught him all about being independent... washing his laundry, letting him burn stuff in the name of learning to cook, ironing his own stuff. And now, he is mostly independent.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And I'm looking back on these 16 years and screaming at the hourglass to </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
JUST STOP FOR A FEW MINUTES!! REALLY! ENOUGH!! </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
He's such a great kiddo...</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I mean, young man.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
We hear all the time how wonderful he is.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
He's funny and kind and well-liked...</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
and he's polite to the neighbors and adults in our lives.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
He loves the little kids in the house like they've been here forever</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
and that's just not such a common thing for a teenager who went from being oldest of 4 to oldest of 12 in a matter of 20 months. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
He's wonderfully uncommon.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And I suppose it's nearing the time when I'll have to share him with the world.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The day will come when he will pull out of the driveway with a bunch of stuff and go start his life away from the shelter of our home. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
And I'll still picture him with a head full of golden brown curls, snuggling up in his Daddy's lap eating cookie dough and watching VeggieTales. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Because, now that I've got 16 years of experience at this, I know...</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
that's what Mommies do.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I love you, kiddo.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbJxogHV7wdxo4vwwiihPjs_miCdLEp54VStGI-CMG6XSrN2b1BRTntv-lJuxYDyNf02-OAmvkJmx2MuX3K2fb21-vlNeBEvKUvk1RtonbEaxhYWAu4wYq6mhQFFfYlSPgYoiQ2UwLzzSw/s1600/_MG_2212.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbJxogHV7wdxo4vwwiihPjs_miCdLEp54VStGI-CMG6XSrN2b1BRTntv-lJuxYDyNf02-OAmvkJmx2MuX3K2fb21-vlNeBEvKUvk1RtonbEaxhYWAu4wYq6mhQFFfYlSPgYoiQ2UwLzzSw/s400/_MG_2212.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>
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(P.S. You'll ALWAYS be my baby boy.)</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-183842935030233478.post-23056378066504475302012-08-14T14:59:00.001-05:002012-08-14T14:59:47.595-05:00Soaking it all in<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Some days are very, very hard.<br />
Some days I want to run away and scoop elephant poop in the circus.<br />
Any circus.<br />
Even a really crappy circus.<br />
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Just being honest with you, there are mornings I wake up on the wrong side of the weekend.<br />
School just started. I could cry with all the planning and preparation, lunch boxes, snack baggies, paperwork and meetings, emails and tell-me-about-your-child questionnaires. I don't want my girls going to school with their hair all looking crazy and fuzzy... even though I KNOW it's bound to happen sooner or later. I don't want the boys going to school wearing their sisters' socks... but I suppose if that's the worst concern I have, that's not too bad. I don't want to forget to send that special whatever on the right day or turn in the student-of-the-week binder on the right morning. I don't want to forget the permission slip or that it's Orange Day and, oh yeah...someone needs a 1 1/2 inch binder with a clear front pocket. Today.<br />
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But there are other days.<br />
Days that are really, <i>really</i> sweet.<br />
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Yesterday was one of those days.<br />
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It was this sweet girl's birthday!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpfi9LzhsK13yFLKsv4BU8guMZVEHAY-7MRJhg3iLUCocBEZ1QjAym6PO4cZ8uKN17-gopV62QhWI-Rt2EgNeKCgLhfyHvwRSpPxjq2l5DbK7uI6ePSlOr-v9GUqqMS7CeLboKxnHftlxX/s1600/Evie+6th+birthday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpfi9LzhsK13yFLKsv4BU8guMZVEHAY-7MRJhg3iLUCocBEZ1QjAym6PO4cZ8uKN17-gopV62QhWI-Rt2EgNeKCgLhfyHvwRSpPxjq2l5DbK7uI6ePSlOr-v9GUqqMS7CeLboKxnHftlxX/s320/Evie+6th+birthday.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Sweet baby girl!! Turning SIX!!</div>
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So, as is typical in our fam...</div>
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I made a cake, bought some gifts, decorated the dining room with crepe paper and plastic table cloth and we partied like the awesome G-rated rock stars that we are! She enjoyed her pointy birthday hat, balloons, special seat at the table along with all the other perks of having your birthday fall on the first full day of school! </div>
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And then suddenly one of our boys disappeared. </div>
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He was in a near panic.</div>
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There were bags and backpacks being rifled through.</div>
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Multiple trips up and down the stairs.</div>
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Then we realized what he was doing.</div>
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He needed a gift for his sister for her birthday.</div>
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And he was choosing from his most prized possessions - </div>
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the things I had brought him when I came to meet them the first time this January. </div>
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He chose to give her the frog with our photo on it's tummy. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-4-J41rdD1hfm3bSwtY1wZraBW_VU6VddorrFDId9eYEjepDsyC3-W171gSzkiMwaYV1pNoQFIKohVqOmXXU0ywnK4giTwMojUflDL2xAXdd482_80TuHy2_eFx4i_uKU7IN85Snd0Q1Z/s1600/DSCN0448.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-4-J41rdD1hfm3bSwtY1wZraBW_VU6VddorrFDId9eYEjepDsyC3-W171gSzkiMwaYV1pNoQFIKohVqOmXXU0ywnK4giTwMojUflDL2xAXdd482_80TuHy2_eFx4i_uKU7IN85Snd0Q1Z/s320/DSCN0448.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I printed this photo, cut it out, and put it in the frog tummy. <br />He kept it safe and treasured.<br />**Don't judge... 5 days, cold showers, no make up and <br />I was about to abandon my babies back to the care center for <br />who-knows-how-long. **</td></tr>
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I had handed that to him the last day we were together before I left for 3 long months to wait for clearance to bring them home. </div>
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Having watched him lovingly look through his box of all the things he adores and making a face that they weren't good enough... I realized how important this was to him. </div>
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After she had opened her gifts and no one handed her the frog... he made another panicked dash up the stairs. </div>
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I ran after him and caught him just as he was about to dash back down the stairs </div>
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with his hidden bag of quarters - his tooth fairy money.</div>
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I pulled him into his bedroom and looked into those sweet brown eyes and said</div>
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<i>"buddy, it makes Mommy's heart SO happy when you want to give your sister a gift for her birthday! Why don't you keep your money and your frog... </i></div>
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<i>and let Mommy and Daddy give the gifts for now, okay?"</i></div>
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He looked a little confused, but also a bit relieved. I could see the panic leaving his face and I began to wonder about gift-giving occasions in his first family. </div>
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I gave him a huge hug, squeezed him tight, told him how much I love him and how happy he made me because he's so sweet... he smiled and said "I love you, Mom!" and we went back downstairs for the rest of the party.</div>
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Later as I was watching our kids just sitting around in the living room, enjoying being together, watching the birthday girl unwrap her gifts and chattering about the cool things she had been given... I just looked around and felt SO thankful for what I've been given. </div>
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We don't have the coolest "stuff"... </div>
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and we sometimes send the kids to school wearing their sisters socks... </div>
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but, I wouldn't trade this for anything.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg83JG3FqQATM6rRTaMk33zapzeMKK4X1xi16r8RsdQatCcXpNaz2bk6UjbqApc0WM5EFA7JwwKjZZpStZeB_iCikCGCcWse7AX1-eLIn_Jqox-6nk-LlEhfGSZg98qsemVQKK6m2V-M3W/s1600/family+in+living+room.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg83JG3FqQATM6rRTaMk33zapzeMKK4X1xi16r8RsdQatCcXpNaz2bk6UjbqApc0WM5EFA7JwwKjZZpStZeB_iCikCGCcWse7AX1-eLIn_Jqox-6nk-LlEhfGSZg98qsemVQKK6m2V-M3W/s400/family+in+living+room.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7