tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7056803623867037212024-03-13T13:35:07.295-07:00Deep Rolling Right FieldA place to reflect on the game of lifeAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.comBlogger415125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-22581899347580482782014-10-12T19:22:00.004-07:002014-10-12T19:22:51.278-07:00YOU WERE INVITED...I just forgot to mention itEver planned an awesome party and never sent out the invitations?<br />
<br />
Well, I'm not sure this is quite that bad, but a LONG TIME AGO I did get an awesome present that I should have told you about.<br />
<br />
RRL, the amazing, set me up on wordpress and made "deeprollingrightfield.com" officially MINE!<br />
<br />
How thoughtful was that? And he did all the work rolling forward the old posts on the new site for me- and wrapped it all up and gave it to me for my birthday. LAST YEAR.<br />
<br />
So- If you find yourself here, on this old site that I haven't logged on to in months. OOPS. I'm sorry i didn't tell you sooner.<br />
<br />
Hop on over to where the real fun is:
<b><a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.com/">deeprollingrightfield.com</a></b><br />
To hear about:<br />
<a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.com/facts-about-the-matching-but-not-twin-brothers/">Our matching but not twin boys</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.com/the-picture-plan/">Our hilarious Easter photo shoot</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.com/it-aint-free-if-you-pay-for-it/">Dressing seven small children as cows to get free food</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.com/lessons-from-a-lemonade-stand/">And our Lemonade stand with our bonus 3 kids</a><br />
<br />
Among other fun (and some serious).<br />
<br />
See, you haven't missed much. <br />
<i>Unless you consider adding three more kids to our house for a while being very much.</i><br />
<i>which I do.</i><br />
<br />
And don't forget to add the REAL deeprollingrightfield.com to your blog reader of choice so you never miss a party again (that I forget to invite you to).<br />
<br />
See ya soon!<br />
ABL<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i><br /></i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-57691309710668340722014-01-21T09:13:00.001-08:002014-01-21T13:23:36.465-08:00A letter to the one who left church<p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">To the one who left church because of me:</span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">We were running late to service. It</span><span class="s3"> i</span><span class="s3">s one of my husband</span><span class="s3">’</span><span class="s3">s least favorite things about Sundays. With four</span><span class="s3"> (</span><span class="s3">and </span><span class="s3">on that day,</span><span class="s3"> seven</span><span class="s3">)</span><span class="s3"> kids in tow, it is rare that we can get them all picked up from various </span><span class="s3">Bible </span><span class="s3">classes, delivered to children’s church</span><span class="s3"> and us to our seats</span><span class="s3"> before the opening hymn. Maybe I talk too much. Maybe. </span></span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">I don’t know you, but you’ve changed something in me. I know you’ll likely never read these words, but you are now a part of my story. </span><span class="s3">T</span><span class="s3">o be honest, I never considered before that our rushing to our seats might impact someone else. I guess the fact that I consider the section “mine” is my first problem. It</span><span class="s3">’</span><span class="s3">s just that we ALWAYS sit there. The seats in the way back are on a slope and</span><span class="s3"> kinda</span><span class="s3"> make my feet hurt. I thought about my feet again this Sunday and was willing</span><span class="s3"> to forge forward to find prime</span><span class="s3"> seats.</span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4KSuuzaHjB3SQNn0CDaV2unMxwZW-V97wfdeeJMCuHqsbXHTildpgnuHx-9r5Iop0GSRM83STNiK2ixslTf0voOpbIXAPhra51Fb1nYhVs8xEA0h4WChMI2gPaEkNKdrn771hV90Ht0/s640/blogger-image--1863954420.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4KSuuzaHjB3SQNn0CDaV2unMxwZW-V97wfdeeJMCuHqsbXHTildpgnuHx-9r5Iop0GSRM83STNiK2ixslTf0voOpbIXAPhra51Fb1nYhVs8xEA0h4WChMI2gPaEkNKdrn771hV90Ht0/s640/blogger-image--1863954420.jpg"></a></div><p></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">I’m sorry that in seeking </span><span class="s3">those </span><span class="s3">seats, I misunderstood you. </span><span class="s3">When I asked if you were saving any of the seats around you- two on one side, three on the other- I understood the answer to be “no”. When I asked if you minded scooting in, you clearly said “I’d prefer not to”. No problem, we’ll sit around you- hubby and I on one side, 3 in-laws on the other. Only it was a problem. Apparently it was a big problem to you. Within minutes you gathered your belongings and left, minutes later you came back for something forgotten</span><span class="s3"> and left a second time in quite a huff</span><span class="s3">.</span></span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">I’m sorry because</span><span class="s3"> I know now it wasn’t about the seats. T</span><span class="s3">he conversation we had after I followed you out of the auditorium went so poorly. </span><span class="s3">I have a feeling that nothing I said or did in those moments would have made a difference for you</span><span class="s3">.</span><span class="s3"> The pain and anger ran too deep for me to “fix”. </span><span class="s3">But I still hate that I couldn’t.</span></span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">I’m sorry because a</span><span class="s3">s I stood there </span><span class="s3">listening to </span><span class="s3">t</span><span class="s3">he hateful things you said about me, the ridiculous nature of the blame you placed on me and the emotion with which you carried it all</span><span class="s3">, I could only think “This is like</span><span class="s3"> nothing I’ve e</span><span class="s3">ver experienced from a stranger. And a stranger IN CHURCH. My word</span><span class="s3">”</span><span class="s3">. </span></span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">But as you walked away and said “</span><span class="s3">You didn’t even see me. </span><span class="s3">YOU ARE THE REASON I CAN’T BE IN CHURCH,” I knew my persepective had been wrong. Completely wrong. Especially in church. And I’m so very sorry.</span></span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">I want to apologize; because it is absolutely true- I followed you for me. Not for you. </span><span class="s3">I wanted to fix it so that I could make </span><span class="s3">myself feel better</span><span class="s3">. </span><span class="s3">Surely if you knew me, I could make it ok. If you knew why I’d been consumed with myself that morning, you’d understand. </span><span class="s3">If you knew about the kiddos I’</span><span class="s3">d brought with me- desperately hurting children</span><span class="s3">- you’d be compassionate. If you knew my pain over having to decide where they were going to live- you’d see my heart. If you knew about the conversation I’d just completed, the first healthy conversation in 3 years with someone I love, you’d understand why my mind was consumed. </span></span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">I</span><span class="s3"> just knew that i</span><span class="s3">f you </span><span class="s3">could just SEE </span><span class="s3">ME, you would </span><span class="s3">understand my blinders</span><span class="s3">. And you’d understand why </span><span class="s3">it was a simple as me moving to a different seat, you coming back to service and definitely forgiving</span><span class="s3"> ME</span><span class="s3"> so I could eat my lunch after church without another thought to the matter</span><span class="s3">.</span></span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">But it wasn’t that simple. Because what rocked me was </span><span class="s3">a</span><span class="s3"> realization that I had </span><span class="s3">missed</span><span class="s3">what I r</span><span class="s3">arely consider</span><span class="s3"> in my Sunday rush to my seat. As I </span><span class="s3">come to </span><span class="s3">worship, I rarely consider </span><span class="s3">that we all come into that auditorium the same way. Maybe in varying degrees of blindness, but all with things in our </span><span class="s3">own </span><span class="s3">lives</span><span class="s3">- whether joys or sorrows-</span><span class="s3"> that keep us from seeing. Really seeing each other</span><span class="s3">. </span></span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I am sorry that I felt so justified in my self-consumption. I do have some tough stuff in my health, in my emotions, in my life. But as a result, I could not see you. Even now, I remember you were wearing a blue sweater, but for the life of me, I can’t remember your face.</span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">I</span><span class="s3"> a</span><span class="s3">m sorry because just before you stormed away, you gave me a peek into your pain. And I could tell it ran deep. You mentioned </span><span class="s3">g</span><span class="s3">randaughters that you never see. You alluded to a hope that they would join you that morning. Before </span><span class="s3">your</span><span class="s3"> anger out-weigh</span><span class="s3">ed</span><span class="s3">it</span><span class="s3">, I saw a glimer of your hope and emotion. But only in retrospect did I realize that my pain had kept me from asking you </span><span class="s3">for </span><span class="s3">any information </span><span class="s3">about those girls.</span></span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">I am sorry, for I may never know if </span><span class="s3">they were</span><span class="s3"> the root of your pain. I will never know if ill-begotten seats represented their faces to you. I may never know whether you meant you were leaving the auditorium that day or leaving the Lord. And for that, I’m so incredibly sorry. </span></span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I’m sorry I did not see you. </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I’m sorry that my pain blinded me from yours.</span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">But I want you to know, it did not destroy me. And the efforts Satan made that morning to trap me in a pit of self-pity, were conquered by a God that </span><span class="s3">I went to worship in the first place</span><span class="s3">. And you were a vessel in that deliverance. </span><span class="s3">I can’t promise you that there won’t be more Sundays of self-consumption. But I promise to try to see.</span></span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">Thank you for opening my eyes. </span><span class="s3">You helped</span><span class="s3"> me realize that I am neither alone in my pain nor alone in my desire to have it quenched.</span></span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">Thank you for putting a name to</span><span class="s3"> my self-consumption. </span><span class="s3">You helped me hear clearly that morning that even “God-work” can be an idol in which I place my self-worth and which dictates my actions and emotions.</span></span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">Thank you for giving me the will to fight off the blinders that have swallowed me. </span><span class="s3">You restored in me a spirit that does not want to be consumed, that wants to see others and more than anything wants to be present.</span></span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">Thank you for reminding me why I come to Worship.</span><span class="s3"> </span><span class="s3">You showed me that i</span><span class="s3">n worship, not just in that auditorium, </span><span class="s3">I AM BEING RENEWED-</span><span class="s3"> despite my flaws, despite my pain, despite my busy-ness, despite my longings. </span></span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I’m writing so you’ll know that I’m praying for eyes to see those around me. To not be consumed by my own life in a way that keeps me from living beside others.</span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And most of all.</span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><span class="s3">I’m praying that you find your way back to Church. Not a building full of people who can’t always see, not an auditorium full of seats that get too crowded, not worship that is a band playing in volumes with varying degrees of </span><span class="s3">audience </span><span class="s3">preferences, but CHURCH. </span><span class="s3">A</span><span class="s3"> body of believers, encouraging each other while we hope for what we can not see. </span><span class="s3">Worship</span><span class="s3">, t</span><span class="s3">he experience in which we can be our messy selves, yet full of so much more. </span><span class="s3">You helped me find my way back there on Sunday and I hope you’ll join me. </span><span class="s3">I don’t want you just to j</span><span class="s3">oin me</span><span class="s3"> in those crowded seats on Sundays</span><span class="s3"> when w</span><span class="s3">e come together, </span><span class="s3">but join me in </span><span class="s3">giving what little we have to the One who always ALWAYS sees us.</span><span class="s3"></span></span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And give me a chance to see you.</span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I’m sorry that I didn’t.</span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I’m sorry that sometimes I won’t.</span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">But thank you for helping me want to try.</span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Humbly,</span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span class="s3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">ABL</span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p class="s2" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-69990376901997665322014-01-11T15:41:00.000-08:002014-01-11T21:14:04.411-08:00Our LEGENDARY Family Roadtrip<span style="font-family: inherit;"></span>I have to laugh when anyone asks what we did over Christmas. Because to be so amazing, I sure haven't talked about it much. It may not be very well documented, but to us it was kinda a big deal. <span style="font-family: inherit;">Our little family of 6 drove to North Dakota. It wasn't a secret. Not an intentional one, at least. Its just that we spent most of the 10 days fairly unplugged and we arrived back to L-I-F-E. </span><div><br>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, here ya go. FINALLY. The not-secret-on-purpose details of our Christmas adventure revealed in a format kind of like</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> the 12 days of Christmas </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">(only not at all. </span><i style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">don't try to sing it, it won't work</span></i><span style="font-family: inherit;">). We didn't send out Christmas cards this year, didn't give teachers Christmas gifts until we came back to school, didn't do a lot of things because of one amazing trip. We spent several weeks planning our roadtrip north, days packing for the excursion, and then 10 days away from home. And at the end, I'd say it far surpassed all expectations. If you were one of the haters who pointed out how cold it would be...well, you were right. But we loved every minute of it.</span><div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><br></span></b>
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">12</span> Family members under one roof for Christmas</b><br>
For years we weren't together. Between peace core commitments and deployments, we experienced just enough empty spots at the Christmas dinner table to know it wasn't our favorite thing (like WAAAYYYYY down the list). So, this year when my baby brother<i> (seems weird to say about a Captain in the AF, but still true)</i> said he couldn't get leave to come from North Dakota to my parents house for Christmas, the choice was simple. Minot, here we come. <br>
<br>
We were together. And it was worth it.<br>
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"></span></b><br>
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Here's where I should shout out to my parents. They were so gracious to give up Christmas at their house- which I know they love- to make sure this could happen. And THEN they helped in lots of ways make sure we could all get there. I love what they teach me about family.</div>
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Even bigger shout out to my precious sister-in-law who helped my brother be able to host this whole crew in their home. Yep, we ALL stayed with them. Including the bonus of the two doggy-cousins. <i>(See Cbugs new best bud, Champ, below). </i> The Captains worked so hard to make sure we could all stay at their house and maximize our time together. They really went above and beyond in having rooms ready for everyone and meal plans and spoiling us in every possible way.</div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">11 </span> hours spent at the Mall of America</b><div>
Our gifts to our kids this year were all "trip" related. From new boots and warm clothes to tickets to some fantastic places. Like the Nickelodean Universe amusement park...<br><br>
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...and the Lego and American Girl stores in the Mall of America. They all were very brave about riding rides, the boys LOVED spending their "santa money" on Legos and Libby got to take my-now-her Samantha for a makeover. Over the course of two days, a total of 11 hours, at this fun place- our kids had a BLAST. Ok, so did their parents.</div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">10</span> Days away from home</b></div>
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Its already crazy enough that we drove to North Dakota. In December. But to make it all the more crazy (and awesome), we didn't go the short way. We drove up via a West route that added about 5 driving hours to our trip and south via an east route that added about 2 hours. I hate to brag on my kids<i> (except i don't mind at all)</i>- but they ROCKED this road trip. We did watch some movies and played some video games, but a lot of the time they read and played with toys and entertained themselves and talked and laughed. oh, and ate. YOU SHOULD HAVE SEEN the backseat collection of crumbs. </div>
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We all learned some things. My kids learned to unbuckle and put coats on BEFORE opening van doors and to knock mud and snow off their shows everytime they re-entered. I learned to feed Tito applesauce by reclining the seat until I was next to him and wrapping my arm around his rear-facing self. Talents, people. Tito enjoyed feeding snacks to his favorite travel buddy, "Mel-mo". </div>
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All of us were a little batty by the time we got within a few hours of arriving home. But other than that last little stretch (see crazy face pics below), I am AH-MAZED at how smoothly this went.</div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">9</span> states traveled</b><br>
This is one of my favorite things about our Christmas. We actually slept in 5 different states, 4 of which I had never been to before. We drove through Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas, <b>Nebraska</b>, <b>South Dakota</b>, <b>North Dakota</b>, <b>Minnesota</b>, Iowa, and <b>Missouri</b>. Shew. I had a great plan to take pictures at every state sign. Which didn't really happen. But I was absolutely determined to get a perfect family photo at the North Dakota sign. This was worth documenting. So, even though the temps were well below zero, RRL got the tripod set up, we bundled everyone up, set the timer, ran to the sign, did the cutest family pose (sweet Lou in cheerleader position) and then ran back to the car to unbundle, rebuckle and admire the results. Which is why it was both hilarious and so sad that it turned out being only RRL's backside and the rest of us not even in "ready" position. Camera timer fail. Just like the ND motto on the sign and just like our little trip north- the picture is LEGENDARY. <i>(as runners up, I also really like Cbugs interpretation of SD's "Great faces" motto and my hubby and i under "the good life" in Nebraska)</i>.<br>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">8</span></b><b> days we saw snow</b><br>
Snow is a commodity for our little crew. KJ and Cbug, especially, loved romping in the snow, hiding in the snow forts their uncles helped them build and having snow ball fights.<br>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">7</span> suitcases loaded in the van</b><br>
Packing for this trip was interesting- especially since we needed everything from swimsuits to snowsuits...times 6. I had a crazy awesome system for packing us for all the different stops so that we wouldn't have to load/unload the whole van each time.<br>
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Unpacking was easy- it all just exploded into our entry way when we got home.<br>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">6</span> People to spoil small children</b><br>
We spent nearly 4 days actually in Minot and by far the best part of that was watching my kids be so well loved. Between Aunts, Uncles and Grandparents our kiddos always had someone to provide sweet treats, play games, read stories, snuggle...<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkVm4qE7B4NZSN6GEM_b_92F2xr7gB8upKJt1jSBLDDgyqkSAaF0-N9r2kQ3w_hUg3qyXOIpsROiUi2suUmYrqPfQ106E2eM2wvyIFxSCzfuiMVBhjpniIucuRTxQUK0aHpUNC3mbfoyY/s640/blogger-image--1667809786.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="638" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkVm4qE7B4NZSN6GEM_b_92F2xr7gB8upKJt1jSBLDDgyqkSAaF0-N9r2kQ3w_hUg3qyXOIpsROiUi2suUmYrqPfQ106E2eM2wvyIFxSCzfuiMVBhjpniIucuRTxQUK0aHpUNC3mbfoyY/s640/blogger-image--1667809786.jpg" width="640"></a><br>
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...and of course provide some much loved Christmas presents.</div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">5</span> Original Bradfields</b><br>
And it wasn't just my kids that were so well loved, I was, too.<br>
No family is perfect. But I sure love mine. For years and years, I've loved the five of us...<br>
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...but now that we've added spouses, I love this group EVEN more. I'd drive and drive <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">for moments like this one </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">(or I should say "ride and ride", let's be real I drove exactly none) . We got all the kids in bed on Christmas eve and then enjoyed an "adults only" dinner. Luckily, KJ needed a drink of water, mid-dinner, and came upstairs just in time to be picture taker.</span></div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">4</span> Different hotel rooms</b><br>
We learned all kinds of tricks for making small spaces work well for the 6 of us, and we actually really didn't mind most of our hotels at all. We mostly stayed LaQuinta and found them a reasonable balance of well priced and well kept. And bonus, we stayed in so many on this little adventure that our last night was nearly free.<br>
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A "we've been in hotels too long" story I love to retell was when Cbug yelled "MOM, Tito is pushing buttons on the Ah-Mah-Nah" again. And when I finally figured out what he meant, I thought it was THE FUNNIEST THING EVER. The fact that I found it so hilarious, and even took a picture of it, made me realize- I MUST GET HOME.<br>
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But my FAVORITE hotel memory is the night I spent dining on the floor with this guy toasting 12 years of marriage- with McDonalds sweet tea. I won't sap you out now, but if you wanna read about that night, I <a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2013/12/a-styrofoam-cup-kind-of-anniversary.html">posted about it here</a>.</div>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">3</span> Huge waterslides at the indoor waterpark</b><br>
<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"></span></b>Like I said, this Christmas we gave our kids the gift of experience. Each day, for 12 days leading up to Christmas, they got to open something. Sometimes it was books to read in the car, sometimes snacks, but once it was a hotel WITH an indoor waterpark. Apparently, these are pretty standard in the area we visited in South Dakota, because even our LaQuinta was attached to one. And they were SUPER reasonably priced compared to the one in our town. Our boys were in HEAVEN. Libby loved it, too, but the boys really enjoyed the slides. Cbug would literally RUN up the 70 stairs <i>(one time I made him count them so I could catch up)</i>, slide down and do it again so quickly that he swallowed enough water to make himself just about puke. So, he started a new routine of stairs, slide, toilet (just in case), stairs, slide, toilet.<br>
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KJ had quite the adventure in the lazy river (which is anything but lazy with boys). He and I were playing bumper rafts (see- not lazy) and he hit is face on the front of his float, knocking out his (very loose) front tooth. It sunk straight to the bottom (which he found hilarious) and he was missing his two front teeth for Christmas (which I found adorable).<br>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">2</span> Crazies playing in the snow at Mount Rushmore</b><br>
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<b></b>Another "gift" was National monuments. We saw two this day- the still-in-process Crazy Horse monument, and Mount Rushmore. If you haven't been to Mount Rushmore, I can't quite explain the feeling of standing under it. Its just like the pictures- faces carved in rocks- but for some reason it is just about one of the coolest things I have EVER seen in person. As you walk up to the monument, one of your first glimpses is between the rows of state flags. I know I'm sappy, but that moment was so powerful.<br>
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I absolutely LOVED the time I got to spend with Cbug, playing in the snow in the ampitheater that is right at the base of Mountain. Everyone else mostly stayed inside (again with the FREEZING cold temps), but he was determined to play. How could I say "no" to "may I go play in the snow" in front of Mount Rushmore. How many kids can say they've done that (or adults for that matter). Not very many. In fact, approx 5000 people PER DAY visit Mount Rushmore in the summer. But only about 100 in the winter. There is a reason for that BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR, but its kinda cool that we were among the few this year.<br>
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<b><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">1</span> Detour to see the Badlands</b><br>
Have I said "my favorite" yet? Well, then this was my "surprise favorite" part of the trip. If I hadn't been researching this trip like crazy, we might have missed this gorgeous slice of our country. Seriously beautiful. But the main scenic route was under repairs so we had to really work to get ther. As we turned off the main interstate onto a small road which turned into an unpaved road into what seemed like the middle of nowhere, I really doubted myself. You can't see the spectacularness from the interstate so you might just miss it, but when you do finally arrive- wowzers. And covered in snow- double wowzers. I do wish we had been there sans small children so we could do more exploring, but we all enjoyed the views for a little bit and the visitors center was fun for the kids.<br>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CS8frsnMAjAWB5Z7Lf69cbOl6ivJ4m8H8ZjH8mMT4BE1bokI71Bn3yVXQVCr7OVgr4KeapwSaFBsAfMfAtacf9T_cIaOovyBGlPvUrnd7fbbfrkjfivXNUbA0HrBLM29bLgMCRJe7Aw/s1600/blogger-image-1860739852.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="638" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8CS8frsnMAjAWB5Z7Lf69cbOl6ivJ4m8H8ZjH8mMT4BE1bokI71Bn3yVXQVCr7OVgr4KeapwSaFBsAfMfAtacf9T_cIaOovyBGlPvUrnd7fbbfrkjfivXNUbA0HrBLM29bLgMCRJe7Aw/s640/blogger-image-1860739852.jpg" width="640"></a></div><div><br></div><div>Which is actually a perfect way to sum up this trip- the whole thing was quite an unexpected blessing. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> It was a Christmas packed so full of goodness, I could have never seen it from the road before we arrived. </span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">We didn't necessarily plan it to become a tradition, but giving the gift of experience might just be our new favorite part of Christmas</span><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">. Because, just like the North Dakota sign, I have a feeling this Christmas will be LEGENDARY...at least for 6 of us.</span></div><div><br></div><div>ABL <br>
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</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-85066297119324836492014-01-03T13:30:00.003-08:002014-01-03T21:41:33.209-08:00My very favorite 6-year-old<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">For weeks I've been kissing Cbug goodnight and saying "you are my favorite 5-year-old," only to have him respond "Not for much longer. Pretty soon I'll have to be your favorite 6-year-old." And today is that day!</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dear Cbug-</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Man you make our lives fun! Without even trying, you make me laugh more times a day than I could possibly count. The pictures in this blog (taken by THE THREE) are some of the very few I have of you not making a silly face. I do love these pictures, but I'm so glad we have the silly ones, too- never a dull moment. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I feel like I probably say the same thing each year in your birthday letter, but only because it is so very true...You live life in big ways, you never do anything half-way and when you are in- YOU ARE ALL IN! Sometimes this is frustrating because it is so difficult for you to change gears or stop something before you are finished, but most of the time it is a delight to see you face a challenge and barrel forward. I love watching you complete Lego sets at lightening paces, read books, play nerf wars and your most recently discovered talent- making things at the craft table. You've made Christmas cards for family members, angry bird ornaments for the Christmas tree and today you spent well over an hour making your own Happy Birthday sign.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpaH1cn8ScRv2CxaI8PZ5WhDQvo5CcBVctPPahySvzuFOD9s6cA4T81chigvc5eKMDS5poanyR640AL8RtD-d1anJ1qrQHH8Sb0S3hP9vva-H3JE4MOtlPTY3Wqdd-vJi-4hIElXgIQlk/s640/blogger-image-1380022710.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You've had a big time this year in Kindergarten. You've blown our minds with how quickly you are learning and how much you love all things academic. You are suddenly way into reading. And we were so proud of you <a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2014/01/family-name-restored-christmas-program.html">when you ROCKED your reading of Christ's birth for the Christmas show</a>. Seriously, it was a shining star moment, dude. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">You are just slightly (cough cough) obsessed with numbers- always counting things or wanting us to try to stump you with math problems (which is difficult to do), and you love to know/remember dates. Whenever anyone comments on your missing tooth you respond "yep, I lost it on November 29th." </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">My favorite thing about your school year, though, is how much you love your classmates. You've even proclaimed "mom, I'm pretty great at making friends". While we may need to work on your humility, I would have to agree with you. You do seem to have a knack for noticing others who need a friend and for being able to play with just about anyone. Everywhere we go, you come away with a "new friend" and I couldn't be more proud of that characteristic. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I also love how comfortable you are with your position in our family. My heart melts when I watch you as the Big to Lou and Tito. You are so sweet to play with them, help them and watch out for them. You play with Lou as easily as you do with KJ and I love that you are so content either way. People often assume that you and KJ are twins, but you are quick to point out that he is your big brother. I even overheard you at church recently telling someone, "Actually my big brother is even faster than me at races." You may look him squarely in the eye in stature, but there is no doubt that you look up to him. I so often hear you asking his input or listening to his "wisdom" with the sweet response of "ok, KJ" that quite literally makes my heart melt. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-iK4ooxpntKkuGQmagvlNsG4BbcwC1li66fsPVFdbQnpHtVRalMgEbHNM_ZFMXCmVNjHuXEApNy5c0DiJo8cK7fKIBy02IbbFj4Y2Ya1EcXacOW7DzPNUen_qZRtv26iGk_uRza8bTu4/s640/blogger-image--433163123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-iK4ooxpntKkuGQmagvlNsG4BbcwC1li66fsPVFdbQnpHtVRalMgEbHNM_ZFMXCmVNjHuXEApNy5c0DiJo8cK7fKIBy02IbbFj4Y2Ya1EcXacOW7DzPNUen_qZRtv26iGk_uRza8bTu4/s1600/blogger-image--433163123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-iK4ooxpntKkuGQmagvlNsG4BbcwC1li66fsPVFdbQnpHtVRalMgEbHNM_ZFMXCmVNjHuXEApNy5c0DiJo8cK7fKIBy02IbbFj4Y2Ya1EcXacOW7DzPNUen_qZRtv26iGk_uRza8bTu4/s400/blogger-image--433163123.jpg" width="266" /></a><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I'm so thankful that you love and lean-on your big brother. I love that the two of you are a team and that you seem to show miraculously little rivalry at this point in your lives. But this year, my birthday prayer for you is that you'll continue with a confidence that strikes out alone sometimes, too. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I've prayed for years that you wouldn't feel your identity defined by the brother you follow so closely behind. Ever since you were born, it's been tough for others not to compare you to him in size, especially. Here's the thing I want you to believe- you are both smart, but in different ways. You are both talented- at many different things. You both love your family- but show it in different ways. And you will both leave an impact on the world- but the marks will be totally different shapes. I love the glimpses we've gotten as we watch you make a name for yourself in Big School... With different teachers than KJ had, we've started to see you just become and be recognized as Cbug. Your daddy and I know that as you use your zeal for life, your endless supply of energy and your amazing ability make new friends, others will see what we've known for 6 years... You are one of a kind. Created for big things. By a mighty and powerful God. And you'll bring Him glory, just by being you.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It's true, buddy. You absolutely are my VERY favorite 6-year-old!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I love you,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Momma</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-12052987481679620352014-01-03T13:27:00.002-08:002014-01-03T21:37:33.869-08:00Family name restored: Christmas program version<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Probably one of my most retold stories from parenting was the one where my sweet oldest child was a <a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2010/12/girls-should-be-shepherds.html">not-so-gentle shepherd in his preschool Christmas show</a>. It was simultaneously incredibly embarrassing and absolutely hilarious. Truth be told, I probably wouldn't trade that memory for a thousand pictures of him being any other way in the nativity scene. At least now that the embarrassment has worn off a bit.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But this year, on that very same stage, another member of our family stepped up to the plate to restore the family name. And he rocked it! Cbug was asked to come back as a graduate of the preschool to read about Christ's birth. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVgDfc1zJwCdWkrKbm24qvwg_gHAjFhv2IyAQFeS_pVenzr3UaNzMpUxr6cne9cljx-tutCRBpM12e9NLvA12LnjLgCgDTVLLy1TtPr4jjqIyr7EHLmhUMnHDsvT_shgWcy-Gr0k5dsEg/s640/blogger-image--1108187882.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVgDfc1zJwCdWkrKbm24qvwg_gHAjFhv2IyAQFeS_pVenzr3UaNzMpUxr6cne9cljx-tutCRBpM12e9NLvA12LnjLgCgDTVLLy1TtPr4jjqIyr7EHLmhUMnHDsvT_shgWcy-Gr0k5dsEg/s320/blogger-image--1108187882.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwAAEEWD_Jr8q5B-ka5Cxz91Hw7pEt_TPDQ0ozx0BgOZdKbX_kZSi6J2YSWSPTfLMCfHZq9sRVfubkTh4jAtwCbu8HDuTUZBPv6wsSY6H4zX46ijCAyBhrQdA2DcdAALT-14rj0o1_1S0/s1600/IMG_6202.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwAAEEWD_Jr8q5B-ka5Cxz91Hw7pEt_TPDQ0ozx0BgOZdKbX_kZSi6J2YSWSPTfLMCfHZq9sRVfubkTh4jAtwCbu8HDuTUZBPv6wsSY6H4zX46ijCAyBhrQdA2DcdAALT-14rj0o1_1S0/s200/IMG_6202.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He read all of Luke 2:1-14 from the NKJ version. No small task, but he was more than up for the challenge. The video picture isn't awesome because of the dark auditorium, but turn up the volume and listen to this sweet voice read about our Saviours birth. And then try not to swoon.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Don't be fooled, though, he's still a Team L boy. Not minutes later, he was crawling all over the friends gathered around him while we watched his sister. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> And, also during the performance, he managed to use my camera to take pictures of anyone he could capture...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Including going up on the stage to catch his favorite director on film. Mid show. With the flash on. Awesome. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggez1P_-OqNTK-l6TWWzvtM3zUJWoN26_6cnsgsNjpjY8Xnv9Ix5B4A7kSZtWrgANBeQFLZZOuiYBbpKvPieqvd4jkG8hQmtfVA56VdtRRvBcUxfAeO2uGUBZtXzmAqYgHoonFgvWlyYw/s1600/IMG_6249.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggez1P_-OqNTK-l6TWWzvtM3zUJWoN26_6cnsgsNjpjY8Xnv9Ix5B4A7kSZtWrgANBeQFLZZOuiYBbpKvPieqvd4jkG8hQmtfVA56VdtRRvBcUxfAeO2uGUBZtXzmAqYgHoonFgvWlyYw/s320/IMG_6249.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Whelp, I guess you gotta love us like we are. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> But seriously. Can we just focus on that video?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Thanks,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">ABL</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-86759599429005999252014-01-02T23:30:00.000-08:002014-01-02T13:57:17.599-08:00A styrofoam cup kind of AnniversarySome years we have an elaborate celebration.<br />
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This year it was rather simple.</div>
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Some years we plan for weeks to set aside time to celebrate.<br />
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This year we had to wait to find an opportunity and then snag it.</div>
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Some years we get a babysitter and maybe even splurge<br />
for a hotel room for some extra time alone together.<br />
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This year we did splurge on a hotel room, but only because we were traveling. </div>
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The splurge was an upgrade to a two room suite at the LaQuinta. </div>
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Our little darlings were sleeping in the next room.<br />
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Some years the meal is elegant, the dishes breakable,<br />
the table setting gorgeous and we dress in our fancy best.<br />
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This year we were tired and grungy from traveling and exploring with our little family.</div>
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We did have food from a fancy restaurant, but we sate on the floor </div>
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and ate from a hotel end table with plastic dinnerware.</div>
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Some years we toast with glasses that make a perfect clink<br />
and sparkle like our eyes did on our wedding night.<br />
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This year we toasted with styrofoam McDonald's cups because our </div>
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fancy-restaurant-take-out didn't offer sweet tea- and that seemed like a shame.</div>
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<span style="text-align: right;">I loved our celebration this year because it really was a reflection of our marriage. </span>Both of us just wanted to flop in bed and celebrate later, but instead we waited until the kids were asleep, laughed together about our hotel floor dining, watched some of our wedding video and reflected on the last 12 years. We chose to be together. It wasn't elegant, it wasn't what we would have planned, it was a little messy and took some effort from both of us to make it successful.<br />
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Just like our marriage.<br />
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Because in marriage...<br />
The past is how you choose to remember it.<br />
The present is what you choose to make of it.<br />
And the future is how you choose to dream it.<br />
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Cheers to 12 years of marriage, RRL. Whether it's a fine china day or a take out and McDonalds tea kind of day- I promise to choose you EVERY day.<br />
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Love,<br />
Me
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-85372703929879989402013-12-31T19:19:00.002-08:002013-12-31T19:19:30.201-08:00New Years Goals: The ones with a plan BI've tried all kinds of approaches to "New Year's Resolutions." Everything from swearing them off all together to making a detailed list of them. This year, I'm taking yet another approach. One that (hopefully) works for an accountant who is also a mom of 4 small children. Because if you have little kiddos, you know that it is quite rare that anything go according to plan. You know the essential nature of a "plan b"- you gotta have one in your back pocket. AT.ALL.TIMES.<br />
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May I present my 2014 goals-<br />
including plan B.<br />
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<b>Exercise</b><br />
Plan A: Plan out and stick to a training schedule that includes exercise at least 4 times a week.<br />
Plan B: When I have to go up and down the stairs 947372949272 times a day, I'll run. And count it.<br />
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<b>Rest</b><br />
Plan A: Develop a regular sleep schedule for going to bed and getting up.<br />
Plan B: Learn to walk in my sleep so I always feel like I slept through the night.<br />
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<b>Be intentional about what we eat</b><br />
Plan A: Plan out a biweekly menu, trying new dishes and incorporating healthy choices.<br />
Plan B: Plan out a biweekly menu that incorporates healthy choices. And also incorporates the occasional breakfast for dinner and eating out nights. Allow for spontaneous "tonight I just can't cook".<br />
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<b>Spend intentional time with my children</b><br />
Plan A: Plan monthly one-on-one dates with each child. Help them discover their talents and special interests. Plan learning experiences for the whole family.<br />
Plan B: Recognize the spontaneous opportunities I get each day to teach my kids. Take them with me to the grocery store, even if it means sweating more. Talk to them about money and Jesus and friendships and family while we drive in the car, while we snuggle together on the couch and while we eat dinner together. Be present.<br />
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<b>Be involved at the kids' school</b><br />
Plan A: volunteer more in the classroom, find an organization to be part of, get to know the other parents from our classes by inviting them over.<br />
Plan B: take sonic drinks to the teachers when I think about it.. Say thank you more often. Say yes when others invite us on play dates. And recognize moments like taking a forgotten lunch or homework as opportunities to encourage kids I see in the hall and the adults who take such good care of my treasures each day.<br />
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<b>Get to know our neighbors</b><br />
Plan A: Invite neighbors over for dinner and play dates. Plan regular block parties.<br />
Plan B: Play in the front yard more. Hire someone to mow our yard so that when we do get around to having people over we aren't already on the neighborhood naughty list.<br />
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<b>Deepen relationships with others</b><br />
Plan A: Set aside intentional time each week to visit with friends. Send encouraging notes and texts. Listen more.<br />
Plan B: Pray that I'll still have some friends when I do come up for social air.<br />
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<b>Do my part to grow our marriage</b><br />
Plan A: Plan frequent dates. Find a study or other learning experience to work through together.<br />
Plan B: say thank you more. Be frustrated less. Be quick to point out successes and slow to measure by unfair standards. Always give the benefit of the doubt. Say I'm sorry. Have fun together.<br />
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<b>Grow in relationship with the Lord</b><br />
Plan A: Plan out and stick to a daily Bible study plan. Get up early to start my day with the Lord.<br />
Plan B: Pray to become a morning person. Ask for a heart that sees His presence in the busy-ness of each day.<br />
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Sweet readers of DRRF- Here's to you and your fresh start in this new year. I hope 2014 finds you with a spirit that is willing to dream big and set lofty goals. But also cut yourself some slack this year. Sometimes as a spouse/parent/neighbor, you'll find that if you'll allow yourself to embrace it- plan B isn't so bad after all.<br />
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ABLAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-22554760680191183972013-12-14T14:57:00.000-08:002013-12-14T14:57:20.412-08:00The Charlie BrownestLast year I was a scrooge.<br />
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No, really. I'm serious.</div>
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I barely put up a tree (never did put any ornaments on it), I avoided some holiday get-togethers, and to be honest I just wanted all the merriment to go away.</div>
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I faked it until we made it through the season. <br />
I made it through with few being none the wiser.</div>
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But just barely.</div>
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2012 was a year where it felt like we faced more challenges than victories. Where some of my most valuable possessions- my family's safety and my own integrity- were threatened. Where I was smacked in the face with realizations that people you love deeply aren't always what you thought they'd be. Where we had to make the kinds of decisions no one should ever be faced with. In 2012 I clawed through a faith crisis that no one really knew about. But mostly last year I was a scrooge because I was so very aware of so much hurt, poverty, and loss in the lives of others that it seemed wrong to celebrate. </div>
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Linus actually summed it up pretty well:</div>
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"Charlie Brown, you are the only person I know who can take a wonderful season like Christmas and turn it into a problem. Of all of the Charlie Browns in the world, you are the Charlie Brownest."</div>
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Sure, it sounds melodramatic, I guess it was at the time. As if a crusade against Christmas could fix the hurt I saw- I know it sounds ridiculous. But I'm sharing this piece of my heart now because I'm not sure I'll ever see Christmas the same way again thanks to that season of joy-less-ness.</div>
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This year, I decorated my home the week before Thanksgiving.<br />
This year I soaked up getting out every single ornament and putting up garland, and tying bows.<br />
This year I loved planning out our family advent calendar. <br />
And letting the kids decorate this tree.<br />
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<b>This year, I'm celebrating.</b><br />
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This year, long before the season actually arrived, the LORD gave me a picture to celebrate. A picture of transformation and of hope in waiting. I wrote about that <a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2013/07/waiting-on-miracle.html">picture of a parade</a> on this blog and many of you could relate. With that picture I began a Charlie Brown search for purpose in Christmas.</div>
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<i>Charlie: I guess I don’t really know what Christmas is about. Isn’t there anyone who understands what Christmas is all about? </i><br />
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<i>Linus: Sure, Charlie Brown, I can tell you what Christmas is all about. </i></div>
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<i>“And there were in the same country Shepards abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them, and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, ‘fear not, for behold, I bring you tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you. Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes lying in the manger.’ And suddenly, there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host, praising God and saying, ‘glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace, good will toward men. That’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown."</i><br />
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Then the entire cast helped him take a Christmas tree that was barely holding on to its last branches and make it into something miraculously beautiful.</div>
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Transformation began with remembering the reason for the season. I bet Charlie Brown already knew the story- about a baby named Jesus. But maybe he needed some help remembering. And not just remembering the part about the humble beginnings of that baby, but maybe especially the part about the enormous celebration. <br />
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And that's what did it for me this year. Remembering the JOY. Can't you picture the party? Angels proclaiming, shepherds rejoicing and dancing in the fields, a star shining brightly in the sky, a proud momma and papa kissing that sweet baby face for the very first time.<br />
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Jesus did come humbly.<br />
But he also came so very celebrated.<br />
With GREAT JOY!<br />
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There was great joy because for the first time the hurts of the world, every single fear, all the poverty and all of the loss had HOPE, there was a Redeemer. And it was joy for all people...A savior born!<br />
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What hasn't changed for me this Christmas is that I still know of many whose deepest Christmas wish can't be wrapped and placed under a tree. There are desires that weigh heavily on my heart- I wish I could give gifts like forever homes for children, like safety for deployed loved ones. If I only I could wrap up restored marriages, and healing for grieving hearts. It would be awesome to mail gifts like an assurance of a next meal or like true freedom from abuse or addiction. These are gifts I can neither give nor wish into being.<br />
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But I believe there is a Redeemer. I believe in miracles- those I've seen and those I await.<br />
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Which is why more than anything, this Christmas, I want the WORLD...or at least my little world...to see us CELEBRATE. I don't want anyone to misperceive our belief to be that the more we experience hurt, frustration, disappointment, or grief means the less we celebrate Christmas. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqP8DlQdJduw0ruFKcocGkgfXWrtCixDEdVUcnsXjsMdJt4KZ1gLbhJIoinEPwekZyEIukg-tUrGfr6dz6p7XOTK6vwPlAACALRypbq_1011ytOlM4wjzcV6A-Y9k1ITJIWlEK_a6RGss/s1600/IMG_6037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqP8DlQdJduw0ruFKcocGkgfXWrtCixDEdVUcnsXjsMdJt4KZ1gLbhJIoinEPwekZyEIukg-tUrGfr6dz6p7XOTK6vwPlAACALRypbq_1011ytOlM4wjzcV6A-Y9k1ITJIWlEK_a6RGss/s400/IMG_6037.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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While I know its a crazy ridiculously fine balance- in some ways I think this means we have to celebrate in a way the world can recognize. Maybe it means I put up a giant tree. Maybe it means we give gifts to teachers and friends. Maybe it means we wear matching Christmas outfits and take festive pictures. Because this is a PARTY. And maybe by celebrating we won't lose the spirit of Christmas- maybe instead we'll lead others straight into it. We may not celebrate by romping in the field with our sheep, but maybe we'll celebrate by romping down the street to look at Christmas lights. And there, in a whisper, I'll hear my sweet little girl remind us all, "At Christmas we celebrate that Jesus is born!" And I'll answer, "That's right, baby. We certainly do. We definitely celebrate!"<br />
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This year, we CELEBRATE. Like the angels did. Like the shepherds did. Like the Wisemen and Mary and Joseph did. Because Jesus came humbly. But he also came CELEBRATED.</div>
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This year, may you embrace miracles. Those you've seen and those you await.<br />
May you celebrate with great Joy.<br />
Because long ago a savior was born.<br />
Lets lead people to Him with our celebrations this Christmas.<br />
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ABL<br />
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<i>I love our little Charlie Brown tree in these pictures.</i><br />
<i>As a gentle reminder of the spirit of this season, it makes me smile every time I pass by.</i><br />
<i>It leans a little and the lights don't match (one blue strand proudly placed in the middle).</i><br />
<i>There's a paper chain unfinished because its crafter got distracted.</i><br />
<i>But I love this tree that was all RRL and I could afford for our first Christmas.</i><br />
<i>I love that we dragged it out of the attic this year for our kids to enjoy.</i><br />
<i>I love that it's imperfect. And I love the joy my kids are finding in transforming it.</i></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-40225400657753510502013-12-05T20:51:00.000-08:002013-12-05T20:58:49.142-08:00(UN)pinterestable Lately, I've been making an effort to embrace my unpinterestable spirit. I've been letting my kids <a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2013/10/ode-to-tension.html">decorate the back door</a>. With no pattern. And I let them decorate their own Christmas tree without forcing them to finish or worrying about whether the lights matched.<br />
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After hours scouring the web for ideas- to purchase or copy- this year's advent calendar is at the very top of my unpinterestable list. <br />
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It cost approximately nothing. KJ and I measured, cut and tied the string. Cbug made all of the numbers and I even let him cut them out without regard to whether any of them were the same size or shape. We even stuck holes in the wall with thumb tacks. GASP. <br />
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I used a hodge podge of websites and google images to make the nativity characters we are adding each night. And I stole the wording from the advent calendar my brothers and I used as children. Finally, written on the back of each character is our daily "family activity" for counting down the days until Christmas- other unpinterestable ideas like making nativity scenes out of playdough. <i>(you can read about our 2011 and 2012 countdowns <a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2011/12/end-of-countdown-to-christmas.html">here</a> and <a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2013/03/countdown-to-christmas.html">here</a> for unpinterestable ideas to share with your family. I'll post a recap of this year at the end of the month-ish.)</i><br />
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And voila, an advent calendar that is absolutely my very favorite ever. <br />
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It is hanging right smack dab in the middle of my dining room where everyone who enters my home can see it. It is placed like a treasure because we love it that much- not because anyone else would see any value in it. <br />
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It is unpinterestable. And it is so very perfect for our family.<br />
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So here's to you. Whether pinterestable. Or un. <br />
Find JOY this Christmas in using your talents to embrace the holiday season.<br />
And find ways to share that joy with others.<br />
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ABLAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-88831605566560052422013-11-04T11:12:00.001-08:002013-11-04T12:04:53.561-08:00Oh, those Sleepless NightsA summer night, just one month after KJ was born, RRL and I were sitting at one of my favorite places- my parents' dining room table. There aren't many places I'd ever rather be. Usually it means good food, lots of laughter, maybe some snarky comments from a brother or two and always always always leaving so full my pants need to be loosened and my heart might explode.<br />
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On this occassion the entire dinner time crowd was in a spell- staring and swooning over our sweet first born son. "Nonna" was loving playing her new role and "Granny Frannie" an adopted grandmother was happy to step-in when she needed a free hand. At some point during dinner one of them mentioned, "ABL, isn't this just the sweetest time of your ENTIRE life?"<br />
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And I burst into tears.<br />
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Oh, heavens- I sure hope not. Because if you are telling me that cleaning yellow slimy poop, struggling to breast feed, and not sleeping <i>(oh, how I missed sleep)</i> are the sweetest times of my life- I'm not sure I'm cut out for this parenting thing. Sure, I loved the little guy in a completely unexplainable sort of way. Somehow, although no formula could rationalize it, I was absolutely head-over-heels for him. But I also loved sleep. Really missed it. Lots.<br />
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I was smack dab in my first of four periods of "I don't think I've ever been this tired. Will I ever sleep again? I'm not sure rational sentences are even coming out of my mouth. What day is it?" exhaustion. And every single time I had a baby, even with more wisdom and less stress in each subsequent period, it was overwhelming. Yes, every.single.time.<br />
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But guess what? <i>And depending on where you are right now in the sleepless-night-stage this may shock you</i>:<br />
Each time I came out on the other side. At some point (and the points were broadly mapped across the spectrum with our four), I did sleep.<br />
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If there is any one question I get asked by other moms most frequently, this probably is it:<br />
HOW do I get them to SLEEP?<br />
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Here is usually my answer: "I have no idea."<br />
Which is why this blog is read by 5.3 people. Ok, sure, I have ideas. Lots of ideas. But beware: so does every other mom you ask. Everysingleone. So, do yourself a favor- don't ask. <br />
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Because unfortunately (or actually, fortunately) every single baby is different. So there won't be a perfect solution, created by someone else, that will work for your baby. I'm so sorry. If you haven't already, you have GOT to go read this <a href="http://themattwalshblog.com/2013/11/04/i-dont-agree-with-your-parenting-choices-now-let-me-explain-how-you-should-raise-your-own-children/">hilarious post by Matt Walsh</a> about why we've gotta quit parenting other people's kids. Read a few things online if you need to, to make yourself feel better, pick one trusted friend to vent to, and then just do what you gotta do to survive.<br />
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And for that, I actually DO have some suggestions. <br />
Tips for surviving sleepless nights (none of which have to do with making your baby sleep more):<br />
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1) <b>Hide treats for yourself.</b> Whatever you love- a favorite lotion, some chocolate, a healthy snack <i>(i mean, if you're like that)</i>, a book. Make them accessible. Forget a sock drawer in the nursery- you need a survival drawer. Because lets be real, if you've been up 199 times already you don't want to go scrounging around downstairs for these items.<br />
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2) <b>Have your husband </b>(or friend or mom) <b>write you notes about what a great mom you are</b>. These should be very short and easy to read in a state of delirium. Wives- YES! It is absolutely ok to ASK your husband to do this. He won't ever think to do it on his own, but he'll be so thrilled that his way to "help" at night can be accomplished in the day. Post these on your bathroom mirror, on a table in the baby's room or as book marks in that book you've stashed (see #1). Believe the words written in love. Don't let the enemy of doubt creep into the literal darkness of night. Its one of his favorite places to lurk. Instead, believe that you were made for this purpose and this baby was made for greatness.<br />
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3) <b>Write yourself notes</b>: "This won't last forever" "In the morning he'll be adorable" or favorite verses or other quotes you find encouraging. Put them where you'll see them. On top of the wipes dispenser, on the diaper trash can, near the crib, beside your clock <i>(I mean have those glowing red numbers EVER been so annoying)- </i>wherever your eyes might go before your brain goes somewhere you don't want it to be: COVER that space.<br />
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3) <b>Get a hobby</b>- something you like doing when you are awake for longer periods of time and something you might even start looking forward to. <i>(watching Downton Abbey, Play Sudoku reading children's books to your baby, picking out paint colors for the dining room. You know- hypothetically speaking.)</i> Pick something you'll be proud of in the morning.<i> </i> Beware of addictions.<br />
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4) <b>Keep a journal</b> to jot down notes- on paper or just in your phone. Just write down where-ever your crazy brain takes you on that midnight train. You will either A- literally laugh out loud later reading what you thought were perfectly rational thoughts at the time or B-record something that only the Lord could have spoken through an exhausted heart. Either way- it will be a best seller! <i>Do me a favor though- don't post any of these thoughts online until you are awake enough to be sure you really wanted to share that.</i><br />
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5) Remember it is ok to <b>walk away and breathe</b>. I'm not talking cry it out <i>(remember this is not about how to make your baby sleep)</i>. I'm just saying- recognize your limit and believe with your heart that if you need to put your baby in a safe place for a few minutes and walk to another room in the middle of the night (while munching on something from your stash), this is perfectly acceptable- even commendable.<br />
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6) <b>PRAY!</b> I know, I just lost a few of you. But really. Try this: Pray for your baby. Pray for your husband. Pray for your coming day. Make a list during daytime hours of other people you can pray for. Grab that list at the moment in which you are thinking your life might be the hardest of all lives ever created.<br />
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None of these will make your baby sleep more. That's my disclaimer. But maybe one of these will help you make it to the other side! There is light ahead, I promise. There are many blessings that will come from this season, indeed. You'll depend on others, your baby will depend on you, you are just at the very beginning of a relationship that will ROCK YOUR WORLD. <br />
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And I think that is what they meant that summer night around my Momma's table- they knew that this sweet baby being born (keeping me up at night, not withstanding) was the beginning of greatness for me. They'd seen their own babies grow AND SLEEP and love and learn and change and share and give and become. They'd seen the path that would lead out of those sleepless and selfless nights, so they could recognize the beauty of the beginning. A beginning I now know I wouldn't trade for all the sleep in the world.<br />
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ABLAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-82871758636930249312013-11-02T10:53:00.000-07:002013-11-02T10:54:52.430-07:00The Halloween Collision = Favorite Photos<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Halloween always causes a collision for me. The <i>ihatetospendmoney </i>part of me collides with the <i>ihatetomissaparty</i> part<i>. </i>And my poor children are the downstream result of that collision. We dress up, but they mostly just get to pick from what we have in the existing dress-up collection. We don't buy much candy, but tend to come home from trunk-or-treats or whatever festival we attended with a bucket load of chocolate. Our costumes are generally thought through approximately 36 hours before hand (generous estimate), but always have a calculated <i>(loose) </i>theme.</div>
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<i>On second thought- that collision sounds more like sweet harmony to me.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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As a result, I always LOVE the pictures from Halloween.<i> </i></div>
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They aren't stressful. Just adorable.</div>
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Seriously, these costumes photos are all some of my very favorite pictures of my munchkins.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This year was no exception. I did actually have this idea a few weeks before Halloween, but when the boys decided to be batman and a pirate for the school book parade and Lou declared her only option to be "a princess", I all but gave up on it. I decided I'd just dress my one child too little to voice his opinion and move on. But THE DAY of Halloween- the boys decided they really did want to be these characters for the evening festivities and Lou decided that she would carry the football (while dressed as a wedding princess). And by golly it worked.</div>
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May I present...</div>
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<br /></div>
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My very own Peanuts Gang</div>
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Maybe only second to last year, these costumes fit their personalities SO INCREDIBLY WELL. </div>
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<i>side note: only money spent= C's hat (which we'll actually wear) and $1 worth of felt.</i></div>
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Lucy (<i>on her wedding day</i>), Charlie Brown (<i>who loved saying "Oh, GOOD GRIEF" - completely unprompted</i>), Linus <i>(of course with his beloved blanket)</i>, and Snoopy <i>(who quite literally howled when we tried to pry his Sonic grilled cheese away. Pictured here protecting his sandwich with all his sweet little might).</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihXDbTtImEudb79TLkc6XqdKsNFoUIk3laM-gEk4GMMbwX-7c2NLmEogp5VcHG1DTuVtkefS2J3Gq0SLnGx5ZbB4WNPkTKHbUP8NsKCqxF_sjYfHXmI0jezyEufTihafLUAfebwS2lhfI/s1600/Costumes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihXDbTtImEudb79TLkc6XqdKsNFoUIk3laM-gEk4GMMbwX-7c2NLmEogp5VcHG1DTuVtkefS2J3Gq0SLnGx5ZbB4WNPkTKHbUP8NsKCqxF_sjYfHXmI0jezyEufTihafLUAfebwS2lhfI/s640/Costumes.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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And for fun, heres a little walk back through the last few years...</div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2009/10/playing-dress-up.html">2009</a></div>
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A princess protected by her knight in shining armor</div>
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and swooned by her country music artist.</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4XKZXoCRie096wWfWl31ZLgK6fP4ZyD73RZg3PnZ19a261wE4YkaCu5pUvrhlgTotRsQ6Ul3_HM3X3YgInNgiEkr41hus1G6TGzrqg1sK-KtBy5zU03JNe0ms0MkkR8YmP1yrWb1_84/s1600/2009country+star,+knight,+and+princess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4XKZXoCRie096wWfWl31ZLgK6fP4ZyD73RZg3PnZ19a261wE4YkaCu5pUvrhlgTotRsQ6Ul3_HM3X3YgInNgiEkr41hus1G6TGzrqg1sK-KtBy5zU03JNe0ms0MkkR8YmP1yrWb1_84/s400/2009country+star,+knight,+and+princess.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2010/11/buzz-and-woodyto-rescue.html">2010</a></div>
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Buzz, Woody, and toy destroyer from Sunny Side Day Care.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4XKZXoCRie096wWfWl31ZLgK6fP4ZyD73RZg3PnZ19a261wE4YkaCu5pUvrhlgTotRsQ6Ul3_HM3X3YgInNgiEkr41hus1G6TGzrqg1sK-KtBy5zU03JNe0ms0MkkR8YmP1yrWb1_84/s1600/2009country+star,+knight,+and+princess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4XKZXoCRie096wWfWl31ZLgK6fP4ZyD73RZg3PnZ19a261wE4YkaCu5pUvrhlgTotRsQ6Ul3_HM3X3YgInNgiEkr41hus1G6TGzrqg1sK-KtBy5zU03JNe0ms0MkkR8YmP1yrWb1_84/s1600/2009country+star,+knight,+and+princess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4XKZXoCRie096wWfWl31ZLgK6fP4ZyD73RZg3PnZ19a261wE4YkaCu5pUvrhlgTotRsQ6Ul3_HM3X3YgInNgiEkr41hus1G6TGzrqg1sK-KtBy5zU03JNe0ms0MkkR8YmP1yrWb1_84/s1600/2009country+star,+knight,+and+princess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4XKZXoCRie096wWfWl31ZLgK6fP4ZyD73RZg3PnZ19a261wE4YkaCu5pUvrhlgTotRsQ6Ul3_HM3X3YgInNgiEkr41hus1G6TGzrqg1sK-KtBy5zU03JNe0ms0MkkR8YmP1yrWb1_84/s1600/2009country+star,+knight,+and+princess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4XKZXoCRie096wWfWl31ZLgK6fP4ZyD73RZg3PnZ19a261wE4YkaCu5pUvrhlgTotRsQ6Ul3_HM3X3YgInNgiEkr41hus1G6TGzrqg1sK-KtBy5zU03JNe0ms0MkkR8YmP1yrWb1_84/s1600/2009country+star,+knight,+and+princess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf4OiKP9yHjFFx2nHafLLRBJCa18SU5t1pVTAixazR5UZj-em-GB_g1D-_hjvt9J0wFDvqZRkQWhn3ilAwh_aIL7MGM1UJARDG0a3_dWgs0Bjh7hOcRE7iP1ZFLF5-1E-FRNLZsG9dsNU/s1600/buzz,+woody,+and+sunnyside+destructor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf4OiKP9yHjFFx2nHafLLRBJCa18SU5t1pVTAixazR5UZj-em-GB_g1D-_hjvt9J0wFDvqZRkQWhn3ilAwh_aIL7MGM1UJARDG0a3_dWgs0Bjh7hOcRE7iP1ZFLF5-1E-FRNLZsG9dsNU/s400/buzz,+woody,+and+sunnyside+destructor.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2011/11/tradition-and-favorite-picture.html">2011</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sleeping Beauty- Aurora, Prince Philip, and the Dragon</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRPCEXC_iMmO2Zyb5ddvQqvq3h00DPyBCg6hDBKrFVQ45iXcmBTM5miGajY5GZbS66V7arqE-il2jgQSHhop1p-6Fw_wKpDWq1JNyrp3YlDfFwsHBaEIG5xxk2C209JWs57RUUjCv3Dwo/s1600/trickortreat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRPCEXC_iMmO2Zyb5ddvQqvq3h00DPyBCg6hDBKrFVQ45iXcmBTM5miGajY5GZbS66V7arqE-il2jgQSHhop1p-6Fw_wKpDWq1JNyrp3YlDfFwsHBaEIG5xxk2C209JWs57RUUjCv3Dwo/s400/trickortreat.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2012/12/the-best-photo-moments-of-2012.html">2012</a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A house divided</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjA1i7ZKOQXHTRVcrPmHfTLbS9Qn5jPV8zdj72ecNJ2nZRZRgT8cM8q4_iLfVOoOkfl-GIMJYcqGocGyVIYINlySK0FaeNrJqvKr70cMt0TsW8O-LKMNMpa0FBKkIXbH9djnlRm9odP-o/s1600/halloween2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjA1i7ZKOQXHTRVcrPmHfTLbS9Qn5jPV8zdj72ecNJ2nZRZRgT8cM8q4_iLfVOoOkfl-GIMJYcqGocGyVIYINlySK0FaeNrJqvKr70cMt0TsW8O-LKMNMpa0FBKkIXbH9djnlRm9odP-o/s400/halloween2012.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Yep, pretty much my favorites! </div>
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Can't wait to see what the next couple of months of other all-time-favorite traditions hold in store for us!</div>
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ABL</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-73649023474605993762013-10-24T15:03:00.000-07:002013-10-24T15:03:49.299-07:00A bargain of a photo shoot<div style="text-align: center;">
<b style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">If a picture is worth a thousand words</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhUMLEQ4QMRthXT3GJSL3fr5GWh0T1Mu7u4DUhzhntxklsXrlPPMXe3_4rHUePXCvPchKlYTcvDYHMUFRA6W0GYvSs5Lo54KOkflloeOxVTI6jkeQluWiBczF4FFd4F7kh29RUa5g-stg/s1600/Superheros2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhUMLEQ4QMRthXT3GJSL3fr5GWh0T1Mu7u4DUhzhntxklsXrlPPMXe3_4rHUePXCvPchKlYTcvDYHMUFRA6W0GYvSs5Lo54KOkflloeOxVTI6jkeQluWiBczF4FFd4F7kh29RUa5g-stg/s320/Superheros2.JPG" width="213" /></span></b></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">and I only paid/bribed 40 cents for these</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRzf8fwvGbc_PEmUMHbAQybgqOt5_da9nNWHpOQsgEk2ri0RXlCKawjmWQeAvrj83dl6-diC_cTAPRL508EsukttUaeIbcxXvBW8-fF2Fb3ikyRTMbQtlWt26CxDXT96jPq1jqaRZH8MA/s1600/Superheros3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRzf8fwvGbc_PEmUMHbAQybgqOt5_da9nNWHpOQsgEk2ri0RXlCKawjmWQeAvrj83dl6-diC_cTAPRL508EsukttUaeIbcxXvBW8-fF2Fb3ikyRTMbQtlWt26CxDXT96jPq1jqaRZH8MA/s320/Superheros3.JPG" width="213" /></span></b></a></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">I'd say I got quite the bargain!</span></b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd1eLYoNklVcERJnlSz9Av2ubdnBAEkBq9YAy5Otsbeah-RysB9fcNoXLZdw0cg9l1c7HH0oRi2LdhUmXTotxa5JsxgHwDVB3r90q6IIpnIteYqTPtBAWLmZWkWgZ-fV3754IZvenYz3A/s1600/Superheros1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd1eLYoNklVcERJnlSz9Av2ubdnBAEkBq9YAy5Otsbeah-RysB9fcNoXLZdw0cg9l1c7HH0oRi2LdhUmXTotxa5JsxgHwDVB3r90q6IIpnIteYqTPtBAWLmZWkWgZ-fV3754IZvenYz3A/s640/Superheros1.JPG" width="426" /></a></div>
<i>These matching-but-not-twin brothers had "Superhero Day" at school today. When they came downstairs in their matching costumes, I swooned. (Thanks, Uncle Dan and Aunt Diana). I mean, seriously, how cute are they? So, I said "Boys, I know you wouldn't want to leave for school without letting me take pictures of your awesome capes, right? And good news, we'll have just enough time". Shockingly, this idea was met with much groaning. And then, in a lightbulb moment from Cbug, "Mom, I really like treats." Sure, bud, I can play that game. "I won't give you a treat, but I will give you each a penny." They must be growing up because they laughed at my offer and raised it to a dime. You got it! Then it was cold outside so they each got twenty cents. Riches, I tell ya. I love these two!</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>And my superheros would like to remind you that t</i><i>he 5th annual Teen Lifeline 5K is only a couple of days a way. Please consider</i><i> <a href="http://championevents.donordrive.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=donorDrive.participant&participantID=14960">supporting our team</a> this weekend as we work together to make a difference. Any amount truly does help- who knows, maybe together we'll be real life crime fighters! </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>ABL</i><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-77936232834144035322013-10-22T20:47:00.001-07:002013-10-22T20:47:52.860-07:00Why I Should Never be a First Grade Teacher...<div class="MsoNormal">
I volunteered today in KJ's first grade classroom. I was there for several hours- mostly wrapped up in cutting and gluing. Which meant I had plenty of time to watch my adorable first grader and action. And plenty of time to contemplate this deep topic.</div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></b></div>
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<b><span style="font-size: 14.0pt;">The reasons I shouldn’t be a First Grade teacher, but
love volunteering…<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>I have no poker face.<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p>As a volunteer, I loved sitting at the back table CRACKING UP at some of the things that first graders say. It was just about as close as one could get to really being a fly on the wall. </o:p></div>
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<o:p>"Well, I don't have an answer to that question, but I do have an answer to the one you asked earlier" </o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Teacher : "What country was the Puerto Rican Baseball player, Roberto Clemente, from?" Class "TEXAS!"</div>
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<br /></div>
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Teacher: "Who is someone you admire?" Student: "I admire myself because my parents really love me"</div>
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<br /></div>
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<o:p>And that was just in a 5 minute story time.</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p>I mean, seriously- how can the teacher just look straight at them, not crack a grin and just go on like what just came out of their mouths is perfectly normal. Seriously. I was DYING.</o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b><i>The sum of all of my patience would fit into a First Grade Teacher’s
pinky finger.<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seriously. The room
was in constant motion.
Wiggle.Squirm.Cough.Sneeze.Giggle.Fidget.Whisper.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sharpen a pencil.Go to the restroom.Move to another task.Answer
a question.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
White boards.Workbooks.Computer.Ipad.Book.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most of this motion happened completely seamlessly without her ever uttering a word. Occasionally she would do this cool clapping
rhythm, the class would repeat and everyone would snap back to sitting still
and quiet. Rarely was there a moment
when everyone didn’t seem engaged. Seriously-
the control of a First Grade teacher’s patience it is a sight to behold. And as a volunteered I loved getting to watch
this miracle in motion.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<b><i>I break into a sweat at the thought of anything crafty.<o:p></o:p></i></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I met up with KJ’s teacher this morning, she started
explaining what she needed help with.
“We<i> (meaning me)</i> are going to
create a poster for our class to enter in the Red Ribbon Week contest.” To which I tried</div>
not to cough.sputter.spew. my
coffee. My mind raced a million miles a
minute as to how I was going to politely excuse myself from this task. “Um- I’m so sorry. You must have the wrong mom. You meant Jane’s mom, the artist, right?
Apparently you forgot you were getting stuck with KJ’s mom the accountant. Creative= I’m OUT.” But while my mind was racing she pulled up a
picture on her phone and specific instructions about the poster she
wanted. I took a look and did some quick
self-talk. Before long I had myself
talked down from the sweaty ledge and into a peaceful state of “Oh, you said create
a poster, but what you meant was ‘Please set up and strategize a trace, cut,
glue assembly process”. Got it. I’m back.
Totally got this. Give me five
minutes to think and I’ll have it figured out- and you can bet it will be
efficient and effective to the max. My
happy place.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8EvYKajU3mkICDqpKjOgD09j97M3MDm6wrkw8fLc85wzeSfCv60zXG_PZmbhtb1TZYSVF6bPSgAycYG4O3sY09VVMqCXJqogKWroq-VcGjguTcCGGjM44pcNCN9UPhiH6tB6Yr6Dhio/s1600/PAWS+poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8EvYKajU3mkICDqpKjOgD09j97M3MDm6wrkw8fLc85wzeSfCv60zXG_PZmbhtb1TZYSVF6bPSgAycYG4O3sY09VVMqCXJqogKWroq-VcGjguTcCGGjM44pcNCN9UPhiH6tB6Yr6Dhio/s640/PAWS+poster.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>
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I didn't actually put this poster together. I just traced and cut out every.single.stinkin.piece. Pretty amazing, huh? I LOVED being a volunteer. And can't wait to go back again!</div>
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ABL</div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>The paws on the poster were written on by each student in the class and have positive ideas for things they could do. Like "read" or "play soccer" or "play outside". They are learning early that they have a choice. They don't just have to say "no to drugs". Instead, they are learning that there are choices they can make to LIVE LIFE BETTER. Sound familiar? Kinda like that mantra for a certain non-profit organization I love. Teen Lifeline's goal is to continue to speak power into students to make positive choices. To give them tools to handle life's stresses in a way that they live life better. I hope you will still consider joining us as we run this weekend to raise money to support these efforts.</i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>Please <a href="http://championevents.donordrive.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=donorDrive.participant&participantID=14960">SUPPORT TEAM LEWIS! at this link</a>. </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
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<i>I'm not exaggerating when I say that truly, any amount helps. I'd especially love for some of you "secret" readers of this little piece of the web to come clean by joining me in making a difference. Thanks so much!</i></div>
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-68160396126798809282013-10-21T20:12:00.000-07:002013-10-21T20:23:54.675-07:00Ode to the Tension<i>Several of you astutely identified the underlying issue with my need for <a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2013/10/choosing-battles-clothing-edition.html">"Free Dress Friday"</a>. Some of you even commented "at least they are matching" or "they actually don't look too bad" in their ALL RED, or ALL PINK or ALL BLUE. And I'll admit- most of their outfits really aren't the end of the world. They just happen to be a far cry the shirts with collars or plaid shorts or you know, spreading out the red a little- that I usually choose for them. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I couldn't pull a fast one on ya'll.... now you are driving me to the point of confession. Because it's true. What may seem easy, or even helpful for some- kids picking out their own clothes- is often difficult for me. In this post, I'll come clean about the real "problem". But before I get to that, don't forget to stop by my r<a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2013/10/whats-their-story-advocating-for.html">ecent post about how you can support the TL 5th annual 5K</a>- helping real people and real problems. Problems just slightly more significant than whether my children's clothes match. Seriously. </i><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Ode to the tension</b><br />
<br />
Welp. It's true. I have a problem folks.<br />
Some serious tension.<br />
On one hand- I'm an accountant.<br />
On the other- I have four small children.<br />
<br />
I like control, order, structure, routine, schedules and spreadsheets.<br />
They prefer to trample all of those keys-to-great-life-success.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDR7CYOgmTz35Q5P8eP8SBN2DTExOWAQanjMYz9FmdOi_ON6ko4_a1NUPGuZIXigmgw7V6-ZdCHsQeFmneErfMOsHUwGaZgiEM4620ycMEDpembuGRKzNQ4NR9mV9aOxzegsX9lPJDVEE/s1600/craft+cabinet+clean.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDR7CYOgmTz35Q5P8eP8SBN2DTExOWAQanjMYz9FmdOi_ON6ko4_a1NUPGuZIXigmgw7V6-ZdCHsQeFmneErfMOsHUwGaZgiEM4620ycMEDpembuGRKzNQ4NR9mV9aOxzegsX9lPJDVEE/s320/craft+cabinet+clean.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Craft Cabinet my way</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/AVvXsEgWWpXCHYcN-eyS4gOtF6YXhOMFW8F6Omjm_C41XWNpzXRUKLeZ85d3_tGO-0u1v6J2a15ZXjCI6LVqLf9PlC85fh_PupigInuyeC6P1OyjBxo1KuRGL6XRvMHwGiU6mJxLeVzS-K-ITt4/s1600/craft+cabinet.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWWpXCHYcN-eyS4gOtF6YXhOMFW8F6Omjm_C41XWNpzXRUKLeZ85d3_tGO-0u1v6J2a15ZXjCI6LVqLf9PlC85fh_PupigInuyeC6P1OyjBxo1KuRGL6XRvMHwGiU6mJxLeVzS-K-ITt4/s320/craft+cabinet.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Craft Cabinet their way</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Around about kiddo number 3 I learned that I'd have to make a choice- perfection or parenting. While I realize now that "perfection" was never really an option, I certainly did hold on to the notion for quite some time. I honestly couldn't tell you when I became a bit more of the mom-of-four-small-children and a little less of the rule-following-perfectionist. I know both are still there, both are an important part of who I am, but at some point I'd like to think I struck the balance. A couple of weeks ago, I was at Leadership Training for work. When the training facilitator found out that I work and have four children at home, she paid me the biggest compliment I could imagine- "Wow, you seem really laid back to have four children". She didn't mean much by it, probably didn't even give it a second thought. She only knew me for a couple of days and never saw me interact with my children. But it still meant so much. If she only knew all that I'd had to release over the years. If she knew the prayers I'd prayed. If she knew the struggles I still have to strike a balance. Then she would have known how deeply I appreciated those words.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiTgaYQymeFdQUCOBRUeeQDikM6SvY2nB9EFYenMLDPIA7NBhd-XK82rrT_qbZydVKBsLiwu-3LjaEkh59x-gHhMz0drmr4VUQB1WyKi0f7pOlEbX7UDch0_t5tNJFYXlhe8jLLb7qn7s/s1600/backdoor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiTgaYQymeFdQUCOBRUeeQDikM6SvY2nB9EFYenMLDPIA7NBhd-XK82rrT_qbZydVKBsLiwu-3LjaEkh59x-gHhMz0drmr4VUQB1WyKi0f7pOlEbX7UDch0_t5tNJFYXlhe8jLLb7qn7s/s320/backdoor.jpg" width="212" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY1BHS1UaUCwJuPCQwm9JJGc-eWzjtZpzW29DaS8jvJdcy5RxNKyez3ZYOgzO9tmiAqQcSKTB5x1aDsFYE2BYep1j7Gptg_hFthLTxgLJmPiL0j-wA6i2usGybILgMsQb3LTDAp12tTq8/s1600/backdoor+with+lou.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgY1BHS1UaUCwJuPCQwm9JJGc-eWzjtZpzW29DaS8jvJdcy5RxNKyez3ZYOgzO9tmiAqQcSKTB5x1aDsFYE2BYep1j7Gptg_hFthLTxgLJmPiL0j-wA6i2usGybILgMsQb3LTDAp12tTq8/s320/backdoor+with+lou.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
Because it's true-<br />
<br />
I would prefer:<br />
To never leave the house without everything in its place<br />
To have all the books in the playroom sorted by genre, size and alphabetically by author's last name.<br />
To have all four children not only dressed neatly, but preferably in coordinating outfits every.single.day<br />
And I'd love to have the house seasonally decorated by a professional around key holidays.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikCdm8Zt4J4P-ML6QN7Ywf3dxU1FInwezQHXI7n8wdX3PGieXAeHzE7Qqim_gEvrkNSR0lC6SMBuKA1eDg0TQFPQkiDbjVyj5KN6z9ZYtZsxi8chaHYLDoFH1xNagaxvhnbbHXNQADDJA/s1600/cbugs+mad+pumpkin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikCdm8Zt4J4P-ML6QN7Ywf3dxU1FInwezQHXI7n8wdX3PGieXAeHzE7Qqim_gEvrkNSR0lC6SMBuKA1eDg0TQFPQkiDbjVyj5KN6z9ZYtZsxi8chaHYLDoFH1xNagaxvhnbbHXNQADDJA/s320/cbugs+mad+pumpkin.jpg" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Don't miss the missile coming <br />at the pumpkin's head</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh18KZujxfg9k-rCyrZlNT9xu4WihmkDW5W-hwjIso6qMVYglZTsrPvzSjTj9K48yrfOBFclARijer5STDydq_2uP3KJZvs_QinN-_92sroQfWVAvEZLxW0vR080iOX1Yb4Fkhrxzy248g/s1600/kjs+sad+pumpkin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh18KZujxfg9k-rCyrZlNT9xu4WihmkDW5W-hwjIso6qMVYglZTsrPvzSjTj9K48yrfOBFclARijer5STDydq_2uP3KJZvs_QinN-_92sroQfWVAvEZLxW0vR080iOX1Yb4Fkhrxzy248g/s320/kjs+sad+pumpkin.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Love this three eyed pumpkin face</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
But I have four small children.<br />
And they ensure:<br />
I am much more excited about leaving the house with them- even if we leave behind a disaster.<br />
I want to read with them more than I care about where the books live<br />
I <i>(occasionally)</i> let go of what they wear and enjoy their self-expressions when they dress themselves<br />
And I'm perfectly thrilled the my fall decorations (pictured in this post)<br />
= create-your-own pumpkins on the front porch AND the back door fall gallery.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHyQIrlzsRjXsZvqaucG09tFcQsRvPoZE1Tbj8h68N0PZV3jQGMvgKNs34U-_OTIbst0xoQRHE19_nFiUrZDBKqHa4Ih_JCLlUanlVqC2xavA3KJnfEBAZi6doue-FI7nY2MHoSExqgQ0/s1600/stickerpatterns.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHyQIrlzsRjXsZvqaucG09tFcQsRvPoZE1Tbj8h68N0PZV3jQGMvgKNs34U-_OTIbst0xoQRHE19_nFiUrZDBKqHa4Ih_JCLlUanlVqC2xavA3KJnfEBAZi6doue-FI7nY2MHoSExqgQ0/s320/stickerpatterns.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>At least when they stick stickers they do it in a pattern</i></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/AVvXsEhUP8ci1GJlpofpGbEp3WlyZvy7vbgPJyYlLkyGRlFd4AbGtZbPZZ9kwgE8kXJJB0aZavfiDgdZME6qEB6_tG8846AvXIwkY4TQqPDfZKifoDj9RAB3WXAfs8ponh5cUV8-zCsLsqx22hU/s1600/airplane+on+the+window.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUP8ci1GJlpofpGbEp3WlyZvy7vbgPJyYlLkyGRlFd4AbGtZbPZZ9kwgE8kXJJB0aZavfiDgdZME6qEB6_tG8846AvXIwkY4TQqPDfZKifoDj9RAB3WXAfs8ponh5cUV8-zCsLsqx22hU/s320/airplane+on+the+window.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>whats better than a pic of you & your bro</i><br />
<i>taped onto the back door?<br />one folded into a paper airplane, of course.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
As I think about the hours (<i>and hours and hours and hours</i>) that the kids, especially Lou, have put in to decorating that back door. <br />
As I think about the deep breaths I took when she first started taping "art" up. <br />
As I help clean up the mess that trails behind as they cut, glue, fold, tear, color and CREATE.<br />
And as I have forever captured in my mind's eye the joy and excitement on their faces as someone new notices and compliments their work. <br />
I realize.<br />
Ya know what?<br />
They bring out the best parts of me.<br />
I'm so very thankful that this accountant<br />
gets to be their mom.<br />
<br />
Life would certainly be boring if I was just me, without them.<br />
I'll take the tension any day.<br />
<br />
ABLAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-42737474855867429932013-10-20T16:17:00.000-07:002013-10-20T16:34:48.902-07:00Choosing the Battles- Clothing edition<i>This post is going to be SO MUCH FUN! But before you read it, don't forget to take a minute to check out <a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2013/10/whats-their-story-advocating-for.html">the previous post about helping teenagers in our community</a>. Please consider giving THIS WEEK to make a real difference! Countdown=6 days to 5K!!</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Now- on to the adorable blonds:<br />
<br />
I mentioned that I was cutting down on a few battles at our house by beginning "<a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2013/04/wrestling-privileges-and-other-keys-to.html">Wrestling Privileges</a>". What a great day that was at our house!<br />
<br />
But there's another "battle" looming.<br />
Clothing.<br />
<br />
Kids have opinions about what they wear.<br />
I get that.<br />
But, I have opinions, too.<br />
I put time, effort, energy into purchasing, washing, folding, hanging, ironing (ok, only sometimes) their clothing. Because its true, I care how they look. It honestly isn't about brand names or expensive clothing. I just feel like there is something about a person's self-confidence and the impressions that they leave with others when they are neat and tidy. I want it to be a habit they begin early- not that I'm placing value in their appearance alone, but there is some value to be placed in the impression they make on other people.<br />
<br />
That said-<br />
the very last way I want to start the day is arguing with them about what they are wearing.<br />
<br />
For years, I cut down on that battle- in all humility I pretty much eliminated it- by a simple compromise. Our compromise was this: I pick the clothes. You pick the shoes. <br />
<br />
Sometimes that meant rain boots with shorts<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo7tT40cJV0_cJ7EtKw4WbUriothhahbrHvHqsc8CfMIbFCxH7VlETQiNilDrsmAuzr8V_09JbufZ8jKDPjnRvqgbvuFeNYouWF22YENwEzlHA0DWzo2VB5T2vWrme1v97cTaJpUEiz5g/s1600/ts3+poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo7tT40cJV0_cJ7EtKw4WbUriothhahbrHvHqsc8CfMIbFCxH7VlETQiNilDrsmAuzr8V_09JbufZ8jKDPjnRvqgbvuFeNYouWF22YENwEzlHA0DWzo2VB5T2vWrme1v97cTaJpUEiz5g/s320/ts3+poster.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
<br />
or dress clothes. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDVoYpQVhfBKRMb80IyVdia1_7N-8nco_0-Mf-7R1jlAF5c4P94HcVugZXpa9s-hYnE4Aht5JIFITN6WGFg9nnLRQHfS-JuBajI8H2fAU7D8QDoLqbIqd3vMxi9EKLP70WfA6PibBaQkY/s1600/twins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDVoYpQVhfBKRMb80IyVdia1_7N-8nco_0-Mf-7R1jlAF5c4P94HcVugZXpa9s-hYnE4Aht5JIFITN6WGFg9nnLRQHfS-JuBajI8H2fAU7D8QDoLqbIqd3vMxi9EKLP70WfA6PibBaQkY/s320/twins.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
Sometimes that meant shoes that didn't match at all. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGNpCHUzRPWYy7oBpJXmNhiceXNFqHhoZtWF-On4y_XdaLJct58E_OfoLv2x_wXBuCgkMnuVqSIVIcx5CPhNaEkLqU0sY7vBhChDpyv2AjWsg8jzKw9POdGmcZ94F8TO8ijZtbOaT_RsQ/s1600/different+shoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGNpCHUzRPWYy7oBpJXmNhiceXNFqHhoZtWF-On4y_XdaLJct58E_OfoLv2x_wXBuCgkMnuVqSIVIcx5CPhNaEkLqU0sY7vBhChDpyv2AjWsg8jzKw9POdGmcZ94F8TO8ijZtbOaT_RsQ/s320/different+shoes.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf0zya9EIOtoycNym_kdBnyZgehQ5OiQBIHG40pnf4W5YNzSGWbzWHj5gwrQblVXeb-U-xtnftd0vspimLSLASY12GgxTWdSTHcNIpmP21iK3dBNmIYkbEtROEXO6tUH5N9-YaZ78jex4/s1600/twodifferentshoes2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf0zya9EIOtoycNym_kdBnyZgehQ5OiQBIHG40pnf4W5YNzSGWbzWHj5gwrQblVXeb-U-xtnftd0vspimLSLASY12GgxTWdSTHcNIpmP21iK3dBNmIYkbEtROEXO6tUH5N9-YaZ78jex4/s320/twodifferentshoes2.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
For most of the last year it meant the same multi-colored-polka-dot flats with EVERYTHING for Lou.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgWDkejmgWVsL_WgY3_nTj_Um9Y36wdVBrRfm8I4Olbyhw7U6stmZ3ro4BKDfZhA2G-khcHP-ZCc3EduuENRRMmi-T0ZKl1xhbgWfuDywo96U7hMn-DhHMvTW6taKOvLM_0QmIsDWdcIc/s1600/polka+dot+shoes.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgWDkejmgWVsL_WgY3_nTj_Um9Y36wdVBrRfm8I4Olbyhw7U6stmZ3ro4BKDfZhA2G-khcHP-ZCc3EduuENRRMmi-T0ZKl1xhbgWfuDywo96U7hMn-DhHMvTW6taKOvLM_0QmIsDWdcIc/s320/polka+dot+shoes.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
And then one day, that all changed.<br />
Round about the first week of school this year, the big two boys <i>(who I'm pretty sure conspire against me each night as they fall asleep together)</i> declared, "WE WANT MORE! More choices, more opportunities for expression, more FREEEEEEEEDOMMMMMM!"<br />
Well, really they just said "When are we going to get to pick out our own clothes for school". <br />
Same thing.<br />
<br />
So, in a brilliant parenting move that can only be described as "THANK YOU LORD!"<br />
words came out of my mouth that simultaneously bought me a little longer of picking out their clothes and them the opportunity for self-expression.<br />
FREE DRESS FRIDAY<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJC4TQ-bpMZsWCYO1q0qhTCxzsKqlIhgt2JQ1ty6uMXXEQaUn0jQSQklbNz7f-CXfjbn4etQw1S_wZB4iupf1q2y2OE2S26gWbUVGTFWy0CAZDaIHBjP1IWhBknqCSRJgE7rlAFpHCpfI/s1600/lou+smocked+dress.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJC4TQ-bpMZsWCYO1q0qhTCxzsKqlIhgt2JQ1ty6uMXXEQaUn0jQSQklbNz7f-CXfjbn4etQw1S_wZB4iupf1q2y2OE2S26gWbUVGTFWy0CAZDaIHBjP1IWhBknqCSRJgE7rlAFpHCpfI/s320/lou+smocked+dress.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Now, we all know- compromise always comes with a price.<br />
Just like <a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2013/04/wrestling-privileges-and-other-keys-to.html">the missing tooth and black eye from "wrestling privileges</a>", Free Dress Fridays have a downside, too.<br />
<br />
Like this<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/AVvXsEjl5jNMf1Gmqvre9SqAMIVWsp90tU5u8inYnxQGjfIwvRcbBoID08J2sajyHqKSgoV720n-RHJ96BVrEl3UNqQvAl9Y47JKmEzdIPJlqn0l8Q0ZAXxNIxiGlELiEwI3VvTtweR_q0JsLVc/s1600/blushandbashful.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl5jNMf1Gmqvre9SqAMIVWsp90tU5u8inYnxQGjfIwvRcbBoID08J2sajyHqKSgoV720n-RHJ96BVrEl3UNqQvAl9Y47JKmEzdIPJlqn0l8Q0ZAXxNIxiGlELiEwI3VvTtweR_q0JsLVc/s320/blushandbashful.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"My col-uhs ah blush and bashful" -<br />
<i>Steel Magnolias, anyone?</i></td></tr>
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OR This<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/AVvXsEihul2U3S4hO1vPPrzDCmHL4BdeFGPgMdyEepm8zbKBl_wjqCQZFuAI1a_1cIqGmdqeNPg0rP-mGEjakeNmlh8Rr4iMHjGJ2FeTcUUFfz9uSWFGb3fbzUNXdYSLglE11XHsrpPqVjwwGRA/s1600/kj+tucked+in.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihul2U3S4hO1vPPrzDCmHL4BdeFGPgMdyEepm8zbKBl_wjqCQZFuAI1a_1cIqGmdqeNPg0rP-mGEjakeNmlh8Rr4iMHjGJ2FeTcUUFfz9uSWFGb3fbzUNXdYSLglE11XHsrpPqVjwwGRA/s320/kj+tucked+in.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">where a little red is good, a lotta red is AWEOME<br />
and why not tuck in?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
And this<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/AVvXsEgjn4715SVVnqJfiocgC54HT02fHG1rZIZJAa_xQ3nkj0Ura1Y44AIHNauPrqep2FiEQ-kyzL40LT2tk_wxnprX2x2jH9J0l6_VvDKYunnZOhdVaiO8t7fe98Gd8nI7HX4ew19dFY0eqP8/s1600/cbug+all+blue.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjn4715SVVnqJfiocgC54HT02fHG1rZIZJAa_xQ3nkj0Ura1Y44AIHNauPrqep2FiEQ-kyzL40LT2tk_wxnprX2x2jH9J0l6_VvDKYunnZOhdVaiO8t7fe98Gd8nI7HX4ew19dFY0eqP8/s320/cbug+all+blue.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I match. Thumbs up.</td></tr>
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The deal is- They don't complain, not a word, about the clothes I lay out for them 5 days out of the week (sun-thurs) and Friday they get to wear absolutely whatever they want. And I don't say a word. Even when it was 123 degrees outside and KJ wanted to wear two shirts, I might have mentioned he'd get hot- but he glared the look that say "don't trample the rules of Free Dress Friday" and I let him go to school that way.<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/AVvXsEhNH3z9znm61C5uu4gKelhA0oFQitHjdRgzzJAJ-n9DWTtBoDFlA2fmRmkvk_p1y8NFWvNCoOAAN7-wuKu_OiL__pXaWMEW90syPTFZfCVffsjDMyeq6WP_JzVU0C4h3D5OaaFe5hhwD0g/s1600/KJ+two+shirts.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNH3z9znm61C5uu4gKelhA0oFQitHjdRgzzJAJ-n9DWTtBoDFlA2fmRmkvk_p1y8NFWvNCoOAAN7-wuKu_OiL__pXaWMEW90syPTFZfCVffsjDMyeq6WP_JzVU0C4h3D5OaaFe5hhwD0g/s320/KJ+two+shirts.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">KJ's double shirt look and Lou's blue Cinderella socks.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I'll tell ya this- Fridays sure are simple. I don't have to get anyone's clothes (except Tito's of course). The others make their own choices pretty quickly (usually the night before). KJ's choice is simple. Favorite.Red.Shirt.Always. The other two are a toss up. Lou usually wears a dress and Cbug wears whatever he touches in the closet first. And I'm pretty sure there isn't a single doubt in any of their teachers' minds whether I dressed my children on Fridays.<br />
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So- here's to you and your battles on the home front.<br />
Find a "free dress Friday" or maybe a "wrestling privilege" compromise and embrace it!<br />
You can thank me later.<br />
Unless its picture day!<br />
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ABLAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-50997502288843080472013-10-09T23:20:00.000-07:002013-12-03T07:06:02.928-08:00What's their story? - Advocating for the "trouble" kids<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
When we went to KJ's patriotic performance in the spring, we could not have been prouder of our adorable child. Granted it was a mere 20 minutes of singing songs, saying the pledge, and each taking a turn at the mic to tell about all things "American". Granted, for most of the performance, unless you strained your neck <i>(and camera) </i>just right <i>(which I assure you we did)</i>, you couldn't even SEE our tiny guy. But he is ours. And we think he's tops.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn27SbDn8gnkOxHPkXqh-3PeP1lAkcfMGKw-yJ6XwQWlFmyboh4CCZEyEJ6KxBgJP7W1kPS98FRTxeW6JgPySz_JtBH5cOGYAOtZc-jzvSjPwx6nXPlXdKrXqZp2t-z9Dep7y0shNVdms/s1600/that's+my+kid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgn27SbDn8gnkOxHPkXqh-3PeP1lAkcfMGKw-yJ6XwQWlFmyboh4CCZEyEJ6KxBgJP7W1kPS98FRTxeW6JgPySz_JtBH5cOGYAOtZc-jzvSjPwx6nXPlXdKrXqZp2t-z9Dep7y0shNVdms/s640/that's+my+kid.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Later that same month, he raked in the awards to prove it. I'd like to call them "family awards" because we ALL put in some serious efforts to those after-school-reading and math programs just to earn points just to get a stinkin' trophy, thankyouverymuch. In the ceremony every kid in every kindergarten class got to prance across the stage, have their name called, and swell with pride at their list of accomplishments- accomplishments of the kind only a kindergartner would consider success. But they certainly do. KJ did. AND we did, too.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvcJ9GhAMx9jiZ5Hq9GUadjwtc1p4nZXSaDYaopEGqaB89A1omvqS8OXiernKL7b9dgkLGszDk_h8I8LF9pFAwReEZ33MGMgOGkSuzIMv1teaY4ICqcH8t-sHnKx55ftpRHR54uudFc4/s1600/kJ'+awards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOvcJ9GhAMx9jiZ5Hq9GUadjwtc1p4nZXSaDYaopEGqaB89A1omvqS8OXiernKL7b9dgkLGszDk_h8I8LF9pFAwReEZ33MGMgOGkSuzIMv1teaY4ICqcH8t-sHnKx55ftpRHR54uudFc4/s400/kJ'+awards.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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But shortly after KJ walked across the stage that day another little 5 or 6-year-old girl walked across the stage and had her "success" defined quite differently. She simply got "Principals Club", the award every kid gets. Not "cheetah math gold, silver or bronze". No "Reading Olympics" medal. No "mastery of study skills." Not even "good conduct". She kind of shuffled across the stage, hugged the teacher, and paused (like all the kids were supposed to) for her picture. Only no one was there to take it. And I lost it.</div>
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There was a kiddo or two like her in every class that day. Ones who obviously weren't "dressed" for awards day, who didn't have a cluster of family members welcoming them afterward, who didn't struggle to juggle all of their prizes in their proud little hands. And my heart broke. Not because it should be fair. Not because all kids should "get the same thing". Not because I thought anyone should get an award they didn't earn. Nope, I fought back tears because I wondered if anyone knew their story. Did anyone ask, "why?"</div>
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I could relate. I deeply love a little boy who had anything but "mastery conduct" during his first "big school" year last year. A little boy who didn't have family members present at any of his special pre-k events at school. A little boy who sometimes wears clothes that don't fit. A little boy who sometimes gets labeled for his behavior before anyone takes time to know his story, a rough one. And that day, I could so easily picture a sweet red-head shuffling across the stage. I could hear the imaginary voices of other parents saying "That kid couldn't even get it together enough for a conduct certificate". I could sense his disappointment when he paused for pictures and realized the faces he wanted to see most weren't there. Again. </div>
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That day, like so many others since then, I prayed that someone would take time to know his story. I prayed that the little girl in KJ's class, the others like her that day, and the one I love so much, would all find an advocate in school. A teacher who sees their hidden talents and skills, who knows their obstacles and sets them up to believe they can overcome them. I prayed for other parents, too. Ones who let their kids be friends with the less-than-perfect playmate, who speaks blessing into someone else's child right along side their own. I prayed for advocates. And I prayed for the strength to be one. </div>
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I'm pretty sure I could get as many different political opinions as I have readers, if I tried. But I'm fairly certain we will all agree on this:</div>
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Each of us is responsible.</div>
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Not just in our current political state, not just in our current economic state, not only if we have kids, not only if we work in a profession that provides opportunities- <b>We all can make a difference. </b> This isn't some over-idealistic-push toward changing the world. I'm "just" talking about changing lives, just those lives we each come in contact with. You can vote and write letters to your senator (maybe you should) and you can eloquently explain your political opinions until you are blue in the face (maybe you shouldn't). But unless YOU (and I) are willing to actually do something I can guarantee that the kid next door won't ever have his story heard. He's not waiting for his district's Senator to stop by. He's waiting for you.</div>
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You probably already know who "he" is, don't you?</div>
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The kid who kinda smells bad so no one ever wants to sit next to him.</div>
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The kid who gets asked to leave youth group events because of the inappropriate things she says.</div>
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The kid who no teacher wants to have in class because teachers don't know how to "control him".</div>
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The kid who has spent more time at the alternative school than the regular classroom. Since 6th grade.</div>
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The kid who bullies other kids on the internet.</div>
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The kid who is pregnant at 14.</div>
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The kid who drops out.</div>
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The kid who gave up.</div>
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Have you ever really asked "Why?" Have you heard "his" story? Did you notice that no one cheered for them in the program or took their picture on awards day? I know I don't always notice. Too often, I don't stop to actually ask. </div>
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But here's the thing:</div>
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I know about this incredible organization that makes knowing teenagers- really KNOWING them- their mission. They are out to find "those" kids. The ones at the alternative school. The ones drowning in their bad choices. The ones pregnant. The ones labeled for their behaviors. The ones who need to have their stories heard. </div>
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<a href="http://www.lifelivedbetter.org/"><b>Teen Lifeline</b></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.lifelivedbetter.org/">Teen Lifeline</a> KNOWS the power of listening to teenagers, of helping them listen to each other, of providing them a safe place to learn life skills. The unique thing is, this organization doesn't run away from "troubled" kids, they run toward them. They have this lofty notion that maybe if they can provide hope, if they can provide an opportunity to overcome obstacles, if they actually DO SOMETHING, they might just maybe make a real difference. One life at a time. </div>
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And you know what? It works!</div>
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It is time for <a href="http://www.lifelivedbetter.org/tl5k13/"><b>Teen Lifeline's annual 5K</b></a>, one of their only huge fundraisers each year to support the work they do. Its the 5th year for this fundraiser and I can honestly tell you I've never been more excited about the difference I truly believe the dollars collected this year will make. </div>
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My very own, RRL, is the <a href="http://www.lifelivedbetter.org/staffandboard/">executive director of Teen Lifeline</a>. He knows about coming from a broken home, having to fight to overcome obstacles, and he certainly appreciates the advocates he had along the way who heard his story. As a result he didn't become his obstacles, he overcame his obstacles. He stood on top of his obstacles and took a flying leap forward. Those advocates gave him a springboard to take his story and use it to open doors for others to be heard. </div>
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RRL is teamed up with an incredible <a href="http://www.lifelivedbetter.org/staffandboard/">Program Director and a super supportive Board of Directors</a>. You won't find a group of people with bigger hearts or who are more inclined to work together to help teenagers.</div>
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But the reason I use this little blog each October to fund-raise is not because of how much I love the hearts of these people (even though I truly do). It is because I know their mission can make a real difference. Stories can be heard. Lives can be changed. Cycles can be broken. And we can ALL help make that happen.</div>
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<b>Would you please join us in making a difference?</b></div>
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You can:</div>
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1) PRAY.</div>
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Take time to get to know what Teen Lifeline is all about by r<a href="http://www.lifelivedbetter.org/about/">eading the information on the website</a> or visiting with someone who knows more about the organization. Then, commit to be praying for the vision and future of Teen Lifeline, and for the lives of the teenagers impacted by the efforts. There is even a place under the <a href="http://www.lifelivedbetter.org/giving/">"giving" section of the website </a> to send an email to the prayer coordinator to get more details about how you can be specifically praying.</div>
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2) GIVE.</div>
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Here is a link to our families' 5K fundraising website <i>(with a cute picture of our adorable blonds, of course!)</i> >> </div>
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<a href="http://championevents.donordrive.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=donorDrive.participant&participantID=14960"><b>SUPPORT TEAM LEWS!!</b></a></div>
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Would you please consider making a donation? Any amount truly does help!</div>
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For the next couple of weeks I'm going to ask over and over and over for you to give. I'm willing to risk annoying you just to let you know how important this is :). I only do it once a year and I appreciate your patience and participation. Know that whether you live here or across the country, or around the world, you are making a difference.</div>
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3) SHARE.</div>
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Share this message and spread the word. You can share the link to this blog or share the link to our fundraising page. Help us spread the word about Teen Lifeline and give others the opportunity to partner with this organization.</div>
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Thank you for the amazing way so many of you already support teenagers in your own life, and for the way you support and love our family. We are so grateful for you!</div>
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Sincerely,</div>
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ABL</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-86016797038574815702013-09-23T08:22:00.001-07:002013-09-23T10:47:38.885-07:00It shouldn't be. But it is...NINE YEARS!Today is a big day for me!<br />
A day that according to my surgeons and doctors should never have been celebrated.<br />
<br />
In 2004, I underwent extensive GI surgery hoping to eliminate the chronic pain I'd been dealing with related to Crohn's disease. At best, I was told, I might get 3-5 years of pain free living and even then I'd likely need medication to manage it.<br />
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It seems to me today that maybe they forgot to factor in HOPE. They knew what they knew- but not what HE knew. And boy HOWDY did He show them.<br />
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Because after:<br />
One hike to the bottom of the grand canyon<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS4zG8QfRrZyc857eXIN6VFUueQJPlOWoOkbKeY3WZMaRfuI963iugCE2KL_YiXCAYYJ57upRouNo6yMyOIPnqO1hxbHL3OJex4C42XtKzACJeUbRyYxnoW8kgzMz_WHxViCGFxZO9L1I/s1600/100_0922.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS4zG8QfRrZyc857eXIN6VFUueQJPlOWoOkbKeY3WZMaRfuI963iugCE2KL_YiXCAYYJ57upRouNo6yMyOIPnqO1hxbHL3OJex4C42XtKzACJeUbRyYxnoW8kgzMz_WHxViCGFxZO9L1I/s400/100_0922.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Lots of half marathons (three while pregnant)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhkdX5tznzD2Nnrfqr-WUTUZ8qoPUkWTn0Tj-TbH9MswQpsjIi92e_bcjZpqbPegbloW-wzSqR6cuChEPL3OLXWJZ9mXkMCYvL7AvJbvNUiH1STXDZ5LYFyTI_5wN9ImVbThH9dUAep8c/s1600/at+the+finish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhkdX5tznzD2Nnrfqr-WUTUZ8qoPUkWTn0Tj-TbH9MswQpsjIi92e_bcjZpqbPegbloW-wzSqR6cuChEPL3OLXWJZ9mXkMCYvL7AvJbvNUiH1STXDZ5LYFyTI_5wN9ImVbThH9dUAep8c/s400/at+the+finish.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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Four babies (three completely without medication).<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0eCYf1OOz8aHQg-f4GgR6aSjAc1o0QCrDH6yEPXJR34BS6iM6kbNhCgKFHKcPQJsw6C2JoYVyFXt6W_6QbTaBlOVrWtIttvA4SIfC40laTTk3pukBEu2_Jdwgghml6RN-_AzWOFRzlOc/s1600/kj+TN2.webp" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0eCYf1OOz8aHQg-f4GgR6aSjAc1o0QCrDH6yEPXJR34BS6iM6kbNhCgKFHKcPQJsw6C2JoYVyFXt6W_6QbTaBlOVrWtIttvA4SIfC40laTTk3pukBEu2_Jdwgghml6RN-_AzWOFRzlOc/s200/kj+TN2.webp" width="133" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCx31A6ROyEGl6VZXQ64vbr5L0pz8QWk2HzhnrCNIlOCpnt3W6QXePENHhIA-DSowcrNwWQnDpyTOSkpuS5tI7zA-waViETilW3jarLdJ8jvBIDdRiFdsFu44CzAvuiP1Xwd6Mf1FAKGs/s1600/102_4271.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCx31A6ROyEGl6VZXQ64vbr5L0pz8QWk2HzhnrCNIlOCpnt3W6QXePENHhIA-DSowcrNwWQnDpyTOSkpuS5tI7zA-waViETilW3jarLdJ8jvBIDdRiFdsFu44CzAvuiP1Xwd6Mf1FAKGs/s200/102_4271.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh6CoI8lCl7JX3zgrTNp3yaUoFE3S0-MGzJowvmxPhdcMefvXCMy_MuUKHYpf2KZwIZ8F0yPHtptJaAcSR2l_OgZ-O7wysj2wRrQvUGA-Fy4JSF3peTcHgb7qrZDwWnqpAI303JhYvI1M/s1600/First+moment+we+met.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh6CoI8lCl7JX3zgrTNp3yaUoFE3S0-MGzJowvmxPhdcMefvXCMy_MuUKHYpf2KZwIZ8F0yPHtptJaAcSR2l_OgZ-O7wysj2wRrQvUGA-Fy4JSF3peTcHgb7qrZDwWnqpAI303JhYvI1M/s200/First+moment+we+met.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2wrBcpFSvaLaT6D2423eOqmOnUbdO5vLOxjmjkDWc7apfxxdEwkAYIWe5Hg0RUoKIQqPilWw2WlzjnUZWFUlQlxjj1g8DkbwEy6vZnKtqCkoFJJauK2JBGpppQKjw2_Sqz14ESg2rTx0/s1600/first+moment+with+mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2wrBcpFSvaLaT6D2423eOqmOnUbdO5vLOxjmjkDWc7apfxxdEwkAYIWe5Hg0RUoKIQqPilWw2WlzjnUZWFUlQlxjj1g8DkbwEy6vZnKtqCkoFJJauK2JBGpppQKjw2_Sqz14ESg2rTx0/s320/first+moment+with+mom.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And a ton of other fun...</div>
<div>
<br />
I can officially say:<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
9. Nueve. Neun. Neuf. Novem. Nove. Nau. NINE YEARS!! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis8KaDt8K64XyHPax6eEX6hrC5J0XNaEanAc1Iwn8OHkG63-RhdTjhDjG5kVUPg_ZAAlqBikB8rao6Xq6Yqc4VV5uCJEd1UL4qsVJyDxfD20-7uMkuQtW3p_hYIa0bvsnYnSLbVATVD60/s1600/celebrate+9yrs.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis8KaDt8K64XyHPax6eEX6hrC5J0XNaEanAc1Iwn8OHkG63-RhdTjhDjG5kVUPg_ZAAlqBikB8rao6Xq6Yqc4VV5uCJEd1UL4qsVJyDxfD20-7uMkuQtW3p_hYIa0bvsnYnSLbVATVD60/s320/celebrate+9yrs.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: start;">Pain free. And not just that, but medication free as well.</span></div>
<br />
Don't be confused by this list of <i>my</i> accomplishments over the last nine years. Join me in recognizing that there is not a single ounce of any of that I could have done. Oh, sure- saying "it shouldn't be" was great motivation for me to try <i>(it is so strange that my kids have a stubborn streak)</i>. But when I see this list, stare into those sweet faces, remember how far we've come...welp, I'm simply overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with praise for the ONE who provides beyond what we can ask or imagine. The One who grinned at the thought of "maybe 3-5 years" and delighted in providing so much more. </div>
<div>
<br />
And don't be confused. If today was different. If there comes a day when it IS different. Whether there are 9 more years, 3 more days, or a lifetime of living without pain- I'll still declare HIM mighty to heal. I'll still shout out "HE is mighty to save". I'll still remember that He is doing more than we can ever imagine. Don't get me wrong- it won't be easy. There are other areas of my life that have certainly proven that hope doesn't mean "what I want, when I want it". Other "miracles" I've HOPED for have tested my willingness to believe. But isn't it always true that the best things are worth fighting for, and lots of times you WILL have to fight for them. <br />
<br />
I'll fight for Hope every.single.time. I will chose to believe in miracles.<br />
It just so happens that today it is easy. Today is a day to celebrate.</div>
<div>
<br />
It shouldn't be. But it is.</div>
<div>
And that's simply miraculous.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
ABL</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-36165912483191058592013-09-08T19:44:00.002-07:002013-09-08T19:57:31.642-07:00All dressed up with someplace to go<div style="text-align: center;">
I hear the wedding planning business is a booming one.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Apparently, brides are willing to shell out big bucks if you will make her day perfect.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I could write a whole book about my thoughts on that matter.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It probably wouldn't be very popular.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
But if I'm going to tap into this booming wedding business, maybe instead I should write something called:</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Being the mom of the wedding parties' mini-members." <br />
<i>With the subtitle </i><br />
"You are going to need a LOT of pennies"</div>
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</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvei66dQu6CFs44Ij7VBdK3yHUZqBbtYVmzrOhzhjtk7llj-Kx0BJe8XcnK576_i0jYhk9ab2pfw0VXlCtiSJYcGYtMFKWfJsyzEchtf-9C8KmziNlVhgwyE7wXl6AsPPas7tQO3h9kRc/s1600/IMG_4713.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvei66dQu6CFs44Ij7VBdK3yHUZqBbtYVmzrOhzhjtk7llj-Kx0BJe8XcnK576_i0jYhk9ab2pfw0VXlCtiSJYcGYtMFKWfJsyzEchtf-9C8KmziNlVhgwyE7wXl6AsPPas7tQO3h9kRc/s400/IMG_4713.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Its not that I have any kind of marketable knack. <br />
Its just that my children have made a grand total of 20 combined appearances </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(in 8 separate weddings).</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And you can't do that and not learn a few things.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq70fytCULqViYzfHkwc8BZJ3RocPHdcNijP1rwuV_5ogHj_qQH3ZgyBtm1su7vyVRmgw2ZsBxnvrz-7CiqljEd9jWlzYySqWqjQdvlW1afgcmK8BzbaxpHT8gTIQyMUJFLLlKKOA9DTA/s1600/IMG_4714.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq70fytCULqViYzfHkwc8BZJ3RocPHdcNijP1rwuV_5ogHj_qQH3ZgyBtm1su7vyVRmgw2ZsBxnvrz-7CiqljEd9jWlzYySqWqjQdvlW1afgcmK8BzbaxpHT8gTIQyMUJFLLlKKOA9DTA/s400/IMG_4714.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Like buying miniature tuxedos on ebay.<br />
We own four tuxedos (in two different sizes) with an assortment of ties</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
as well as an array of flower girl dresses.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhst64GJKFrlFmonUbyETLblcst8B_-I5Rc2ShF0kLvD5VVEAjpcb2Z5NA_I6fNvmZh9DvvC2v_FOo5xb1V-bBDEiuvtTyz5c6dSHQIQiSbhVLtv_UD2EoLkCx3Nw8L4PTuHFYMxQkYNCI/s1600/IMG_4715.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhst64GJKFrlFmonUbyETLblcst8B_-I5Rc2ShF0kLvD5VVEAjpcb2Z5NA_I6fNvmZh9DvvC2v_FOo5xb1V-bBDEiuvtTyz5c6dSHQIQiSbhVLtv_UD2EoLkCx3Nw8L4PTuHFYMxQkYNCI/s400/IMG_4715.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And the trick of giving bribes which fit in their pockets or baskets- like pennies.<br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinik73iPS-CI0kLtxI-qm4nH_pCgsM198Blu5QVjmI6ZAakal93hDUJKbUCINlJI4aP1g46LgAx1TpWm7D1Vg_Lbrlvw38LUdGj-VGRZ_qwi2G89QXwUGdsGdkcZ3GO6kZS71XjHjCZ0Y/s1600/IMG_4716.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinik73iPS-CI0kLtxI-qm4nH_pCgsM198Blu5QVjmI6ZAakal93hDUJKbUCINlJI4aP1g46LgAx1TpWm7D1Vg_Lbrlvw38LUdGj-VGRZ_qwi2G89QXwUGdsGdkcZ3GO6kZS71XjHjCZ0Y/s640/IMG_4716.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Surprisingly enough, I love it when my children are asked to play this special role.<br />
Having my children be the mini-wedding-party-members honestly doesn't stress me out <i>(anymore).</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjroMWPs2JoAX_du3beJze9QwPEgbda57DyE-b6felDGKjDUeuSbFixLk0QCj9crCjRWIFqF8UmNziNcb4NagAopFWkuqIBzMuqBZ0nBP9bC7nZ2CpdK28rpd3FPogqvYvtLR35eYfohEY/s1600/IMG_4717.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjroMWPs2JoAX_du3beJze9QwPEgbda57DyE-b6felDGKjDUeuSbFixLk0QCj9crCjRWIFqF8UmNziNcb4NagAopFWkuqIBzMuqBZ0nBP9bC7nZ2CpdK28rpd3FPogqvYvtLR35eYfohEY/s400/IMG_4717.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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Don't get me wrong. There has been quite a lot of trial and error. <br />
Mostly error.<br />
<i>(like the time KJ's newly polished BLACK shoe came in contact with a brides beautiful WHITE dress)</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9VWtbbP4pARUnqVbqpKNlYlMnlV0H3WSSiT4NNNL6_2mwfjRAt9O1-f-YhmoJdEOGJ35rc-23l6w4_jCM-Yb5miB5NMSdNVSgfCAdiztb_Qs_NT5g5cYZTEw6aUaoNB1-HKahzr23Vm4/s1600/IMG_4718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9VWtbbP4pARUnqVbqpKNlYlMnlV0H3WSSiT4NNNL6_2mwfjRAt9O1-f-YhmoJdEOGJ35rc-23l6w4_jCM-Yb5miB5NMSdNVSgfCAdiztb_Qs_NT5g5cYZTEw6aUaoNB1-HKahzr23Vm4/s400/IMG_4718.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<i><br /></i>
We've definitely had to make some adjustments to our wedding routine over time.<br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ir9hM9co0P0rmsjyJcIprPCd3h_wxoZqy7IgiVp16zXt5TZE-ociK923br2RTCOJ18_NVRlP-IxV3Kzoy-KGzKJel3o4Ld-t3VPuyiJsr-GSKM7Mu2gWW_6jeGQwetsDDQeqmwhWsuI/s1600/IMG_4719.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ir9hM9co0P0rmsjyJcIprPCd3h_wxoZqy7IgiVp16zXt5TZE-ociK923br2RTCOJ18_NVRlP-IxV3Kzoy-KGzKJel3o4Ld-t3VPuyiJsr-GSKM7Mu2gWW_6jeGQwetsDDQeqmwhWsuI/s640/IMG_4719.JPG" width="640" /></a>Mostly we've learned that you can't roll at the same pace or schedule as the rest of the wedding party<br />
<i>Which is actually how we got these pictures. All 6 of us were hiding out. Outside. </i><br />
<i>Far away from the rest of the getting-ready-for-the-wedding-hub-bub.</i><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEfCveeCD3dOFB55Jct8MpWcECsOofFf_6ZotA1t708aIxjA8GQt4pFZ7Eiw5Jw7nKCqDgH8kQy1f-ExkiM4k_Aizej2Yg80ObNVxaO-_0VoJgY6BtWaDoryiS2UUqnm__ZJwju0CZ2AM/s1600/IMG_4720.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEfCveeCD3dOFB55Jct8MpWcECsOofFf_6ZotA1t708aIxjA8GQt4pFZ7Eiw5Jw7nKCqDgH8kQy1f-ExkiM4k_Aizej2Yg80ObNVxaO-_0VoJgY6BtWaDoryiS2UUqnm__ZJwju0CZ2AM/s400/IMG_4720.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
We've learned that since the majority of brides and grooms have never been parents- shockingly, they don't really get why certain times of the day and certain situations are recipes for disaster. And they shouldn't have to be worried about those things on their big day. So, only we-their parents- can really advocate for our kiddos. Which means, I've even said "no" to requests that I thought wouldn't be in their best interest.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSU0I7CkR09u6yYZSEAtrGmaDQbx0Ud5RBpgMeUx9LtorScGU7WLeFF1_hNUU4G_YNQt7jjMqCMMkdtlzwku2LMrdCGItURubQw9jcikjtzEX6slvxjo-kIu6p0rDp-NlNSmEV_whgHnk/s1600/IMG_4708.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSU0I7CkR09u6yYZSEAtrGmaDQbx0Ud5RBpgMeUx9LtorScGU7WLeFF1_hNUU4G_YNQt7jjMqCMMkdtlzwku2LMrdCGItURubQw9jcikjtzEX6slvxjo-kIu6p0rDp-NlNSmEV_whgHnk/s640/IMG_4708.JPG" width="426" /></a></div>
But when the requests are reasonable <i>(even over-the-top but still reasonable)</i>-</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
You just figure out ways to make things fun so they'll want to participate.</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
You have to plan to do things that they don't normally get to do.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And you have to talk about the cake.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A lot.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvRg6paVYxX7ivMQ47RRF-A8EWTCsTfl-nBY3IkoEkncUBUBihVCvzVbNpCU9lpdSe6MVMp1JkgcGCl0_z7AR3pZO-Y2tHMYEcplwPcY8Cfm5B3gjLmaf3OpGllXhO33_gcLCkb8xk4-s/s1600/IMG_4712.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvRg6paVYxX7ivMQ47RRF-A8EWTCsTfl-nBY3IkoEkncUBUBihVCvzVbNpCU9lpdSe6MVMp1JkgcGCl0_z7AR3pZO-Y2tHMYEcplwPcY8Cfm5B3gjLmaf3OpGllXhO33_gcLCkb8xk4-s/s640/IMG_4712.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So, if you are looking for a circus to entertain during your big day,<br />
I happen to know where you can find one.<br />
<br />
OR, even better,<br />
if your kiddos are the ones invited to play this special role- just remember:<br />
Nothing they can do can actually keep the bride and groom from getting married.<br />
<i>Even if they do invite the father-of-the-groom to play catch with the ring pillow mid-ceremony.</i><br />
So sit back and enjoy your children being dressed up and doted on.<br />
It's that simple.<br />
<br />
Well, that-<br />
and bring a lot of pennies.<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
ABL<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>This series of pictures is one of my very favorites of these four blonds. I love that we captured them exactly as I imagine I'll remember this stage in life- a lotta parts crazy with even more parts adorable. We snapped away while we waited for the summer wedding of RRL's sister to begin. And if you think these pictures are silly...you should see the ones from when three of these rascals figured out the concept of the photo booth at the reception.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-5856457745526296952013-09-05T15:34:00.000-07:002013-09-05T15:48:49.296-07:00Being in the top 0.1% is a Rough GigIt has been officially confirmed. My children are in the top 0.1%.<br />
But being tops is not always all it is cracked up to be.<br />
<br />
Don't get me wrong. I already knew I have some pretty AH-mazing kiddos. I mean seriously stellar. KJ's reading level, in first grade, astounds me. He can read a story and really bring it to life. Cbug can do math in his head so quickly it makes my own head spin, counting by crazy numbers like 8 and doing simple division (he just started K). Lou's nurturing instincts are off the charts, she can read people in a way that is wise beyond her years. And the way Tito says "thank you" is enough to make me wanna buy him a pony (nearly).<br />
<br />
When you get me started talking about my kids its pretty tough not to brag. But all of this is purely based on my own 100% biased, cuz I'm their Momma, opinion. And I'm totally cool with that. I think my kids are the best, smartest, funniest, cutest, sweetest in the world. Because they are mine.<br />
<br />
This week that all changed. It is now absolutely official. I have real scientific proof that my four children are in a category above nearly all other humans on the planet (or at least those tested by certain manufacturers of cleaning products). To be honest, I wish I didn't have this proof at all- because it turns out, my 4 kiddos have germs that are more persistent than approximately 99.9% of all other germs. I know because I've used this. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHdI8oGfBbzxGclWtCcfWY8ds2haNKe03d3eP7_JyH_gvOvyPtWjm68JngU2_sNtDFsu3dp6-7ltF6IcbLb2zopxf9U_DNBI76OPYJmBqaoy1_jTuR11kwbopG7lfyrAda5VO0NuVZoXI/s1600/lysol.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" psa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHdI8oGfBbzxGclWtCcfWY8ds2haNKe03d3eP7_JyH_gvOvyPtWjm68JngU2_sNtDFsu3dp6-7ltF6IcbLb2zopxf9U_DNBI76OPYJmBqaoy1_jTuR11kwbopG7lfyrAda5VO0NuVZoXI/s640/lysol.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
and this. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQXVaNxvak1_qSNzZea1ur4R9DLO-kFKBmzdEK5RxByIVXMeiRqMMlKiXwQvRS93jlNAjNnuDlz-MrFqQ9ss0K1lQ3ajJ8Vgmxrh32oXzQUsKCuyax6c8wdAwk5LyvQJ9enUgvmdQ3j4/s1600/windex+spray.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="502" psa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisQXVaNxvak1_qSNzZea1ur4R9DLO-kFKBmzdEK5RxByIVXMeiRqMMlKiXwQvRS93jlNAjNnuDlz-MrFqQ9ss0K1lQ3ajJ8Vgmxrh32oXzQUsKCuyax6c8wdAwk5LyvQJ9enUgvmdQ3j4/s640/windex+spray.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
and this. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXHSM2LsrByMhMpaOU9RbAk4GoGUMlUjNxwZecxBtWfJdUW7bXMo_ny9zXX4GEGSlcnO-O2zgvtxL4og_4Q-jP5HxrsFmFhadW8Pc3T0KErf6Q6_8RVw1bTWuzh8h1HY7ePG3O4Rx65U/s1600/clorox+wipes.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" psa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEXHSM2LsrByMhMpaOU9RbAk4GoGUMlUjNxwZecxBtWfJdUW7bXMo_ny9zXX4GEGSlcnO-O2zgvtxL4og_4Q-jP5HxrsFmFhadW8Pc3T0KErf6Q6_8RVw1bTWuzh8h1HY7ePG3O4Rx65U/s400/clorox+wipes.png" width="202" /></a></div>
not to mention a homemade solution.<br />
<br />
All trying to kill the germs in our house that have resulted in nearly 3 weeks of stomach bug/flu. All 4 kids have had it. It comes and goes. But mostly comes. In three weeks, I think we've slept through the night twice without waking up to puke...or um, the other.<br />
<br />
We are exhausted. Running low on patience. And I've cried plenty a "I must be a terrible mom" fit into my pillow. But that isn't going to be where I stay in all of this. This stinkin' bug remains, <b>but it doesn't get the victory at our house</b>. If it lasts another day or another month (PLEASE LORD JESUS NOT ANOTHER MONTH)- it doesn't win. satan<span style="font-size: x-small;"> <i>(with a little 's' even at the beginning of a sentence) </i></span>would like nothing more than to use this trying time in parenting to rob me of my confidence, joy and purpose which is from The LORD. I'm convinced that sneaky rascal would like nothing more than to let this be about more than just a stomach bug. he'd love to see a real battle. <br />
<br />
As I kneel beside my children while they hug porcelain AGAIN. Or worse, as I kneel on all fours to clean up where they "missed". that conniving devil meets me there. he's whispering in my ear those age old lies to moms about being inadequate, not trying hard enough, failing, not employing every possible tool, comparing to other moms, etc. And today I'm choosing to remind myself...<br />
I'M NOT LISTENING.<br />
ABSOLUTELY.NOT.GIVING.IN.<br />
<br />
Because I believe in a God who is bigger. One who may love to surprise me, but is never sneaky or deceiving. One that doesn't have to meet me in the bathroom. He doesn't meet me there because He is consistent. Walking with me all along. He is the one already with me as I've laid hands on my children each night, as I've begged Him to cleanse our home, as I've cried out in my sleep (or lack thereof), as I've spoken scripture over them, as I've longed for understanding and direction. And He's the one who is with me when I don't feel like doing any of it.<br />
<br />
I feel quite certain that many of you have some genius ideas about how to fix this ole nasty stomach bug for us- and I'll assure you... I've tried (or at least googled) 99.9% of them. But even if I haven't. I'm gonna ask you to <b>refrain from any "tips" on fixing this</b>. Be mindful of my fragile Momma state and instead, today, will you simply join me in the <b>REVOLT</b>. Join me in choosing hope in parenting, even over silly things like the stomach bug.<br />
<br />
<b>Join me in choosing laughter</b> in these down and dirty Momma moments. The ones you know will pass quickly <i>(gross pun intended), </i>but you still gotta work hard to find a bright side. Today, my silver lining is this:<br />
If it could be cleaned, washed, thrown away, scrubbed, sprayed, or bathed...it has been.<br />
More times than I can count.<br />
Yet, those stinkin' germs persist.<br />
So at least we've got this going for us:<br />
My kids (or at least their germs) are top notch-<br />
in the top 0.1% of the whole wide world.<br />
And now I have proof.<br />
<br />
Hooray for us.<br />
<br />
ABL<br />
<br />
<i>ps- stomach bug, you are now free to leave. officially.</i><br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-87733014626151788582013-08-30T08:40:00.001-07:002013-08-30T10:36:23.321-07:00FDOS- The one I didn't see coming<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
This is the last one. </div>
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I promise.</div>
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But when your kids, who were supposed to start school all on the same day</div>
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spread it out over the whole week-</div>
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well, it takes several posts.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And the last was certainly not least.</div>
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After sadly missing his first two days of school, KJ finally got his big day on Thursday.</div>
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The First Day of First Grade.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv_l_NxPz34vlu1t77ynOyaulFuu-qSdiQM8zYfmhh8sksRwuFmK-za2KGri-qsnIX_9o5TRmNURGfO2dmV5mfnXPgejqrGD3yCay-dcpc2jA9_FvLHm9Mq45glcwwrEGDuMGUr9HbPII/s1600/FDOS+KJ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv_l_NxPz34vlu1t77ynOyaulFuu-qSdiQM8zYfmhh8sksRwuFmK-za2KGri-qsnIX_9o5TRmNURGfO2dmV5mfnXPgejqrGD3yCay-dcpc2jA9_FvLHm9Mq45glcwwrEGDuMGUr9HbPII/s640/FDOS+KJ.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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There were lots of things I knew to anticipate about the craziness of the first week of school-</div>
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the paperwork, the meetings, the schedule changes, the emotions, the lunches, the routines</div>
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But I didn't see this one coming.</div>
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I knew the brothers would be thrilled to walk into the building together for the first time. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcNsTRl7bH02QiUbf_QlfFmjFfg0N18OAN4pLd4OGMIamlAcWqjbz8IUMolmWjAbXvrMGmsnmrgjpWXzDd6Xr6JJeVhLtCTwqQNKWJilOTz3yoMVQG6fPTK_jfWxeqtIhelUx4jXaHho/s1600/IMG_5726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGcNsTRl7bH02QiUbf_QlfFmjFfg0N18OAN4pLd4OGMIamlAcWqjbz8IUMolmWjAbXvrMGmsnmrgjpWXzDd6Xr6JJeVhLtCTwqQNKWJilOTz3yoMVQG6fPTK_jfWxeqtIhelUx4jXaHho/s320/IMG_5726.JPG" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOcljhCxXlU_fGx41ZqbVukZM3Od1ztc4zuaK3uorrlH7tdB9EAWjOIj9jAapTvJkA2CeNOGmOmNB-vUTZx7Fpw7CgAyfpOoZEyUenOVGAbZ_L9g_ZS6EfoqdjiRrHcKto3ByhJVOdiws/s1600/IMG_5728.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOcljhCxXlU_fGx41ZqbVukZM3Od1ztc4zuaK3uorrlH7tdB9EAWjOIj9jAapTvJkA2CeNOGmOmNB-vUTZx7Fpw7CgAyfpOoZEyUenOVGAbZ_L9g_ZS6EfoqdjiRrHcKto3ByhJVOdiws/s320/IMG_5728.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">I correctly assumed they would come home at the end of the day telling tales of seeing each other in the hallway and cafeteria.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCMI0ja-pljKJaE4mCB_e19b5KGLd88VMhYgjBHwov7LeAVr6amrE89mc_3hq5Uch8w3o5L9qO0ywvN7fgKdzi_2Npl0vVH4VmFLceJqKRi3rVn1TA0yZ3ypz7jkrbVm_LlNmd9JwaFJU/s1600/IMG_5730.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCMI0ja-pljKJaE4mCB_e19b5KGLd88VMhYgjBHwov7LeAVr6amrE89mc_3hq5Uch8w3o5L9qO0ywvN7fgKdzi_2Npl0vVH4VmFLceJqKRi3rVn1TA0yZ3ypz7jkrbVm_LlNmd9JwaFJU/s320/IMG_5730.JPG" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnZ8a2axpdJymhyphenhyphen9J_98j3eyvOmgp-XmfN__LyieJ7RLDg6IEaJ8PkUHEIFwOLyIfTb_G1c0nE_efP07uLeHc6G5H2ULcmpZxkjsf0CYTxfBM4KWEJouwdQC8HXobeQqsp7VVovNGZbk/s1600/IMG_5731.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsnZ8a2axpdJymhyphenhyphen9J_98j3eyvOmgp-XmfN__LyieJ7RLDg6IEaJ8PkUHEIFwOLyIfTb_G1c0nE_efP07uLeHc6G5H2ULcmpZxkjsf0CYTxfBM4KWEJouwdQC8HXobeQqsp7VVovNGZbk/s320/IMG_5731.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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But what I didn't expect</div>
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was that this guy- the big brother of the group- would be so apprehensive.</div>
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Looking back, </div>
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I totally should have seen it coming. </div>
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Because he'd missed the first two days, he was walking into a situation where everyone else seemingly already knew what to do. And he didn't know what to expect.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMd-2vTtzcj42CZ3J1Iuo35yiYL1gWW2oK08DgIFGh9xtx9IHxBPJlouTz5UDP6OeiacT_Pp0i9L3uiqEcA5OHh7vnD5KkDkmQ93hPd-16sRQjF63HIDGvzF0nLWCWOP7Mn2j_8vvmluU/s1600/at+desk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMd-2vTtzcj42CZ3J1Iuo35yiYL1gWW2oK08DgIFGh9xtx9IHxBPJlouTz5UDP6OeiacT_Pp0i9L3uiqEcA5OHh7vnD5KkDkmQ93hPd-16sRQjF63HIDGvzF0nLWCWOP7Mn2j_8vvmluU/s320/at+desk.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQWftWJXnVu89OA6K1UmyRw24F_u0MZI1LxMUcj0Pvdzrt9gW6WpGczSD31CyLn7RPv9HtzdtXlVag5lXZil4SMuLWgL2a_VX1KFTDrrCK2iJSsQSzUCxgZjz2DwCy63AeUZljTPAuaGg/s1600/IMG_5734.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQWftWJXnVu89OA6K1UmyRw24F_u0MZI1LxMUcj0Pvdzrt9gW6WpGczSD31CyLn7RPv9HtzdtXlVag5lXZil4SMuLWgL2a_VX1KFTDrrCK2iJSsQSzUCxgZjz2DwCy63AeUZljTPAuaGg/s320/IMG_5734.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I should have know that because last year didn't go like he expected, he would be unsure about starting another year.</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZyxT3JDUTFGWkmSXPY0sISY7zSuG4fW9iiYunlSz3AKrIgbgu3o2F8e4wcgzLs-SvQLfzfjXq1AWduFK8I648s2YSYg9qo3HPDfiKdC735Vk6MkpcGkpSisx8m5QUKiYj6u_3235Z_4/s1600/IMG_5732.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcZyxT3JDUTFGWkmSXPY0sISY7zSuG4fW9iiYunlSz3AKrIgbgu3o2F8e4wcgzLs-SvQLfzfjXq1AWduFK8I648s2YSYg9qo3HPDfiKdC735Vk6MkpcGkpSisx8m5QUKiYj6u_3235Z_4/s320/IMG_5732.JPG" width="213" /></a><br />
<br />
<span style="text-align: center;">He melted in beside me as we walked to his classroom, squeezing my hand and sticking a little closer than usual. And </span><span style="text-align: center;">I totally should have known that my boy who LOVED being at home all summer would not be over-the-top excited about restarting the days of being away so much. </span><br />
<span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span>
<span style="text-align: center;">But my very first indicator, should have been before we even left home. After I'd snapped a few FDOS pictures of this big guy. He squeezed me and said "How about one of just you and me?" UM....YES, PLEASE!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioyxa4ZWewqJyJgWOgi4EVgxvtVrCN0xOQxw75khu-ZviD7dxPmk44hB0Zn0Agmq8TFHxVQasiyVz3URZgljl_Y_-2-RVX3jwBe33flijF0FpQM9OgW1FU3VehUHcyQWMT_NKEDRvfwWE/s1600/KJ+and+me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioyxa4ZWewqJyJgWOgi4EVgxvtVrCN0xOQxw75khu-ZviD7dxPmk44hB0Zn0Agmq8TFHxVQasiyVz3URZgljl_Y_-2-RVX3jwBe33flijF0FpQM9OgW1FU3VehUHcyQWMT_NKEDRvfwWE/s640/KJ+and+me.jpg" width="422" /></a></div>
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As he sat in his desk and I could see a few tears welling, I couldn't decide whether to just cry so he'd feel better about letting loose, too. Or walk away quickly to make it easier for both of us.</div>
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In the end, I did neither. </div>
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I leaned in close, hugged him just the right amount for a big first grader AND still a little bit my baby,</div>
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and whispered in his ear...</div>
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<br /></div>
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<i>I love you.</i></div>
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<i>You've got this because God has made you a mighty encourager.</i></div>
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<i>Find others to help and encourage and the day will fly by.</i></div>
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<i>I will always and forever be proud of you.</i></div>
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<i>I can't wait to hear all about it when I pick you up at 3.</i></div>
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And then I left. I didn't get to see a change in his eyes, like I did his little brother. But when I picked him up- bounding toward the car- the van door was barely open before his excited voice proclaimed "I GOT A TICKET" and various other fdos victories.</div>
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Even going back and documenting the day now, </div>
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I'm flooded with prayers for my children and their time in school.</div>
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<i>Oh, Lord, give me strength to let go. Help me find ways to prepare my children for the paths before them, but not hold on so tightly they miss the opportunities to soar alone. Forgive me when there are times I miss the opportunities to speak your blessings into them. Flood their days with the power of your love and grace. Help them have confidence in knowing that they are YOURS. And Lord in that confidence, give them opportunities to hold their heads up and proclaim your name. </i></div>
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<i>Conqueror of fears, giver of good gifts, Lord.</i></div>
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<i>Even on the first day of school.</i></div>
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<i>Amen.</i></div>
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It's a good thing this was only the 2nd year of many starts of school. Because apparently this Momma still has a lot to learn. About myself. About my children. About school. About my God.</div>
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Nope, I didn't see that one coming at all.</div>
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ABL</div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-37098731362910514422013-08-29T18:50:00.002-07:002013-08-29T18:51:16.277-07:00Lou and Her Brother (who finally got a blog name) Go to SchoolI mean, its not a competition.<br />
Not at all.<br />
But if it were,<br />
it just got stiff.<br />
<br />
<br />
I didn't think anything could top <a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2013/08/cbugs-first-day-of-school.html">Cbug's fdos story and pictures</a>. He was so handsome, so silly, so cooperative. But then RRL took these pictures of Tito and Lou before they headed off to their first day. A little less cooperative- but oh my, in their coordinated outfits and adorable signs (thank <a href="http://www.ishouldbemoppingthefloor.com/">Kristi</a>) and the spikey hair beside his sister's pink bow. That boys' sly little smirk and the princesses sparkly shoes. Welp. Just go ahead and MELT.MY.HEART.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSbb4dSVHkYY4Z_rG_Z_tf0S03_spZYLClBGyJfff4Kg2ND-HigBCg0TS9YsazgblblcdmFgd2enPs8dT_BxubZ57H71CPFSUOKEsYJL4hD3JVFdZN24Tq5dFqiKquopFKq8_c-fzu_zg/s1600/lou+and+little+bear+fdos.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSbb4dSVHkYY4Z_rG_Z_tf0S03_spZYLClBGyJfff4Kg2ND-HigBCg0TS9YsazgblblcdmFgd2enPs8dT_BxubZ57H71CPFSUOKEsYJL4hD3JVFdZN24Tq5dFqiKquopFKq8_c-fzu_zg/s400/lou+and+little+bear+fdos.jpg" width="266" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCxar_WL_9fWZNvJwZHyCessTNdZ5c16XpQBmvgsqrhsQUIrZO4YtqFFK_QyztpkVm9EbKgmaAc81rtwx1IiHjn9gAUgBduwb9Ufn2CvAkEvJtHTg4QeLMjQVfQqPyY73eGIXFO0XdoFE/s1600/lou+and+little+bear+fdos2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCxar_WL_9fWZNvJwZHyCessTNdZ5c16XpQBmvgsqrhsQUIrZO4YtqFFK_QyztpkVm9EbKgmaAc81rtwx1IiHjn9gAUgBduwb9Ufn2CvAkEvJtHTg4QeLMjQVfQqPyY73eGIXFO0XdoFE/s400/lou+and+little+bear+fdos2.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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I was more than a little bit disappointed that our FDOS that didn't go like we planned meant that RRL would have to take Tito and Lou in for their first day without me. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgerXfHSLk9GAS1T4w6BxJlQYv4K3Pz4kHocz3XRRzV3WWSfrGdNHrhWkjWoVJC1xZ21TcNdKRvSb8rik2lwhLBOaE0Jz_sHjP0BxNvQhzKM2FiBuigTKGs246ypJzNPGuvSiNQxmwlPnk/s1600/IMG_5717.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgerXfHSLk9GAS1T4w6BxJlQYv4K3Pz4kHocz3XRRzV3WWSfrGdNHrhWkjWoVJC1xZ21TcNdKRvSb8rik2lwhLBOaE0Jz_sHjP0BxNvQhzKM2FiBuigTKGs246ypJzNPGuvSiNQxmwlPnk/s320/IMG_5717.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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I was already torn up on the inside about my baby going to "school" but to not get to walk him in myself.... on second thought, maybe I'm not quite ready to talk about it. Let's just get back to the adorable pictures.<br />
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<br />
The good news is, our little spikey haired darling is one of only 5 kids in his "class". With 2 teachers. Add some bonus hugs through the day from other teachers and friends <i>(who already love his big brothers and sister)</i> and he is hardly deprived or forgotten. Quite the opposite.<br />
<br />
And, of course,<br />
he has big sister around to watch out for him.<br />
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<br />
Lou is already loving school. <br />
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Jumped right in, even after missing the first day. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgytgTQfOgFaUJGoFSAI8WmgPKSjFW7j_mY6bI8x6fFzMjI_vJXgLodSc17t87yH-eA7gYq8SfG1SIRJB49VKGrYyczhUPqiy-TG4XDvxdJ3iyrLDNtoeqksNKF8C-EoqLaqbgoWV8UZFM/s1600/lou+at+her+desk.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgytgTQfOgFaUJGoFSAI8WmgPKSjFW7j_mY6bI8x6fFzMjI_vJXgLodSc17t87yH-eA7gYq8SfG1SIRJB49VKGrYyczhUPqiy-TG4XDvxdJ3iyrLDNtoeqksNKF8C-EoqLaqbgoWV8UZFM/s320/lou+at+her+desk.JPG" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-5BuV-HE-_U5POj7nh4qWI4D6HRE9XOpyCvGP8Cm90eI13HZDFiSgxHlFTRIV52-9A5R76VY8RLJyPqOYtwhb6uCE3uwyYPBJdCI_g7qoLWkOVMy1BlCMCZwlasWgk4nOBUFWplDLt0/s1600/IMG_5718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-5BuV-HE-_U5POj7nh4qWI4D6HRE9XOpyCvGP8Cm90eI13HZDFiSgxHlFTRIV52-9A5R76VY8RLJyPqOYtwhb6uCE3uwyYPBJdCI_g7qoLWkOVMy1BlCMCZwlasWgk4nOBUFWplDLt0/s320/IMG_5718.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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<br />
And hasn't looked back. Poor thing, it is certainly sad she doesn't have any confidence. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLg0eZWuo9k3zcX_PGYhbARF4fpxNiAnHd3P-bL4Qo2lo__3BQw7vunWITmJBNn3cfdk_P5wmyoSQg1lMvVVHDRCTQSdh6x0rhRnNaMyaQpGnP-BhJ5Jhy3cGJTVMFqLcZQOLCpd0jtSQ/s1600/lou+fdos+silly+all.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLg0eZWuo9k3zcX_PGYhbARF4fpxNiAnHd3P-bL4Qo2lo__3BQw7vunWITmJBNn3cfdk_P5wmyoSQg1lMvVVHDRCTQSdh6x0rhRnNaMyaQpGnP-BhJ5Jhy3cGJTVMFqLcZQOLCpd0jtSQ/s640/lou+fdos+silly+all.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
She was made for school. She would probably rather be teaching it, but she'll settle for this in the meantime. She loves reading to her babies, or brothers. She loves writing her name. She loves colors. She loves SCHOOL.<br />
<br />
So glad these two will spend the year together being so well loved at a place we've come to love. Its the only way I'm able to keep working, even part-time, knowing that they are there.You certainly do become bonded to people that spend so much of their time caring for your treasures. And the sweet people at this little preschool go way above and beyond. Can't say enough good things about them. What a blessing!<br />
<br />
FDOS #2 for our casa. Check.<br />
ABL<br />
<br />
<i>*as a fun note- I'm trying out a new blog-name for the baby-est member of our team. I just didn't like that "Little Bear" isn't any sort of derivative of his real name. It doesn't match the others. I know. These are the quirky things I think about.</i>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-22338294360220643042013-08-27T09:52:00.001-07:002013-08-27T09:52:49.487-07:00Cbug's First Day of SchoolTechnically, it was EVERYONE's first day of school. All four were supposed to start their school adventures today.<br />
<br />
But as is often the case when you have lots of small children, this day did not go as planned.<br />
<br />
KJ and Lou both woke up sick during the night.<br />
And since I was staying home with them anyway, Little Bear stayed, too.<br />
<br />
Which means...<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>THIS GUY</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMJ63NQjwOdgJdRHPNSV7Zt2Hbt4alc8i5n5pFHD9Qpxrz44whaycC4W8x7B24SletM6IJtJfqO4_G0zYfDz1sNy4LpLAZ276ydls3X4iGY-z_PjvxyzaO76KDC8IrNyKMyrBvrM7RhfA/s1600/fdos+cbug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMJ63NQjwOdgJdRHPNSV7Zt2Hbt4alc8i5n5pFHD9Qpxrz44whaycC4W8x7B24SletM6IJtJfqO4_G0zYfDz1sNy4LpLAZ276ydls3X4iGY-z_PjvxyzaO76KDC8IrNyKMyrBvrM7RhfA/s640/fdos+cbug.jpg" width="640" /></b></a></div>
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<b>had the first day of school alone.</b></div>
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<br />
It stinks because he and KJ were SO pumped to finally be going to the same school again. They've been counting down to this day. And on meet the teacher night last week they were attached at the hip with excitement.<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/AVvXsEg2Zbh6YSSzOlBkDfJOC9ofOlhxHqA5vjHGq9lx1Gt8BRmAOVy4vq4Nfw7_nYy67-n1LBHe1Eikbn2PFe1ur4NfwZHUj4EDpJkOxJPPaKVxDvZXLTusJCUXn_DK1TAd55wFj9D8XH2ioUI/s1600/meet+the+teacher.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="568" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2Zbh6YSSzOlBkDfJOC9ofOlhxHqA5vjHGq9lx1Gt8BRmAOVy4vq4Nfw7_nYy67-n1LBHe1Eikbn2PFe1ur4NfwZHUj4EDpJkOxJPPaKVxDvZXLTusJCUXn_DK1TAd55wFj9D8XH2ioUI/s640/meet+the+teacher.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This was Meet the Teacher night. Watch out world when these two DO get to arrive at school together. Sheesh. <br /><i>(shockingly, the above photo shoot was completely unscripted)</i></td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
Which is actually why in some ways, I'm glad Cbug got to fly solo this morning.<br />
<i>It's funny. I kind of feel like I've written this post before. Could be deja vu, or it could be that it actually happened before. <a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2010/09/first-days-of-school.html">Like maybe the first day that KJ and Cbug were supposed to go to the same preschool</a>.</i><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCs2C7U4GUGmog70M2RdXsZ8Xv6mCXxjpamLjucstSKK5fw8o4A1kztqPpeIv8phtTqBEkWlnq0whnI_Hj9SGpRTqxlRQi7ObswD4xdovOsYN-kNecyZ-l5bCfQ2fAS5-RkRUdA0jgQiY/s1600/cbug+fdos+silly.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCs2C7U4GUGmog70M2RdXsZ8Xv6mCXxjpamLjucstSKK5fw8o4A1kztqPpeIv8phtTqBEkWlnq0whnI_Hj9SGpRTqxlRQi7ObswD4xdovOsYN-kNecyZ-l5bCfQ2fAS5-RkRUdA0jgQiY/s640/cbug+fdos+silly.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even without KJ, Cbug had plenty of silly to cover the fdos pictures.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
While I would never EVER wish the last few hours on KJ. Poor guy is miserable. And I hate that he had the disappointment of missing his first day. I sincerely do.<br />
<br />
But Cbug is just a different kid when he's forced to forge ahead alone. He and I got to walk to school, just the two of us (well, when I could keep up with him). He didn't stop talking the entire time. He was so excited, he could hardly stand it. <br />
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I got to walk him to his classroom without dividing my attention. </div>
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<br />
And I'm so glad I did. Because as we headed down the hall, he becames more than a little bit unsure about the whole thing. Not necessarily sad or anxious even, just trying to absorb it all. There were people passing all around, people calling out instructions, so much to see hanging in the hallways. He was definitely over stimulated- and I saw that familiar look in his eyes. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgodcaBxQTez9pDrcUmLWREfwGjJcb3h-T4xPBjzpoBgntmI94_JCTuwlrEXUOLs-Xt_q-BD3BKkFMnRs30UHwYcyrTwo-ozu-YZ-IM_g7NiesMLmeZiyeFcb2VEZSus36YMUiRb2S7Sg8/s1600/before+playdough2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgodcaBxQTez9pDrcUmLWREfwGjJcb3h-T4xPBjzpoBgntmI94_JCTuwlrEXUOLs-Xt_q-BD3BKkFMnRs30UHwYcyrTwo-ozu-YZ-IM_g7NiesMLmeZiyeFcb2VEZSus36YMUiRb2S7Sg8/s320/before+playdough2.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAljZJxQqzYlZZE_F9BCKV4svgQge4Rt1G5DSa7UaG84aJ-zaKNaFlLQJjSYzTIYmP_K7QqzPOUQyNkFGiMg2MMtwVutLvbjJMTFyWqQVAid4P3RJINkr_KsAThn9k_xNhpOWGKvYCCHY/s1600/before+playdough3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAljZJxQqzYlZZE_F9BCKV4svgQge4Rt1G5DSa7UaG84aJ-zaKNaFlLQJjSYzTIYmP_K7QqzPOUQyNkFGiMg2MMtwVutLvbjJMTFyWqQVAid4P3RJINkr_KsAThn9k_xNhpOWGKvYCCHY/s320/before+playdough3.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
The one that says "In about 5 seconds I'm either going to need to hide somewhere ALONE with my legos or I'm going to completely breakdown." <br />
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</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/AVvXsEiwGzleuf8WdTsa4AC_bYpGzHe6f9ETFEJ0Y0truCfBKaI-cUxcUD7mIx8Gg76iMKhg_Bs944PY3vFAXTzLyxf2CfPwpC1UqGy7be3JLwcPu6TXnQIEPjKpr1rbVBmqb9QxByllY0ad6vg/s1600/before+playdough.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwGzleuf8WdTsa4AC_bYpGzHe6f9ETFEJ0Y0truCfBKaI-cUxcUD7mIx8Gg76iMKhg_Bs944PY3vFAXTzLyxf2CfPwpC1UqGy7be3JLwcPu6TXnQIEPjKpr1rbVBmqb9QxByllY0ad6vg/s320/before+playdough.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even with me snuggled next to him- this was his face.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Which is why his teachers first words to her "babies" was MUSIC to both of our ears.<br />
"Boys and Girls, you have three choices. You can either read a book, play with playdough at your own desk, or just listen while I talk to the Mommies and Daddies."<br />
<br />
She was speaking his love language.<br />
<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/AVvXsEjH_loF3aC-7WGIA38wHK8M7-L7xvYOS4ozuYaei2kWx5u_caXEu1_NkN9TfGoakYHtu8Pk2Znsx1tNm14wFW_NpL-Gp1GjvBeAuFbPF-MTog61dbR9bozlXSBCQTZ7Uc6mgE0YtgPcrUM/s1600/during+playdough.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH_loF3aC-7WGIA38wHK8M7-L7xvYOS4ozuYaei2kWx5u_caXEu1_NkN9TfGoakYHtu8Pk2Znsx1tNm14wFW_NpL-Gp1GjvBeAuFbPF-MTog61dbR9bozlXSBCQTZ7Uc6mgE0YtgPcrUM/s320/during+playdough.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In his own world- happy with playdough.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
And as he worked on his very own blue playdough, it was like he had just a few minutes to regroup alone (even in the crowd) and get ready for his day. I might have missed that transition in his eyes if I'd had to rush over to KJ's class. And I can honestly say, after I saw him shift, I was easily able to walk out without a tear (from either of us).<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/AVvXsEjyI0oDVstnOeDzpi8LxctQ5poE02jpVUq3SZmzOKc0BoqfDudmi-Khe-BRqXGpwlHeAKPMUS3FEfdKjxVluwctznJyAyBke0VBV9MbA88iiPY9h1820S9uffbN7YUWf6pUPdTphjAcolM/s1600/after+playdough.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyI0oDVstnOeDzpi8LxctQ5poE02jpVUq3SZmzOKc0BoqfDudmi-Khe-BRqXGpwlHeAKPMUS3FEfdKjxVluwctznJyAyBke0VBV9MbA88iiPY9h1820S9uffbN7YUWf6pUPdTphjAcolM/s320/after+playdough.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wow what a difference!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
It was certainly disappointing that RRL didn't get to be there. And such a bummer that he and KJ didn't get to share the first day.<br />
<br />
But I'm incredibly thankful for those moments this morning with my big Kindergartner.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3h3Q-Cax5kbCt_CMTwyQ9NcMT5zSKkqtN5l2JNuIycvcqLKm59uIxkN5KABXugcxy39DWg1Egl8XWb-jdDyjPgPC6q0ZiswLwfotEG5kJDHM9oKIZE_AUJUdJdwfCxMag3YVfaV_0pcw/s1600/before+going+inside.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3h3Q-Cax5kbCt_CMTwyQ9NcMT5zSKkqtN5l2JNuIycvcqLKm59uIxkN5KABXugcxy39DWg1Egl8XWb-jdDyjPgPC6q0ZiswLwfotEG5kJDHM9oKIZE_AUJUdJdwfCxMag3YVfaV_0pcw/s640/before+going+inside.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
At big school<br />
For the very first time.<br />
<br />
LOVE HIM!<br />
ABLAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-12001985222888075732013-08-25T19:04:00.000-07:002013-08-25T20:15:04.264-07:00Run for Craig<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
I've done some interesting things while running.</div>
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But none compare to this weekend.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This weekend, </div>
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this happened.</div>
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</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir8BLAYxCPO2zWX6r5nbyWQJC8iL3Rrc5O7QNAa95W4IM8X5RvlLDJNrDOQIkciBOAfxmFuiGWCbz4_4IaVwnOB9Hi_wvGzLMyKqsFB2Yct1qcuQjRJONI6LRQyvpYa6txP5hZIIVeWNM/s1600/photo+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir8BLAYxCPO2zWX6r5nbyWQJC8iL3Rrc5O7QNAa95W4IM8X5RvlLDJNrDOQIkciBOAfxmFuiGWCbz4_4IaVwnOB9Hi_wvGzLMyKqsFB2Yct1qcuQjRJONI6LRQyvpYa6txP5hZIIVeWNM/s400/photo+(1).JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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I donned a headlamp at 1:30am.</div>
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With arms raised in thanksgiving and praise,</div>
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I ran through sprinklers.</div>
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In the middle of the night.</div>
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<br /></div>
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And it was my favorite run ever.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Because this weekend</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
this happened.</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/AVvXsEi7onh3A0SGFyHhqiu-_za5BAp2arS1fqHVoNGITjRP7uIlUVc25UAKkGAoEfuxLgvEgtDvka54Vr0jiCiRUbMt-yvRZvDV47MguN0RdjgNjxxBZOJpjUTKUmHmYWX_8w6y6KuB4iQOgfA/s1600/poster+before.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7onh3A0SGFyHhqiu-_za5BAp2arS1fqHVoNGITjRP7uIlUVc25UAKkGAoEfuxLgvEgtDvka54Vr0jiCiRUbMt-yvRZvDV47MguN0RdjgNjxxBZOJpjUTKUmHmYWX_8w6y6KuB4iQOgfA/s400/poster+before.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>The sign-in poster before the run began</i></td></tr>
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Although the track was completely empty at that dark time of night</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I didn't run alone.</div>
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I was joined by an army of people </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
running and praying. </div>
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<br /></div>
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because this weekend</div>
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this happened.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUU8W7oWjjRRmEkyDpFtfzFmeJrXDL_LYiByKzRR18jIpvJlo2dpBnQS8TzFLm6J9bPHyzFziYtgak39gGlUTUCknx8p-4HnoeGYXRA2N6tOxJ1o1sUfTp75iAPFF8-kQrLQz9IhVpKCE/s1600/IMG_5603.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUU8W7oWjjRRmEkyDpFtfzFmeJrXDL_LYiByKzRR18jIpvJlo2dpBnQS8TzFLm6J9bPHyzFziYtgak39gGlUTUCknx8p-4HnoeGYXRA2N6tOxJ1o1sUfTp75iAPFF8-kQrLQz9IhVpKCE/s400/IMG_5603.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>13 hours in and already more than 150 miles.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcCVGxO6O_V81diytvIfx9hwW7hHap7vcGZY4Fq0rPgwIxKTPOzdzVPzSU8y41wWUDiAN13wum0opEZU7HkG8E-4kYwgfxYf9fcN1WRayY4xtDQxAOGM8zfjtweHj_3RZ9H-ytbk8_stA/s1600/IMG_5606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
It was truly an honor to be able to be one of many.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
To listen to the prayer requests that Craig and his family asked that we cry out on their behalf.</div>
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It was incredible to be reminded that when the "Life Race" gets difficult-</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
when things like Cancer knock unexpectedly at our door, </div>
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We are never running alone. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Because this weekend,</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
so much happened.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
251 miles.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
By more than 75 runners and walkers.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
24 hours of prayer</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwQ2CTCiSpo7nVLsc4-Yz3srMGexSFu1hdjG7AGDn638cF6C-yPcsAF7xtOie0turAePYh5sANqzveoEfzJmBUFLEnBhm9kZBlJ_DZnAazW1wxmJdPNUsx7rizaKsp5AmXEQwyuHAzTw4/s1600/IMG_5606.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwQ2CTCiSpo7nVLsc4-Yz3srMGexSFu1hdjG7AGDn638cF6C-yPcsAF7xtOie0turAePYh5sANqzveoEfzJmBUFLEnBhm9kZBlJ_DZnAazW1wxmJdPNUsx7rizaKsp5AmXEQwyuHAzTw4/s640/IMG_5606.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
This weekend</div>
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We ran because</div>
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We believe.</div>
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We believe that God is mighty to heal someone we love. To conquer cancer.</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
I have to confess to you, in the past I've felt pretty good about the way I've shared my faith on this little piece of the world wide web. And while its true that you don't have to read many posts in DRRF to catch a glimpse of what we believe- I was convicted while running this weekend that it might have been only a glimpse.<br />
<br />
This time, I don't want to miss the opportunity to be very clear. <br />
One of Craig's requests was that he and his family use what they are experiencing, his battle with Cancer, to share something with others. So, I would be terribly remiss to not take an opportunity in a post about this prayer run to share with you.<br />
<br />
Wanna know what in the world would motivate people to run in the middle of the night? <br />
Or worse, in the middle of the day in August in TX? <br />
<br />
We believe that we are all totally messed up.<br />
None of us are perfect.<br />
I am far from it.<br />
<br />
But I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God.<br />
I believe He came to this Earth, lived as both fully God and fully Man so that He alone could pay the ultimate price for all of our sins. Horrific, torturous death on a cross.<br />
<br />
I believe that in Him alone is found a power to save.<br />
I believe He is able to heal Craig completely.<br />
But, I also believe someday our lives as we know them on this Earth will end.<br />
And when that happens, I believe that Jesus has already paid the price for salvation for all, for eternal life.<br />
We believe that we ALL need to be saved.<br />
And we believe that Jesus is the way to the salvation.<br />
There is nothing we've done to earn it. There is nothing we can do to lose it.<br />
And its for you, too.<br />
All you have to do is believe.<br />
That's it.<br />
<br />
I want you to know what I believe.<br />
Don't let me over-complicate it. Don't let me cloud it. Don't miss it.<br />
<br />
If you don't know the Truth about the saving power of Christ. If you don't have a community of people that encourage you to know a Lord that saves you by Grace, and not by anything you can do- I don't want to let another moment go by without being the one to tell you. <br />
<br />
That's why we ran.<br />
ABL<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-40737807198419388072013-08-22T21:01:00.000-07:002013-08-22T21:04:41.874-07:00Lessons of a Stick Hunter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
The stomach bug struck at our house.</div>
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Which meant we had to stay home.</div>
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Only it didn't last long.</div>
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And we were free to roam.</div>
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<br /></div>
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We hit up the park where we could run and play (and avoid sharing germs).</div>
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We avoided crowded playgrounds and just wandered. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<b>The Perfect Sick Day</b></div>
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<br /></div>
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The kinda day where you see a field and just take off running.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4HzH9MdWPn8j5F7p7dUVFXfHZD0H47X4r78ta81bmJSVc3eIRzNd8TFqifzPMmCyFuFEOEYlMXhYkgOneCfSfi-YshePOASEJsZYDpFsuX3phaN4lfmgZYJ_OONctpzUs4RojsPi1UDo/s1600/IMG_5506.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4HzH9MdWPn8j5F7p7dUVFXfHZD0H47X4r78ta81bmJSVc3eIRzNd8TFqifzPMmCyFuFEOEYlMXhYkgOneCfSfi-YshePOASEJsZYDpFsuX3phaN4lfmgZYJ_OONctpzUs4RojsPi1UDo/s320/IMG_5506.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
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and you taste a sweet victory</div>
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or maybe a little bitterness from defeat.</div>
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</div>
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</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDM4-OUbE-ZeRJ1-Qa6o4ntcU7lA2UxcOamrR3u6S6nwFJkEqJ14416p1tkiAwgBta39MhkK9oSwTPDDx4gOuVaz744fO3fwka4VRsxFFjWDGK2riCpC0Hv4D1RSSG3YfxjvL7as4ymps/s1600/IMG_5509.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/AVvXsEjDM4-OUbE-ZeRJ1-Qa6o4ntcU7lA2UxcOamrR3u6S6nwFJkEqJ14416p1tkiAwgBta39MhkK9oSwTPDDx4gOuVaz744fO3fwka4VRsxFFjWDGK2riCpC0Hv4D1RSSG3YfxjvL7as4ymps/s320/IMG_5509.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvSLH-J4uANw3Y8_7Eh25rHydLzFVFP_Z5Uqw5-C6NU0QVlBc6qveUtEU0I2dWx1msdBZc_dPwYvSN9nMqnO0r0EgfBu1_aOmkHB2Qd3p1AmFexh0foam478lFVP0k3G2okvKbnQHwXOo/s1600/IMG_5507.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvSLH-J4uANw3Y8_7Eh25rHydLzFVFP_Z5Uqw5-C6NU0QVlBc6qveUtEU0I2dWx1msdBZc_dPwYvSN9nMqnO0r0EgfBu1_aOmkHB2Qd3p1AmFexh0foam478lFVP0k3G2okvKbnQHwXOo/s400/IMG_5507.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
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<br />
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The kind of day where you take a wagon along </div>
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simply because you'll need a place to carry your sticks.</div>
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My three stick hunters nearly filled a wagon with treasures of bark.</div>
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Like ones that would be just right for an elephant nose</div>
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Or huge ones they could use to practice their heavy lifting or balance beam routines.</div>
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Or ones that could be turned into magical wands, perfect for stirring the musty waters of an enchanted creek.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQybOkhnDnKgPW5uvQtTu6PkZotUH_n_r906SS04jWbTuX64bdnMdlgkgL-UbEeaGtChyphenhyphensoGV7N2tLhEYw7NIgsMPng_VFZ9zyGEb5mpeP3ozV9yIL36thyphenhyphenR_oBu0CcmmfmbN-aUjBnXA/s1600/IMG_5530.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQybOkhnDnKgPW5uvQtTu6PkZotUH_n_r906SS04jWbTuX64bdnMdlgkgL-UbEeaGtChyphenhyphensoGV7N2tLhEYw7NIgsMPng_VFZ9zyGEb5mpeP3ozV9yIL36thyphenhyphenR_oBu0CcmmfmbN-aUjBnXA/s320/IMG_5530.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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They watched closely for signs of wild-life</div>
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frogs or turtles or fish</div>
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And one mini-member of the expedition practiced his hiking (while snacking) skills</div>
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<i>(add "shoes optional" to <a href="http://deeprollingrightfield.blogspot.com/2013/08/you-might-be-fourth-child-if.html">the list of fourth-child-woes</a>)</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1yoqYvs_lUp6N_lJVqGbTEz7_HeZMYDLgzEJt9gbOsBoWjjat3-ks1bdWINKUVeQs6NkSK1mF9XB7X5RKoqIl3tsNnzY9Xlyvfz8ubZoFR8qaH0cbUG0QIaU26zj_1_GA14Ufqjs8Fo/s1600/IMG_5541.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV1yoqYvs_lUp6N_lJVqGbTEz7_HeZMYDLgzEJt9gbOsBoWjjat3-ks1bdWINKUVeQs6NkSK1mF9XB7X5RKoqIl3tsNnzY9Xlyvfz8ubZoFR8qaH0cbUG0QIaU26zj_1_GA14Ufqjs8Fo/s320/IMG_5541.JPG" width="218" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM1BJ2PtZxR5khU7MiMZXJIC5OKgAVWjQLJZl1VZbFHMFb6ggZ6Lv-C85j6mX0ubQ0hc73N6OjBxJt80p-uajt5XzCb35tapLzxoW-V8YFNMgHHfKeRWcEFewwpePwdA71ALZduf-sEIQ/s1600/IMG_5543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM1BJ2PtZxR5khU7MiMZXJIC5OKgAVWjQLJZl1VZbFHMFb6ggZ6Lv-C85j6mX0ubQ0hc73N6OjBxJt80p-uajt5XzCb35tapLzxoW-V8YFNMgHHfKeRWcEFewwpePwdA71ALZduf-sEIQ/s320/IMG_5543.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>
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They challenged the theories behind</div>
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"If your brother jumped off a bridge..."</div>
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And learned that in all situations a little push behind your pull goes a long way.</div>
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They learned that exploring together just a few steps off the beaten path </div>
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can open up grand adventures</div>
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and that after a long day of stick-hunting you've got to decide just how badly you really want to make it home with your heavy haul.</div>
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Even if I did have to clean-up vomit to earn this day-</div>
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I wouldn't trade it for the world.</div>
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Because I know that school is around the corner- </div>
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and no matter how amazing their teachers may be,</div>
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there are some things you just learn best while stick hunting.</div>
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<br /></div>
ABL<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-705680362386703721.post-77806416214901171242013-08-22T08:16:00.000-07:002013-08-22T08:16:44.731-07:00In the Whole Wide WuhldI love how Lou adds emphasis to just about anything she says.<br />
And I can understand where she is coming from. <br />
I mean-<br />
Why just tell me about your day when you can start with "MOM. You will NOT BELIEVE what happened today..."<br />
<br />
Why would a simple "I love you" suffice when you can say "You are the bestest Mommy in the whole wide wuhld". <br />
<br />
Why would you simply ask for something when you can say "Can I petty petty petty petty puhhh-lease....?"<br />
<em>(have I mentioned before that I'll be sad when she finds her "r" sound? once or twice, maybe)</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<br />
This summer, I watched her stand confidently in line for a bounce house obstacle course. As she was surrounded by kids twice her size, I wondered why it didn't bother her. Maybe she genuinely doesn't notice that she is so small. Or maybe she is just so confident in herself that she simply doesn't care. <em>Unless there is a dog present, </em>This girl does not know the meaning of "you are too little". <br />
<br />
And in at least one way, I know that it is true. She isn't too little. She's not too little to teach her momma a few things about putting emphasis on the right things. The true things. The hopeful things. The lovely things. <br />
<br />
I've clung to this sweet reminder from her sweet little mouth. Like many of the things she says, I'm quite certain she does not fully comprehend what she is repeating. But like many things she teaches me, I'm also quite certain its much less complicated that I try to make it.<br />
<br />
His word. Through her mouth. I hope you are as blessed by it as I am!<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/evd9V3RME6w?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
And you know what, Lou? I sure love you.</div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
More than the WHOLE WIDE WUHLD!</div>
MommaAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10109029743101318550noreply@blogger.com0