tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-322328792024-03-07T12:53:45.932-06:00Mommy, EsquireUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger386125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-40529503377558809022016-04-08T18:19:00.002-05:002016-04-08T18:19:42.499-05:00A Golf Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I made some fabulous pimento and cheese yesterday. Because the Master's. I'll have to post the recipe on the food page (since I only have two recipes on there). Sad. Anyway, to commemorate this big golf weekend, I thought I'd tell you a little (possibly true) story I once heard. Everybody quiet, now. Listen up.<br />
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Once upon a time there was a young mom who had just brought baby number three (third baby in four years) home from the hospital in late April. The Master's was the next week! Husband had tickets to the practice rounds and was really excited. The sweet young mom didn't want to tell him he couldn't go, so she smiled sweetly and said "sure, honey! Go ahead and go and have a <i>great </i>time! You deserve it!" And so, he went!<br />
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Husband returned from the Master's raving about the pimento and cheese sandwiches and brought back some cool green plastic cups, a shirt, and something that looked like a boat oar (odd!) as souvenirs. The lovely, sweet, and gracious mom had survived the weekend with the three littles and husband clearly had had a great time watching golf on a beautiful spring weekend in Augusta. So everybody won. And so life went on.<br />
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Many years later, this (not so young anymore) mom had a garage sale. As she was digging through boxes in the closet, she came across husband's odds and ends he had said to put in the sale. As she started out of the closet, she noticed an odd looking paddle in the corner. How bizarre, she thought! We don't have a boat! And they say if you haven't used anything in more than a year, you should get rid of it. So she threw it in the box and hauled it out to the garage. A few minutes later as some middle aged man sauntered through the sale, he picked up that paddle and asked anxiously, "how much?"<br />
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Uhhhhh..... "A dollar sound okay?" she shrugged her shoulders and asked. He quickly drew four quarters out of his pocket, tossed them on the table, and took off with this odd treasure. So weird!!! (she thought, laughing). Who would want a silly looking tiny kayak paddle with scribbling all over it?<br />
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Husband came out to check on the garage sale and wife, still laughing, told him about the strange transaction. Husband stared blankly. "My quiet paddle", he said (quietly). "Huh?" she asked. "My QUIET PADDLE! From the Master's!" he responded (not so quietly). "I walked all over that place to get Phil Mickelson's autograph! And you sold it. For a dollar." (insert sad face). <br />
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Wife felt really bad about it. For about 30 seconds. Then life went on.<br />
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The End.<br />
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*Some of the details may have been altered to protect the guilty.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-36508206266668191672016-04-06T10:01:00.000-05:002016-04-06T13:27:47.975-05:00I Call Hating Running<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="text-align: left;">I have finally started running / walking again for exercise again after my foot surgery last fall. Let me just say that I realized I still hate running. I really do. As in....I need a t-shirt that says I Hate Running and even though I've run several half marathons, I don't have one of those 13.1 stickers on my car because I couldn't find one that said "...and I hated every mile." But I love having run. In fact, the only reason I do it and the only thing that keeps me putting one foot in front of the other is knowing how great I will feel after....because at the moment the torture I feel would likely violate the Geneva Convention. But I do as much as I can to make it bearable, like chew my favorite gum and listen to podcasts. My absolute favorite way to start my morning run is to listen to Tim Keller who, I believe, is one of the best speakers/writers/theologians of our time. He's our generation's C.S. Lewis. He just has a way of making the gospel simple and relative to my life, right where I am.</span></div>
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This one really got me. One of the things I battle constantly in my home is the "I call" announcement. I cringe when I hear those words come out of my kids' mouths. "I call the chocolate donut!" "I call the front seat!" "I call the last piece of cake!" "I call that chair!" It's like this major proclamation that no one is as important as I am and what I want is all that matters....never mind what anyone else wants - it's all about me. </div>
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But it's not just kids. We adults do the same thing, don't we? We may not say it out loud because, well, that would make us look just foolish. But inside we're feeling it and thinking it. "I call the corner office!" "I call the seat next to the cool people!" "I call that teacher for my kid!" "I call that PTA committee!" </div>
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You know we do. And we hurt each other with it. It hurts my heart to see one of my kids put him or herself above the others, because what it means is, someone gets left out. Someone I love gets the shaft. The short end of the stick. Or no end of the stick. And that makes me sad. I imagine God feels the same way when he sees the way we treat each other. </div>
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Here's an excerpt from the Tim Keller sermon I listened to this morning: </div>
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<i>I hate cancer. Cancer has taken away a number of friends and family members of mine. But there is a relational cancer - a spiritual cancer - and that is the deep default mode of the human heart, instinctive, to say "me first". So, for example, if you go into a marriage - and marriage is in some ways the most intense kind of human community - in a marriage, if both people are saying to the other you first - you first - I'm putting your needs ahead of mine...If both people are saying you first, you're going to have a great love relationship. But if either one or both - hear that - say "me first" - it's like a cancer eating at the marriage. It might not survive. Now, the me first impulse is absolutely natural. If any of you have ever raised children, you know you don't have to teach children to say me first. Me first!!!! It's like they're born saying it, practically. Or at least they're born feeling it until they have words to say it. And what we have all learned from our parents is...to hide it. To not say it. And I guess our parents are saying we shouldn't even feel that way but of course the fact is all we have learned to do as we get older is to hide it. Little children just let it all hang out. We can't get rid of it unless something radical happens to us. And this is the reason the gospel starts with repentance and faith. </i></div>
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<i>Repentance is admitting that your whole life is permeated with self-centeredness. Repentance isn't just "oh I've done some bad things". Everyone says that. That doesn't change your life. That doesn't connect you to God. Saving repentance connects you to God. .... Repentance is saying that self-centeredness, self-absorption, self-righteousness, "me first", has - it permeates - everything. Not only my bad deeds but my good deeds. You have begun to become a Christian when you realize even my good deeds I've been doing to try to control God, control people,and even my good deeds are done in self-righteousness and self-regard. So repentance is - Christianity starts - with saying <b>I realize that my big problem is me first. </b></i><br />
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(I <i>think</i><a href="http://www.gospelinlife.com/sermons?p_type=6&primary_sermon=1&type_id=configurable&dir=desc&order=date"> this</a> is the link where the sermon can be found but it doesn't look like it's made it onto the site yet....or you can go to iTunes and download the Redeemer Presbyterian Church podcasts and it's the 4/3/16 sermon to hear the rest of it because there's so much more good stuff there.)</div>
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Let's try to re-program this default, y'all. This "deep default of the human heart to say me first." I think we can. I really do. I want my kids to think you first instead of me first. I want them to stop "calling" everything and instead ask, what would you like? Instead of them thinking "it's all about me" I want them to think "it's all about you". </div>
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And it needs to start with me. </div>
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And I still hate running. But I love the revelations I have along the way. </div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-62987278456265036462016-03-29T12:28:00.000-05:002016-03-29T13:20:13.354-05:00Holding PatternsA few years ago I was on a flight that started out pretty uneventful. The plane left on time, I had an aisle / emergency row seat, and the guy next to me didn't smell bad, take his shoes off, or want to talk which always makes for a pleasant flight. Things were rocking along just fine until out of nowhere we hit some pretty awful turbulence and the pilot announced that we would be making an unplanned stop until the storm passed. So we did. And we just sat on the tarmac at a strange airport that wasn't even on our itinerary, unable to get off the plane, yet unable to go anywhere....and no one could tell us how long we'd be there.<br />
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We tried to make the best of things. The flight attendants even started passing out food and drinks to make us a little more comfortable. It helped, a little. But no matter how hard I tried to be calm, I was incredibly anxious. I knew that there was no way I would make my connecting flight, and I'd unlikely be making it home that night. I had children to gather from grandparents and a job to show up for the next morning. I had appointments, commitments, responsibilities. This detour was not working into my plans whatsoever and the worst part was....I was completely not in control of anything. So as I sat there, I remember thinking that the only way I was going keep from having a full blown, anxiety laden meltdown was to focus on just the next thing. The big picture was way too overwhelming because I had no idea how....or when....this detour was going to end and I would be back on track. So I did the only thing I could do at the moment...</div>
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I stayed seated. I breathed. I read. And I enjoyed a free candy bar.</div>
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When we finally made it back into the air and arrived at our airport, we were forced to circle in a holding pattern for what seemed like days, because there wasn't a spot for us to land yet. We had to wait until it was safe. When the traffic finally cleared, we landed. A little unnerved, but safe. Nothing else really mattered at that point.</div>
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Life has a way of throwing us off our charted course, doesn't it? Sometimes an ugly, unpredictable storm comes up and you find yourself at a dead stop, and then sometimes you find yourself in a holding pattern. And sometimes the only way to survive is to focus on just the next thing.</div>
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A few months ago my Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. Hello, turbulence! After her lumpectomy, they told us that they got it all, it had not spread, and they thought she would only need a few weeks of radiation....such a huge relief. Over and over we all said how grateful we were that she would not have to go through chemo or any other surgeries. Then a few weeks later, after additional testing, they determined it was worse than they thought and not only would she need chemo and radiation, but they didn't get clear margins and would have to do another lumpectomy. </div>
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More turbulence.</div>
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Then midway through her first round of chemo, they discovered a serious heart issue and told us last week she would need to have open heart surgery. At that point the overhead bins flew open and all the luggage landed on top of us. I think we're still digging out.</div>
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After meeting with the cardiologist last week, we left with a plan which includes another 12 week round of chemo, the surgery to re-excise the tumor, then after she recovers from all of that, open heart surgery, another 2-3 months to recover, then radiation.</div>
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The big picture is much too much to even process. She's truly handling everything with grace and courage and strength, but I keep reminding her that her focus has to be just on today. Or maybe I'm just trying to remind myself. Not only because of this, but life has really thrown me off course lately and I feel like I'm just sitting on that tarmac again....completely not in control and unable to do anything but be still. And breathe. </div>
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And so I picked up a few candy bars at Trader Joe's the other day because, well, chocolate makes everything a little more bearable.</div>
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If you're a praying person, pray for my Mom, will you? And for those of us who are on this uncharted course with her. We need patience, peace, and grace for the journey.</div>
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And chocolate.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-19587821548487136132015-06-09T17:18:00.001-05:002015-06-10T12:02:30.879-05:00Lessons from MomI shared an article the other day on my Facebook page that I just loved. It resonated with me for oh, so many reasons. You can read it <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/the-mid/things-good-mothers-do-that-im-not-going-to-do_b_6906042.html?utm_source=mommyshorts.com&utm_medium=referral&utm_campaign=pubexchange_facebook">here</a>. There have been many nights that I've gone to bed feeling like a big fat L-O-S-E-R in the mama department. This article helped loosen my chains of guilt a bit and made me realize that I've been a really bad Mom (read "good" mom).<br />
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I think we spend a lot of time as we grow up thinking of all the ways we don't want to be like our parents. All the ways we're going to do things differently. Better. I think that's just normal, even if you had the best Mom in the history of the world. Some of the best things I've done as a Mom, I learned from my own. Sure, there are things I've done differently, but then there are things that, even if I tried to avoid them, I've done exactly the same. It's like 1984 all over again. Minus the Forenza sweaters and tight rolled jeans. <br />
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When my brother and I were teenagers, there was a certain episode in our home that will forever be known as the Blue Chair tragedy. Otherwise known as The Day Mom Lost It. Let me give you the backstory first. My mother had been a single mom for a few years, left to raise two kids on her own. Two almost-teenagers ON HER OWN. God love her. But she had recently gone back to work and at the time of the Blue Chair tragedy, my brother and I were probably about 14 and 11. The way I remember it was, we had this big puffy armed blue recliner that "someone" had pushed all the way against the wall because "someone" had broken it in a way that the back of the recliner just flopped all the way to the ground unless it was pushed against a wall to hold it up. Which clearly was a great way to fix it because that wasn't weird or anything.<br />
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So one day Mom comes home after a long day at work and one of us (it's all foggy) was sitting in the propped up chair probably watching Good Times....which all by itself was usually enough to send her into next week. Mom was not a fan of JJ. Anyhoo...she asked why the chair was pushed all the way against the wall and of course, no one knew. At closer inspection she could see that the wall was the only thing holding up the back of the big blue chair. At that point there was screaming, yelling, overall craziness and I think I might have temporarily lost consciousness, waking up just in time to see my skinny little Mama with the little blond poof, in heels and everything, singlehandedly haul that ginormous recliner across the living room, out through the carport, past the burnt orange Oldsmobile Toronado and down the driveway to the street, yelling all the way something about how you can't have anything nice with kids. Craziness I tell you!<br />
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At least I thought it was crazy until I had kids of my own. I have my own blue chair meltdowns sometimes. Because it's true....you can't have anything nice with kids. That's why I don't have anything nice. But sometimes - dang it - the "snap" just rises and there's no containing it. Does it make me crazy? No way. I'm highly suspicious of any Mom who says she's never lost it. I had a Blue Chair episode just a few weeks ago when my youngest was playing a tin whistle and wouldn't stop. Until I freaked the heck out, grabbed it out of his mouth, and hurled it across the room. <br />
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Because....blue chair, people. Blue chair.<br />
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By the way, I am about to order a few of these t-shirts. And I'm sending one of them to my brother.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-80082089375989400052015-05-23T11:01:00.001-05:002015-05-23T11:07:12.093-05:00Stuff<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A couple of months ago I started feeling really restless. Discombobulated. (one of the most fun words EVER by the way). Anxious. I couldn't figure out what the problem was, really. I mean, after a season of upheaval and change things have been relatively calm for us this past year. We are settled into our new home, we have wonderful friends, the kids did great on their achievement testing so I can rest assured they don't need to go back to preschool and start over, our health is good, I've had three great haircuts in a row, and my mint is bountiful - ensuring a successful mojito season. In other words, life is pretty good right now.<br />
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But I couldn't shake this feeling and I realized it was most intense in my home. It hit me one morning when I was in my overwhelming, overflowing closet trying to find something to wear. Because as I pulled on shirts and ripped them back off, throwing them in a pile on top of the pants I'd already ripped off and thrown down, wiping sweat from my forehead, and feeling disgusted that out of probably hundreds of pieces of hanging clothes, I ended up putting on the same shirt and pants I'd worn days before because (a) they fit and (b) I actually like them. I stepped over that giant pile in the floor and walked through my bedroom where I saw several laundry baskets full of clothes that needed to be folded and put away. I made my way into my son's room where the drawers of his chest were literally all hanging open with clothes spilling out of them like he'd just been robbed. There were toys all over the floor and a gaggle of chargers and electronics scattered everywhere amidst Wii remotes and video game cases opened and scattered. It was a mess. And I was disgusted.</div>
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At myself. At all of us. At all the <i>stuff. </i></div>
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I could have put all the clothes away, had my kids clean up from the Wii fest the night before, closed all the drawers and the closet door and all the mess would have been out of sight. Temporarily. But something in me snapped and I realized that even if I closed the closet door I still knew what was behind it. It all signified much more than just a messy house. Our lives, much like our closets, had become overcrowded and full of stuff that doesn't fit (what we want for our family), doesn't make us feel good, and creates chaos.</div>
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So I started with my own closet. I pared down hundreds of hanging pieces to thirty-eight. Two entire racks of clothes with hangers jammed in tightly to one rack with only thirty-eight hangers. But as happy as my newly cleaned out closet makes me, the pile of clothes sitting in bags to be donated made me want to throw up. I may never buy anything again. Unless someone gives me an Anthropologie gift certificate in which case, I will. But I'll get rid of something to make room for it because thirty-eight just feels right. </div>
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We're slowly going through the entire house clearing out and cleaning out and getting rid of things that aren't useful or that we don't just love. This is the smallest house we've lived in since before we had children and you know what? As we're cleaning out, it's getting bigger. So we obviously don't need a bigger house, we just need less stuff.<br />
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We had a garage sale a couple of weekends ago and that helped me move some of this STUFF out. What was left over I piled in my van (had to put all the seats down, y'all!) and it was FILLED TO CAPACITY. My van. That seats seven. Filled to capacity with stuff. So guess what we do NOT need in this house anymore? Stuff.<br />
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What is stuff? Well to start with...more clothes. Shoes. Purses. My oldest son has about ten pairs of shoes in his closet and do you know how many he regularly wears? THREE! A pair of flip flops, tennis shoes, and his baseball cleats. Which he won't be wearing again in about two more weeks. He has about fifteen polo shirts hanging in his closet and do you know how many he wears? ONE. The same one, over and over. Which is significantly less than the total number crammed in his closet. <br />
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What else is stuff? Video games, video game consoles, video game characters, and DVDs. This past Christmas my son asked for Disney Infinity characters from everyone. He got four or five. In February he filled a bin up with all of his Disney Infinity stuff and wanted to take it to Game Stop and "trade it in" on the new Nintendo 3ds because apparently his own 3ds and regular ds just weren't cutting the butter anymore. I stopped him on his way out the door, picked up a little plastic villain, held it in front of his nose and said "Is this the doodad I just gave you for Christmas? The one you just HAD TO HAVE and were going to die a million deaths if you didn't get it? The one you kept adding to my amazon cart and I kept removing? Huh? Huh? Huh???!" I asked him how much he thought he would get for everything at Game Stop and he said "oh...about $200, maybe $250! Enough to get the cool new ds!" I informed him that he MIGHT get $50....for everything....and he thought I was lying. Until we got there and Gamerchick told him she could give him a whopping (wait for it) fifty dollars for everything. (just remember, Mama's always right). All the way home he got a lesson and lecture on how everything is designed to make you spend more and spend often. Every single company comes out with a better, sleeker, fancier, quicker, cooler gadget so that the cool one you just bought is now outdated and obsolete. And worth nothing. It's a big, fat, racket. And we're the suckers. He really appreciated this lecture.<br />
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So we're not buying, receiving, saving or asking for ANY MORE of that sort of stuff. My kids will be the pitiful technology ragamuffins with the antiquated consoles and games circa 2013. But it really doesn't matter anyway because WE AREN'T PLAYING them anymore! It's not on our list. Remember <a href="http://www.mommyesquire.blogspot.com/2015/05/dumbing-down-and-loving-it.html">this?</a> <br />
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We're dumb AND antiquated now. Boo. Hoo. <br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-55142026465145826122015-05-12T19:03:00.000-05:002015-05-12T19:23:44.052-05:00My Chanel Suits<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I just finished reading one of my favorite books in a long time....<i>Nobody's Cuter Than You </i>by Melanie Shankle. It's about friendship and I just know Melanie would be one of my best good friends if we only lived closer. It's the only thing keeping us apart. I loved everything about this book though....from reminiscing about growing up in the 70's (the best time to grow up I'm totally convinced) to paying tribute to the friendships that define us and sustain us as we move through this life. Coincidentally, I've been waxing poetic about the years of my youth and I've worn my kids out lately with tales of traveling backwards in my parent's Oldsmobile Cruiser station wagon (sans seatbelts of course), listening to 8-tracks of the Carpenters, Bee Gees, and Englebert Humperdinck while we snacked on Funyons, Pop Rocks and Yoo-hoo. I mean, come on. There's also a great 70's station on Pandora and as I've been singing all the lyrics out loud I've realized how completely inappropriate they were. Am pretty sure I must have thought an Afternoon Delight was a treat from the ice cream truck. <br />
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But about friends....<br />
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I never had a sister but I don't know what I'd do without my girlfriends and it amazes me how every one of them truly completes me. Friends are like sisters you get to choose. On Mother's Day there were texts flying back and forth between us with the recurrent message of "you help me be a better Mom." There are many days when I'm ready to throw in the towel and run away in a fur coat and end up in a hotel room at the beach. (girlfriends know what this means) They tell me they understand and don't go without them. They brighten my day with a funny text that makes me laugh out loud or a phone call "just to hear my voice." They show up during a hurricane with some ice, medicine for my sick child, and a carafe full of Bloody Mary for me. They give perfect gifts because they know me so well. They tell me to take the swimsuit I've been wearing for years and throw it out of the window as far as I can and go buy something that's flattering. And they mean it in the nicest way. They remind me not to wear my sensible shoes when I'm headed out for a fabulous evening, and they take my kids for a few hours when they can tell someone might get hurt if they don't. They know everything about me....sometimes even before I tell them....and love me in spite of it. If they say they're praying for me, I know they mean it. Sometimes they do it in a call or text if they can't get to me. You never forget the first time you met because you knew it was going to be the start of a beautiful friendship....and you start to go into withdrawals if you haven't seen them in a while. Sometimes a while is just a few days but it's still a day or two too long. <br />
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My best friend Kim, who I met on my very first day of law school orientation, and with whom I've been through just about everything, told me something once when I was lamenting over another friendship that had fallen to the wayside. She said "Poodle, sometimes you just have to clean out your friend closet. Sometimes you hang on to an old dress or outfit just because it's been there for so long but one day you realize you've outgrown it, or you just don't feel right in it anymore, and it's ok to let it go. Sometimes you realize that you bought something on a whim and it's just not your style, and you need to chunk it. Sometimes you wonder what the heck you were ever thinking with those wedge shoes or sparkly bag or pleather pants, and you send it on to someone who actually likes it. And that's ok. But that Chanel suit....you never get rid of that. Because it never goes out of style. And it will always make you happy, just knowing it's there." She should know because she's my Chanel suit. And I know I'm hers. I'm really lucky because I have a few "Chanel suits" in my friend closet. <br />
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But all you really need is one. <br />
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And if you know what I'm talking about....you need to read Melanie's book. And if you ever rode backwards in a station wagon listening to 8-tracks (with the rear window open for Pete's sake....), you'll love it even more. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-40326648426624612572015-05-06T15:01:00.001-05:002015-05-06T15:57:19.057-05:00Dumbing Down (and loving it)<div>
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Like probably every other Mom with kids still in the house, most nights I collapse into bed exhausted and wonder where the day went. I wish I had more hours in the day....more time. Because there never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them. Wait, that might be a song. But I couldn't figure out WHY it seemed I never ever, EVER had time to get things done. Not only the things I don't really love to do (cleaning toilets and folding clothes) but especially the things I WANT to do (read a book, have coffee with a friend, play a game with my kids, go for a run). And I realized one day when I tried to sit on the porch with a book, my iPhone (or Precious as we call it) went with me. I sat down, saw that I had a message or a comment from someone, and an hour later it was time to cook dinner and all I had done on the porch was scroll through Facebook for a solid hour. The book never got opened. You know how a year to a dog is seven years? Well five minutes on Facebook is an hour to me. And an hour on the Wii/iPad/Xbox to my kids is three. Or more. </div>
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Truth, y'all. </div>
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Believe me I've tried the whole "earn technology time by doing something creative/active/productive" schtick but guess what? YOU HAVE TO KEEP UP WITH THAT CRAP!!! Give tickets for tech time? Keep up with a chart? Whatever. I have three kids and it nearly sucks the life out of me just to make sure they've bathed once every couple of days. One time I put a notebook next to all the tech gadgets and remotes in a basket and they had to come "check them out". The idea was that I'd write down who took what and what time and I'd tell them to bring it back in 30 minutes. I think there was one entry on there and I didn't notice until three days later that particular offender never returned anything. </div>
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And don't even get me started on the limits I've tried to put on myself. I've removed apps, only to reinstall them when I went into withdrawals. I've tried charging my phone across the room at night only to pick it up on my way to the bathroom for my nightly pit stop just to see what was going on in Facebookland. And don't EVEN try to act like you don't carry your phone to the bathroom. Don't. Even. I've sat in restaurants with my family, at the ball park, in the car (but not driving!), at church, at the library...staring at my phone, afraid I'm missing a comment, message, or text. If my children and husband had to give a description to the cops if/when I run away from home, they'd only be able to describe the top of my head because THAT IS ALL THEY SEE!!!! <br />
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I became utterly disgusted at myself - at what I was allowing in my children and what our home had become. It wasn't a place filled with laughter and joy and conversation anymore! It was filled with impatience, avoidance, and solidarity. Ugh. <br />
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So in an effort to reclaim my family, just like my recent closet re-do (next post), I knew that the only answer was to get rid of everything. Not literally throwing it all away (even though I totally could). But sort of. The way we explained it to the kids was that this was NOT punishment. It's just a lifestyle change. Video games, (obnoxious tweeny bopper) shows on Netflix, anything that involves a gadget or a screen, is going to be the very rare exception, not the rule. Don't even ask us if you can play/watch something. We'll let you know when you can. And if you need a list of things to do instead, here's a go-to list to get you started:<br />
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Read a book<br />
Practice piano/guitar<br />
Draw/color<br />
Go for a bike ride<br />
Swim<br />
Swing<br />
Climb a tree<br />
Throw the baseball/softball to each other<br />
Throw a tennis ball against the house and catch it<br />
Play basketball<br />
Ride scooters<br />
Roller skate<br />
Draw on the driveway with sidewalk chalk<br />
Take a nap<br />
Go for a nature walk and take pictures<br />
Sit in the tree fort and journal<br />
Build an indoor fort<br />
Play a board game<br />
Build Lego<br />
Play with dolls<br />
Write a letter to an out of town friend or grandparents<br />
Walk the dogs<br />
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This is just a start.....and this is the fun stuff. There's a whole list of not so fun stuff (cleaning rooms, washing windows, cleaning out the car) that we can move on to next if this list doesn't give them some ideas. <br />
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Now don't think for one moment that we're making our kids eat brussel sprouts while we eat cake. Did you know that you can turn your smart phone into a good old dumb phone very easily? Now I admit I have NOT taken away texting because it really is a necessary method of communication these days, but guess what isn't? Facebook. Instagram. Twitter. Know what else isn't really necessary on your phone? A browser. For me, I decided to remove everything except my texting, maps, and weather app and a few shopping apps. I use my phone to listen to podcasts and music when I run, and what I'm left with is a way to communicate via voice or text and that's it. There's nothing on it that sucks me in anymore. And it's been an amazing. liberating experience. So liberating that I'm contemplating getting a super old timey flip phone. I still have my tiny iPod that I can clip to the side of my running shirt to listen to....and if I can't live without GPS in the car (which we all know I can't because I have no sense of direction) I bet I could get a cheap one rightaboutnow. <br />
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I've read two books just this past week. I've experimented with some new recipes. I've played board games with my kids. And I haven't missed a moment of their ball games because I was on my phone. My youngest son came in the other day and I could tell he was about to ask if he could play the iPad but before he got the words out he shook his head and said "nevermind....I'm going to take a nap." <br />
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Sweet success. <br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-7958301236647352502015-04-08T15:27:00.000-05:002015-04-08T15:27:28.390-05:00Thank you sir, may I have another?!?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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[Disclaimer: This post could be just a nightmare from which I'll awaken and it will have never happened...]<br />
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So it seems that after living in Louisiana for more than four years now, no one is going to show up on my door with a law license for me just because I'm a (sometimes) nice person and I'd be a real asset to the legal community here. Aaaaand....it doesn't seem likely that I'll be able to trade in my Alabama, Mississippi, or Florida license for a Louisiana license. I'd do a three for one deal but apparently it doesn't work that way. Aaaand....clearly we're not moving back to Alabama anytime in the foreseeable future. SO....that only leaves one option if I ever desire to practice law again....<br />
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take the *%&# Louisiana bar exam.<br />
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(insert manic scream here)<br />
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When I walked out of my last bar exam a little more than ten years ago (which was my third bar exam in so many years....all different states mind you....and I passed them all thankyouverymuch), I said emphatically "I will NEVER ever ever ever ever ever ever ever EVER in a million years take another exam of ANY KIND again EVER!!!! I don't ever even want to do an eye exam EVER! If my driver's license was to get suspended and I had to take an exam to get it back, I'd tell them to kiss my grits and I'd get me a bike with a basket!"<br />
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Famous. Last. Words. <br />
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Sort of like saying "my child will NEVER ________ (eat only mac-n-cheese three meals a day) (use a pacifier until he's four) (wear a Buzz Lightyear costume to church)." <br />
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Riiiiiiiiight.......<br />
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The truth is, I'm scared to death to attempt another bar exam after all these years. ALL THESE YEARS of endless Little Einsteins, Dora, and now Jessie and Good Luck Charlie episodes. I fear I've eaten way too many grilled cheese sandwich crusts and suffered such sleep deprivation that has impaired my ability to generally form coherent sentences, much less be able to decipher fact patterns and analyze applicable law. I worry about putting the burden on my family now that is the craziness of studying for a bar exam. It's sort of like childbirth. The memory of the actual pain isn't easily recalled but the scars are there to remind you that you did it and it was hard....and yet you survived. And some of us do it again. And again. And again.....<br />
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The greater truth is I'm scared not to do it. I'm afraid if I continue putting it off, I may never go back to the law. And that's a reality that is beginning to make me sad. <br />
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I recently looked at a copy of a previous Louisiana bar exam just to get my sea legs back and I started to get a nervous tic as I read through some of the questions. But I can do this....right?<br />
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Right?????<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-47481107934622696842015-03-01T17:34:00.001-06:002015-03-01T17:36:02.482-06:00A (Sad Little) Bunny TaleAbout six months ago Catherine and her BFF got on a serious bunny kick. As in...talking about bunnies, checking out books at the library on bunnies, wanting any type of clothing with bunnies (thanks a lot Mini Boden), even calling each other bunny. It was kinda cute. And totally a passing gig we figured. But then they came up with a plan to go in together and get a bunny and share custody. They even started picking out names. Because BFF's parents are good friends (and across the street neighbors), I think we started discussing our potential shared grand-bunny one night over a glass of wine and I think I recall it went something like this....<br />
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N's parents: SO....it seems that N and C have a big plan to get a bunny. What are y'all's thoughts on it?<br />
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C's father: As long as the bunny lives at your house and you take care of it and pay for it and feed it and clean up after it and call it yours, we're all for it.<br />
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The End.<br />
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And we probably poured another glass of wine and changed the subject to cheese. <br />
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So one Sunday afternoon last fall N's mom texted me and asked if C and I wanted to go with her and N to the pet store to check out the bunny adoptions because she had kind of caved and was getting N one for her birthday. And we decided that it would be a fun girls outing for all of us AND curb C's desire for a bunny since her BFF would be getting one! (By the way, bunny adoptions are a THING....these litter box trained bunnies are available for adoption for a small fee, criminal background check, drug test, and psychological evaluation). (Kidding! The fee isn't that small). <br />
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So anyway we get to the pet store, and N (and C) fall in love with a white bunny named Boogie and Boogie ends up leaving with us....and (of course) going to live at N's house because, well, it was her birthday present after all. And all hers. Operative word being "all". When we got to N's home and got Boogie unloaded and settled in his new digs (that was NOT C's house), reality set in and it was all just too much. C ran from their house in tears, across the street, where she flung herself on her bed in a heap of tears. I ran after her and found her sprawled out on her bed bawling.<br />
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I sat there, stroked her hair, and told her how sorry I was that she was so disappointed. I told her I understood how very much she wanted a bunny, but today was N's day....and Boogie was her birthday present! And, as she continued to cry, I opened my mouth and what came out was something like this...."....and even though today wasn't your day to get a bunny, that day WILL come, I promise...soon....you'll have your very own bunny....I PROMISE." And I looked up to see Andy in the doorway violently shaking his head and arms NO!!!!!!!!!!!!<br />
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The hysterical crying continued a while longer....but I finally got him calmed down by assuring him that the bunny obsession would pass. Catherine seemed to be ok too....because I gave her an estimate of how long it might be before she got her own bunny. I told her there was no way we could get a bunny until we get the garage cleaned out and make room for one. (Knowing full well that project was probably years down the road because it's nothing for us to walk around piles of crap in a garage for that long).<br />
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Well, the bunny dream has not faded one bit. And when she made out her chore chart a few weeks ago, one of her "extra" tasks she wrote in was "CLEAN OUT GARAGE." She has bunny pictures all over her room, and she even drew and painted a bunny, framed it, and gave it to me for Christmas. She insisted I put it on my nightstand....presumably so the last thing I see at night and the first thing in the morning is the picture of her dream....that we're quenching and stomping to bits. <br />
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The thing is, we said nine years ago that nothing else was coming in the house that eats or poops, and we got Stuart. Then a few years later we said it again, and we got Mochi. Andy says we mean it this time. For realz. But I don't know.....a litter box trained rabbit that lives in the garage, doesn't bark, and only eats 1/4 cup of food and the occasional carrot seems like the lowest maintenance thing we'd have going on around here. <br />
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Anyone care to place a bet on what the Easter bunny's gonna leave this year?<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-36091562574934116172015-02-27T08:16:00.000-06:002015-02-27T08:16:23.269-06:00Five Reasons It Stinks To Have a Lawyer Mom (or Dad)I was originally going to call this post "Five Reasons I Hate Articles Listing Five Reasons Why...". I mean....really. Why is it that every single article or blog post you see anymore starts out listing a number of things you should do or say or eat or wear? It kind of makes my skin crawl. Almost as much as hair salons named for a play on the word "hair." Hair You Go! Hair We Are! The Hairafter! (the absolute worst). Or EVEN worse, salons or barber shops that cutesy spell "cut"....Kuttin' Loose! Krazy Kutters! We Will Kut. You. (kidding...I've never seen that one but I might actually like it.). Not sure how I got off on this tangent but while I'm on my pet peeves, another one is having to listen to someone chew a banana but I'll save that for another post. Because it's not my only issue with bananas.<br />
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I started thinking about why it probably stinks to have a lawyer parent (or heaven forbid parentS) when one of my law school friends posted a hilarious letter from his daughter pleading her case to have her little sister evicted from her room. His response was classic. It's not my story to tell so I'm not sharing it here, but it made me think about how from day one LK's (lawyer kids) don't stand a chance.<br />
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I remember when my oldest was about two years old we were riding in the car with a friend of mine when little guy asked for something and I said no. Being two and being very good at it, he asked again. Again I said no and when he started to ask a third time I reminded him that I had said no and it was "non-negotiable." My friend laughed and said "he doesn't know what that means!" I looked in the rear view mirror and asked "William, what does non-negotiable mean?" He sighed loudly and explained "it means really, <i>really</i> no." So there's that.<br />
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Now that they're older, they really don't even get as far as the second request for something before I shut them down with "Asked and answered!"<br />
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Then there's the fact that most lawyers have seen and heard everything....we expect the worst. So when our kids meet a new friend and want to spend the night and we don't know the parents, we remember that case we had where the dad was found in a camper with no pants on making meth. So, NO! Wait...maybe that was a tv show. But the point is, we've seen it all. We're naturally skeptical and we question everything. And believe nothing. And that stinks when you're a kid trying to plead your case.<br />
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There are probably other reasons it stinks to be a LK and I'm sure I didn't list five but I already said I hate those lists. Besides, I'm hungry. I think I'm going to go kut up a banana.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-52163216458338781482014-09-13T11:27:00.000-05:002014-09-13T15:49:30.284-05:00Just BecauseThis past week we traveled back to Fairhope to attend the funeral of our friend who finished her battle with ovarian cancer. At 36-years-old. With two little girls and a husband who adored her. And a church and entire community who feel <i>deeply </i>the loss of this sweet, wonderful soul. <br />
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I was talking to a friend last night who didn't know her and as I described Nicole and talked about her, I told him how she just loved with her whole heart....everything and everyone. She loved with abandon. Whether you were a new friend, an old friend, or just a friend of hers on Facebook, she made you feel welcome, loved, and accepted for who you are. You didn't have to be anything special for her. You only had to be who you are. And as I've thought about all the things that made her so wonderful and endeared her to so many people, I've realized that in her short life she accomplished what many people work a much longer lifetime to achieve. And most never do. </div>
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Nicole was 34 when she was diagnosed with a devastating disease with an even more devastating prognosis. For two years she lived with the knowledge that barring a miracle she wouldn't see her girls grow up. For two years she fought this horrible monster that left her unable to care for her family, something that before cancer she did so lovingly and so well. I've thought a lot about this over the past couple of years, but probably not as much as I should have. I've thought about it when I felt like I was trudging through the ordinary, mundane tediousness of everyday life in a family with small children....loads of never ending laundry, dog hair in the corner of every room, scattered clutter throughout the house, contant meal preparation. The "yuck" of every day that just seems to go on and on with no end in sight and no hope of completion. Ever. And sometimes I would stop to think about Nicole and was hit with the guilt of realization that Nicole would love to have my dirty clothes, dog hair, and what-to-fix-for-dinner-again dilemmas as her "yuck". And at those times I thanked God for the yuck. </div>
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But the amazing thing about Nicole was that she thanked God for her yuck too. She managed to see a blessing in it when most people would only see the burden. That was just the way she was. Cancer didn't bring that out in her. It was already there. As a friend of ours says, when you're squeezed what is going to come out? For Nicole it was God, gratitude, and grace. </div>
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We moved away from Fairhope four years ago and in the past four years I've only seen Nicole a handful of times. The last time I saw her was in June after she was already on hospice. I sent her a message after I left and told her that there was so much more I wanted to say to her and the thing I didn't want to say was goodbye. I told her that what I wanted to say was that I remember all the times she invited us over for dinner just because....and how I remember that her home was always open. Her door was literally always unlocked and because they lived right next to the little park where I always took my babies, she would remind me often that if we needed a bathroom, or water, or a popsicle, to just come on in...even if she wasn't there. I told her that I remember the time she called to say she had made a huge pot of chicken soup and she was bringing some over to us just because she thought we might enjoy it. There was no reason of the kind that I usually only take meals to someone...no one was sick, no new baby, no real reason. It was just because. I remember the times she would tell me to bring my babies over to her house to play and leave them there if I might have some errands to run alone. That's like winning the lottery for a tired Mama of littles! There was no real reason for me to have to do that...it was just a treat. Just because. I told her I remember the day before my oldest started kindergarten when she came by to bring me a copy of <i>The Kissing Hand </i>because she thought I might not have one and I <i><b>just had</b></i> to read it to him that night. She guessed correctly and I read that book with him every night for the next two weeks....then read it again with my second...and then my last baby. </div>
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There were so many things Nicole did "just because". I want to love with that same abandon that she had. I want to see the good in people and love them for what they are and not expect them to be anything else. I want to look for ways to show love and grace and compassion and kindness with a smile to the people around me, not because it's expected or because I feel obligated....but just because.<br />
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It's the "just because" that really shows love. In our last written message to each other, Nicole told me that the one thing cancer had taught her was to say exactly how she felt....and she told me she loved me. Funny thing is, she never had to say that. It's something I always knew.<br />
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The other morning after weeping on and off for a couple of days I turned on the radio and realized it was the just the kind of song that Nicole would have turned up full blast, and she would have sung at the top of her lungs, and she would have danced not caring what anyone thought. And even though we were still in our pj's, and even though our waffles were burning in the toaster, I grabbed my kids' hands and we laughed and sang and danced around the kitchen. <i>Just because</i>. <br />
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<i>Nicole Teague</i></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">June 26, 1978 - September 9, 2014</span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-34052997669155986472014-08-29T12:08:00.000-05:002014-08-29T12:59:59.877-05:00Let's Talk <div class="MsoNormal">
I feel like I need to do a follow up to my <a href="http://www.mommyesquire.blogspot.com/2014/08/soldier-up-mom.html">blog post</a>
that spread around like wildfire the other day.
It nearly got more hits than my entire blog has for the past eight
years. Between the link to Rod’s <a href="http://www.theamericanconservative.com/dreher/when-porn-comes-to-your-kids-smart-phone/">post</a> and <a href="http://www.lifesitenews.com/opinion/my-7-year-old-son-found-porn-on-his-ipod-even-with-a-filter">this</a> website, there were a lot of comments and a lot of
judgment about the fact that my 7-year-old even has an iPod. <o:p></o:p></div>
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For the record, not that it matters really, but my husband
and I did not purchase any of the devices they have. One has an old iPhone (with no phone) and a kindle and the others have very old iPods. They were gifts. Could we have said no? Absolutely!
Do I wish we had? Not
really. The fact that they have the
devices was not the point of my article nor is it the issue here. Having the iPod for entertainment - to play games, to listen
to music, to use the walkie-talkie app they love, to take pictures of their
dogs and make movies of their Lego creations - none of that is the problem. We try to regulate and balance the amount of
time they spend with these things but give me a break….we just returned from a
nine hour road trip to and from Florida and I would have gouged my eyes out had
they not been able to Cut the Rope and Craft Mines in the back of that
minivan. Maybe some other kids entertain
themselves with quiet rounds of I Spy and reading classic novels for hours on
end. Mine don’t. On
that same trip they also ate Lunchables and had some blue box macaroni and
cheese. Send me to mommy jail. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I did experience a parent fail moment and that was why I
posted the article. To maybe save
another parent from the same sad, tearful conversation I had to have with my
little boy. For another point on the
record, we don’t even have cable TV. We
have a subscription to Amazon Prime and we did have Netflix until we realized
it was redundant with the Prime account that I can’t and won’t cancel because I
like having paper towels and coconut oil delivered to my door in two days. But guess where my son heard the word
that led him to the search on YouTube? Cable
television in our condo from the vacation we just returned from. Not even cable with HBO or any other channel
like that - just regular run of the mill cable TV.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I could (and perhaps should) have disconnected it in the
rooms where my children were hanging out but honestly it didn’t cross my
mind. Mainly because my oldest son only
wanted to watch Duck Dynasty and they were all excited about watching Full
House and America's Funniest Videos and Jessie or whatever non-stop. As
far as I saw, that’s all they watched when we were all even there. Was he channel
surfing and heard it? Or was it on a
show he was watching? I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. He heard it, he searched for it, and the rest
is blogger history. It's all over regular TV you know. Porn that is. Let's call it what it is. I was watching Miss America with my daughter last year and the network showed a preview for something that sure enough looked like porn to me. <o:p></o:p></div>
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No, my fail wasn’t in allowing him to have a piece of
technology, even though some may disagree.
My fail was in knowing there was a small crack in the boat and filling
it in with Elmer’s glue. I knew there was
the capability on that iPod to get on the internet through what we believed was
a strong filter. For the last point on
the record, my husband is an IT professional and this was the strongest filter
we knew of. We had tested it and it had
not failed. Until it failed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My main point of the article and my mistake was in abandoning my responsibility as a parent and entrusting it to someone (something) else. And in saying we need to "soldier up" as parents, I mean that fighting this war starts in our own
homes. Porn is an ugly word. In all honesty my stomach turned just seeing
that word in the same sentence with the reference to my precious little
boy. It’s so ugly that I was shaking as
I hit publish and put that article out there.
And it’s so ugly that no one wants to talk about it. </div>
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But it’s the elephant in the room.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s the elephant in our living rooms. It’s the elephant in our schools. And it’s the elephant in the pew next to you
at church. Parents, we need to be
talking about it. And if you’re in the
ministry, particularly children’s and student ministry, and you’re not talking
about it, you’re really contributing to the problem. We need each other! Like my friends and I discussed, because we
are neighbors and our children spend so much time at one another’s homes, we
need to be in solidarity. We need to
know what our kids' friends are allowed to have and see at their homes. We need to know how much unfettered access they have to the internet at school and church. Yes church! Because even if your kids don’t have access to <i>any</i> devices at your home, even if you don’t get a single television or movie
channel in your home, even if they have <i>no</i> access to the internet whatsoever -
if they go to school, or to someone else’s house, (or a condo at the beach!), chances
are great that they <i>will </i>have access. We simply can’t escape it because it’s there
and it’s all around us. All we can do is the best we can do. We need to talk about it. And then we need to <i>do</i>. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Keep the conversation going, friends. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Note: I received
many, many emails from friends and strangers in response to this article who
had similar experiences. There are some great resources out there:<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://pornproofkids.org/">Pornproofkids.org</a></div>
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<a href="http://fightthenewdrug.org/">Fightthenewdrug.org</a></div>
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<a href="http://newlife.com/">Newlife.com</a></div>
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<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Good-Pictures-Bad-Porn-Proofing-Todays/dp/0615927335/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1409328846&sr=8-1&keywords=good+pictures+bad+pictures">Good Pictures, Bad Pictures</a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-80543955937669684592014-08-27T09:16:00.001-05:002014-08-27T09:16:49.227-05:00Soldier Up, Mom<div class="MsoNormal">
A few weeks ago an article went viral on my Facebook feed
entitled “The Day My 10-Year-Old Discovered Hardcore Porn on his iPhone.” As one Mom after another shared and commented
about how frightening and horrible it was and wondered what do we do to prevent
it, I commented on several of those shares (perhaps a little smugly and
proudly) that WE had installed an excellent filtering program on all of our
devices that even filters YouTube. I
most likely left the impression that WE have no worries in this house, that our
kids can watch their iPods and kindles, even those annoying Minecraft how to
videos on YouTube, and WE don’t have to worry about them seeing filth. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Wrong, wrong, wrong, wrong, WRONG.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I could have entitled this blog post “The Day My 7-Year-Old
Discovered Porn on His iPod” but it might look like I’m trying to one-up that
other Mom. Which I’m not. Because, trust me, this is one Mom competition
I’d rather lose. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So YES we have this supposedly great and awesome filter on
all of our devices and we pay about $70 a year for it. Look, I’ve been on my computer trying to shop
for a swimsuit at Lands End and the filter blocked me. Annoying, yes. But assuring. I remember thinking wow….if I can’t even get
on here and see the tummy-sucking-miracle-fat-hiding-mawmaw-swimsuits, my boys
will NEVER be able to discover Victoria or her Secret. And I’ve
been on YouTube trying to see how to quickly defrost CHICKEN breasts, and it
blocked several videos AND ads that probably had nothing to do with fowl or a
thawing method. Again I remember
thinking, good. This is really good. Nothing to worry about. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Then last night happened.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My youngest son was visibly shaken as he was getting ready
for bed. I knew something was wrong when
I saw he was wearing his flannel pajamas with the mountain bears printed all
over them on one of the hottest August nights this month. He
seemed almost disoriented and I asked him if was sick as he was trying to
quickly crawl into bed and pull the covers over his head. He
then reached over to the bedside table, grabbed his little iPod, and tossed it
to me saying he doesn’t deserve it anymore because he is bad. “I’m bad, so bad….I saw bad things.” My heart started racing and I felt like I had
been punched in the gut. Because I knew
where this was going. Very calmly and
quietly I assured him he was not bad and there was nothing in the world he
could ever tell me that would make me think he was bad. “What did you see, sweetheart?” I asked. After about ten minutes of me coaxing it out
of him, with a wobbly still-tiny-smidge-of-baby-left voice he told me he was
searching for a word he had heard and he spelled it for me. T-t-i-s.
(I quickly unscrambled and knew what he meant). He went on to tell me he searched for this on
YouTube (the app is not even on his iPod….he must go through the “filter” app
to access it!). He told me he saw
pictures and videos.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My stomach turned. I
ran through all the “How To” files I’d stored away in my mind. You know those files….situations you’ve
thought about as a Mom and how you’d handle…you file them away for another
day. Usually one you hope will never
come. Turns out I didn’t have a file
for this. Because I honestly thought we
had done everything on the front end to keep it from happening. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I ran my fingers through his hair and pulled him close and
started talking to him from my broken heart.
I asked him if he knew what that word meant before he searched for
it. He said no. I told him it is a very crude and ugly word
for something that is not crude and ugly.
I told him what the proper word is and I asked him if he knew why God
made them like that on women? He said
no. I told him it was the miraculous and
wonderful way that God made women able to feed their babies. I told him how every woman who has those is
made to feed a baby, and those women in those pictures and videos are either
already someone’s Mommy or they will be one day. And what God meant for a beautiful purpose is
twisted and made into something very wrong and ugly by those pictures and videos. <o:p></o:p></div>
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We continued to talk and then we prayed together and I left
him to sleep as I walked back to my room for a sleepless night. I cried for the ugly, messed up, twisted, and
sick world out there that I can’t protect my children from. I cried for what he had seen that I couldn’t
un-see for him. I cried because I had
abdicated MY parenting duties to some stupid computer software that I thought
would protect my children. I cried
because I can never get back that bit of innocence he lost way, way too early. I cried as I went onto YouTube, put in that
same search and saw just the thumbnails of what he had to have seen. I just can’t bring myself to actually click
on the videos. I cried because, when I
went in to check on him later, he was curled up with Big Bear in one arm and his
little blue and white checked blanket in the other. He’s still a baby. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m mad now. And I
really hope my anger continues to burn because I need it to fuel my diligence. I need my guard to be up and to stay
up. This is no longer a battle friends,
it’s an all-out war. It’s a war we’re
fighting for the minds and futures of our children. I know there are those who would say I’m
being overly dramatic, that I can’t put my children in a bubble, blah blah
blah. I don’t care. I will do whatever it takes to protect my
children until their minds, bodies and emotions are better prepared to grasp,
filter, and sort through the warped and ugly parts of our world that are
pulling on them. I will continue to pull
back and hold on for dear life. Don’t
do as I did, friends. Don’t trust some
computer geek working for a software company to care a flip for or protect your
kids. Do as I am doing now. Uninstall any and all browsers or video apps
on your kids’ personal devices and set the restrictions where they can’t
install apps anymore without asking you first. Have one central computer in a public area of
your home that they may use, with permission, and still with filter software
installed. But remember that’s not the
first line of defense in this war.<o:p></o:p></div>
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You are. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-82572165837200364642014-08-03T16:49:00.000-05:002014-08-03T16:59:52.454-05:00Things I'm Loving This SummerI was starting to get sad that summer is coming to an end with school starting and all. I was saying that I never remember as a kid going back to school in August. It was always after Labor Day when we went back to school. Summer break is supposed to be three full month of sleeping late, beach going, pool baths, and popsicle stained faces. June, July, and August...that's summer! So as I was so sad that we're supposed to be back in school mode and strict(er) schedules in another week or so (because even though we homeschool, we follow the local school calendar), we decided to book our beach vacation in August. So it really made no sense to start school and then go on vacation. And it makes no sense to come back from vacation and start school immediately. What DOES make sense is to go on vacation, come back and recuperate, and then start school after Labor Day. Just like the good old days. Kicking it old school this year, y'all. <br />
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So in celebration of my continuing summer break, I wanted to share some of my favorite things right now. Because all both of you might be amused and vaguely interested. </div>
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<b><i>EOS Lip Balm</i></b></div>
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Oh My Gosh! I was in Dallas a few weeks ago and saw this multi pack of these little round lip balms while I was out shopping. It came with a bonus water bottle which I really needed, and because we are lip balm addicts in this house (and lip balm snobs), I'm always searching for the perfect lip balm. I can call off the dogs now because the search is over. This is THE best. Ever. The flavors are amazing and it leaves your lips feeling great. And it lasts a long time. These are little round containers of yummy goodness, y'all. Just don't carry it around in your pocket. Looks weird. And you're probably thinking I'm weird for being this hyped up over lip balm. You might even think I'm selling the stuff or getting some commission or kickback. But, alas, I'm not. I'm just a fan. With moisturized lips. </div>
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">A Work in Progress: An Unfinished Woman's Guide to Grace</i> (by Kristin Armstrong)</div>
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I read this book a few years ago and it was one of those books that you find at just the right time, with just the right message. I have re-read it at least four times since then, and am now facilitating an online book club, reading through it and discussing it with friends from all over. It's a wonderful, easy read that doesn't require a lot of time but inspires a lot of thought and soul searching. And yes, it's Kristin Armstrong who was married to Lance. And yes, she and I would be best friends if we just lived closer, I just know it. I can't recommend this book enough. I give it as gifts, and it's never further away than my nightstand when I need to be reminded what I'm really striving and reaching for every day, and it all comes down to letting every area of my life be marked and defined by grace. And I'm not getting any commission from this either, but probably should, as many copies of these book that have been bought by me or because of my recommendation!</div>
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<b><i>Rowing Machine</i></b></div>
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So yeah, it's quite a jump from lip balm to a book to a rowing machine. But I LOVE this thing! First of all, it comes apart into two pieces that can easily be stored out of sight, but easily put together when it's time to exercise...thereby reducing the urge to hang clothes on it like we did with the elliptical machine we used to have. But I also love the fact that you can get a killer workout in jut 30 minutes, working your core, your arms, and your legs all at the same time. I'm all about multi-tasking in the shortest amount of time possible. It's also a great workout for runners, and it makes me feel less guilty when I don't make it outside in the thousand percent deep south humidity for a run. But the best thing about it is that it's something the whole family can use. In fact, the monitor has several "games" on it where you play by rowing faster or slower, which moves your little fish up or down in order to avoid being eaten. So when my kids want to play video games, sometimes this is their only option. Winning! And again, not getting paid for this review. Just wanted to share the fitness love. </div>
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<b><i>Jamberry Nail Wraps</i></b></div>
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So ok....a few months ago I noticed one of my good friends from law school was posting constantly about these things on her Facebook page. Quite honestly I thought she had lost her mind. All these crazy, patterned nail wraps...polka dots, paisley, floral, stripes....I thought, what in the world? Who would wear something like that and why does she keep posting all this stuff? I don't even paint my short, stubby nails and haven't in years. Ain't nobody got time for that when you're chasing three kids around all day! So I sure wasn't interested for me. But I do have a fancy painted nails loving nine-year-old daughter who ruined one of my best towels a while back with bright pink nail polish. UGH!!! Made me s'mad! </div>
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So I started taking notice of these wraps and thought it would make a great birthday present for the towel destroyer. But since I couldn't decide on one pattern, I was going to buy several of them. But then it occurred to me that maybe I could host a party for my friend and get some for free, or at least at a discount. So I called her and she asked me if we had even tried them yet....I said no....and she offered to send me a sample. Well, we got these cute little sample wraps in the mail, put them on a few of our fingers and I watched my daughter dance around the house saying this was the best thing EVER. I even put the teal polka dots on my fingers and I have to admit, it was SO cute! AND....it matched my favorite Tiffany cup which was just a bonus happy. And in the span of about an hour I had gone from just ordering, to hosting a party, to selling them myself. Because I thought wow, if there are more people like me whose daughter has ruined their good towels, they're going to think these are the greatest things ever too!</div>
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And yes, I actually DO make a commission off of these. But I also love them and think you would too. And I don't know what has surprised me more....the fact that I'm selling nail wraps, or the fact that I'm wearing polka dots on my fingers....and loving it!</div>
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Go here to learn more about Jamberry... and save your towels!!! <a href="http://www.julieralph.jamberrynails.net/">http://www.julieralph.jamberrynails.net</a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-40324162434462881242014-07-06T20:04:00.000-05:002014-07-06T20:04:04.145-05:00Camp MiserySo you know we just moved about two months ago and one of our first Sundays at our new church our daughter was invited to go to G.A. camp with them for a week. I wasn't sure she would want to go. She's never been away for that long and she didn't know anyone so I was sure she would say no when I asked. But instead she jumped right on it. When I went online to sign her up, I started thinking how incredibly <strike>awesome</strike> sad and lonely it would be at home if the boys were gone that week too. I tried to register everyone but apparently the "G" in G.A.'s stands for girls. They seem to be pretty serious about it too.<br />
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Anyway. She's registered, money paid, spot reserved, no refunds, leaving tomorrow, no turning back at this point. We were looking at the list of things to bring last night and we had this conversation:<br />
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Her: What if I don't like it?<br />
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Me: You will!<br />
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Her: But what if I don't?<br />
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Me: No chance. You will!<br />
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Her: (Clearly not pleased with my response) BUT WHAT IF I DON'T? Then what?<br />
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Me: Well. You'll just....you'll....well....I guess you'll start counting the days until you leave.<br />
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Her: What if I want to leave right after I get there?<br />
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Me: Well that would be bad because you'll have five days at that point to be miserable. Try to wait and be miserable closer to the end of the week, like maybe sometime Thursday afternoon. Then you'll have less than 24 hours. Friday morning misery would be even better.<br />
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Her: [blank stare]<br />
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I really don't know why they even try to talk to me. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-84459390617421748022014-06-30T19:14:00.000-05:002014-07-01T19:18:18.590-05:00Coffee CrisisI've had the same coffee maker for 12 years now. I splurged when I bought it way back when, and it has served me well all these years. I had a system, a good system that brought me much peace....where I would prepare my coffee the night before and set the timer to come on. Sometimes I would actually get excited at that point about going to sleep because I knew what would be waiting for me the next morning. I went to bed seriously looking forward to waking up to my coffee brewing. A lot like Christmas every day. I clearly need some more excitement in my life but that's not what this is about. It's about coffee. And my current crisis.<br />
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See, about two months ago I noticed that there was a puddle of water around my coffee pot in the mornings. Now, for someone like myself, this was a minor inconvenience that in no way changed my system. I just put a dish towel down that I squeezed out the next morning. But others in this house, who are more of the detail persuasion and with more meticulous leanings, just couldn't deal. Could. Not. Deal. So imagine my horror when I went to prepare my coffee one night only to find what looked like an autopsy being performed on my Cuisinart. Its innards were scattered all over the kitchen. No worries, I was told....looked like a part could be ordered. But in the meantime, I was promised I'd have freshly ground and pressed coffee the next morning. </div>
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Andy bought a hand grinder and coffee aerator a few weeks ago and was taking great pride each morning in preparing <i>the</i> perfect cup of coffee. Which I thought was really super awesome! So long as I still had my own whole pot which is my perfect cup. His one perfect cup at a time was great as long as it was IN ADDITION TO. Not in lieu of. But after the dismemberment, I was seriously at his mercy. For a few mornings it was fine. Really it was. He brought me my coffee in bed even. And would bring me a second or third cup if I asked. But then one morning he had to do something so much less important, like go to work or something, and I had to prepare my own coffee. Y'all. I had to HAND GRIND the beans. And it takes like 4, 5, maybe 20 minutes. Then you have to slowly and carefully PRESS IT OUT. I normally don't have the energy to fluff my pillow enough to sit up and sip it, much less work up a sweat to get my brew. And to make matters worse....<i>it doesn't even make a full cup. </i></div>
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I do realize this is a superficial, self-centered, first world problem but things are getting desperate. I am also fearing where this is going because (a) my coffee pot is still in the morgue and (b) I think I heard him say something about roasting his own beans. </div>
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ROASTING beans! I just don't.... I think I don't even know what to say about that. <br />
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">Update: </i>This morning I had barely opened my eyes when I remembered that my coffee maker had still not risen from the dead. I managed to get hold of my phone and asked Siri to tell Andy to go make me some coffee. So she sent him a text. He was still asleep next to me. I kept hitting send until he got up and returned with a perfect cup of coffee. <br />
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At this very moment he is trying to breathe life into my Cuisinart. <br />
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">Update update: </i>Mr. Coffee just corrected me. It's an Aeropress. Not an aerator. Not that the difference means anything to me but it's important to be correct and all. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-53865755218518379262014-06-26T17:58:00.003-05:002014-06-26T17:58:56.937-05:00Me againI started this blog in 2006 when I left my job at a law firm to stay home with two babies. My first post was entitled "What they don't teach you in law school." You can find it <a href="http://mommyesquire.blogspot.com/2006/08/what-they-dont-teach-you-in-law-school.html">here</a>. I can't believe anyone ever read this blog again after that post. But for some reason they did. So I kept blogging, because it made me happy. But then I stopped. It's not that I ran out of stuff to say, I just think I started saying it on Facebook instead. Facebook completed me. Which is quite sad, really. <br />
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In the eight years since that first blog post I had another baby, went back to work, came back home, moved three times across the entire southeast, and learned a few more things they didn't teach me in law school. Like cooking, homeschooling, and photography. So now I'm back, imparting my wisdom and knowledge to both of the readers I have left. <br />
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When I first started blogging, I had two babies. Then the third. I was drowning in all things baby, toddler, and preschool. A friend who has three littles, the same age difference as mine, asked me not long ago how I survived. I started to answer but the words caught in my throat and my eyes glazed over as I vaguely recall scenes like hiding in the bathroom with the door locked while I sat in the cold, hard bathtub to nurse the baby while the other two banged on the door and stuck their little fingers and hands as far under the door as they could reach. Like a Lifetime movie trailer. Hiding from terrorists....but instead of a knife I had a newborn. Then there was the time Andy came home to find me curled up in the corner of the kitchen, rocking back and forth, chanting over and over <i>I'm bigger and smarter</i>...<i>I'm bigger and smarter....I'm bigger....and smarter</i>. I'm fairly certain that's the day he hid the scissors and removed all my shoelaces <br />
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Kidding! Mostly. But I did survive. And for some crazy reason I actually thought once I got everyone potty trained and sleeping in their own beds through the night it would be smoooooooth sailing. <i>Ha. </i> Here's what you don't realize as you move from one stage to the next....<br />
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it's all the same kind of different. <br />
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And each stage is wonderful, heartbreaking, frustrating, amusing, and hysterical all at the same time. <br />
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<i>It's a crazy world. </i><i>Someone ought to sell tickets.</i><br />
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<i>Sure, I'd buy one. </i><br />
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(Raising Arizona)<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-60394349413787163462012-11-05T11:58:00.001-06:002012-11-05T11:58:35.004-06:00Running the NYC Marathon (Not)We are home now from a marathon trip to run the NYC marathon that didn't happen. That's ok though, because there should have never been a question of whether it would happen. <br />
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I thought the day after the storm when I saw all the destruction on the news that there was no way they would still have the marathon. No way. Because we have lived on the Gulf Coast our whole lives and we <i>know</i> hurricanes. It seemed like the wrong time and the wrong place to be running a marathon.<br />
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But when the mayor said it was a go we thought, ok....wow, maybe things aren't as bad there as they look on television. Surely the mayor knows what's going on because if things were <i>really </i>bad, the marathon would be canceled. Right? So even though deep down we felt like it was wrong to be running a marathon in a place that had seen such destruction, we thought we should (and could) trust the mayor. Because surely the mayor knows something we don't. <br />
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So we tried to put aside those feelings deep down that told us we shouldn't go and we went anyway. We got into NYC early Friday and headed to the expo where Andy got his race number. Running the New York City Marathon is one of those kind of things you put on your bucket list. He had pencil in hand and was ready to cross that one off about 36 hours later. But about an hour after we got back to the hotel, we got the news the marathon had been canceled.<br />
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Wow.<br />
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This was news we should have heard four days earlier. From the people who should have known. And the thing is, they <i>did</i> know. And we could debate for years why they did what they did. Most people would say it is all about money. Because the marathon brings in a <i>lot </i>of money to the city. Tens of thousands of tourists in town for several days spending a lot of money. A <i>lot</i>. And most of those people (and their money) would have stayed home if the race had been canceled when it should have been. <br />
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But instead we all ended up in NYC on that Friday, one minute feeling elated about recognizing a goal you have dreamed about and trained for a long time, the next minute feeling duped. Feeling tricked and cheated. I thought even then, this shouldn't have been about money. It should have been about principle. Doing what is right. <i>Principle</i> would have canceled that race. <br />
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This wasn't going to be the first time over the weekend I would consider the meaning of that word.<br />
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Once we realized we were (for lack of a better term) stuck in NYC for the weekend we decided we could do one of two things. Either have fun, see shows, shop and eat at fabulous restaurants as we do every time we are there (which, by the way, everything and I mean <i>everything </i>was business as usual in Manhattan...you would never know a hurricane had hit) or we could let something good come out of the whole mess. <br />
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Now, one would think that an operation the size and magnitude of the NYC marathon with such impressive corporate sponsorship (ING namely), and given the fact that they were being crucified in the press for the decision to go ahead with the race, would have immediately rallied what could have been a massive relief effort. With tons of supplies (food, warming blankets, generators and water, etc.) and buses already lined up to take runners to Staten Island....the marathon could have followed up the "canceled" announcement with a call to arms. Because once we all got over our initial shock/disappointment/whatever, we were ready to do something. We were getting no news, though, whatsoever from the NYC marathon (not even a cancellation notice...we heard on the news like everyone else). We had no idea where to go, what to do, or how to get there. And most of us were only going to be there for the weekend.<br />
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I spent most of Friday night and Saturday morning looking online for churches or relief organizations, emailing people, posting on FB....trying to find out what we could do. I finally received news that a church on the lower east side needed help but we couldn't find them Saturday afternoon (after a two hour search in that neighborhood). By Saturday night, however, most of the runners had taken it upon themselves to organize a relief effort. Some were going to Staten Island, some to Coney Island, and some to the Rockaways. We were able to connect with a friend from Mobile who now lives in Brooklyn, and who had spent all day Saturday on Coney Island helping people. She was going back on Sunday so we went with her.<br />
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So...remember how I mentioned earlier that the news on TV doesn't give you any clue to the reality of the situation? Here's the reality. There are many senior citizens who live in high rise buildings that have no power and, as a result, these poor people have no way to make it down stairs to get help. They are stranded in their apartment with no way to even flush the toilet. Our friend told us she and others were carrying buckets of water up those stairs so these people can flush their toilets. The smell is horrendous. People are freezing, they are running out of food and they don't have clean water to drink. Many people are alone and are just waiting for someone to come see about them. It's not the government that's doing this...it's people like our friend who are going out there every day, door to door, helping and loving on these people.<br />
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Coney Island, where we were on Sunday, looks like a third world country in the middle of a war zone. There is no power, no clean water, sewage is running through the streets, and rotten food, trash and debris is piled up everywhere. People....mothers with small children....the elderly... are just wandering around the streets, trying to figure out what to do. Many people there don't even speak English so they have no way to understand where to go for help, if they can even get there. Yes, FEMA is set up in a parking lot there with supplies. Yes, the National Guard was there giving out supplies. Yes, other volunteer organizations were there with clothes, food, blankets, clean water, etc. But so many of these people have no idea where or how to go about getting this help....if they can even make it out of their apartment.<br />
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As we were trying to make our way out there to Coney Island (transportation is still difficult at best), we ended up on the wrong bus. A man stumbled onto this bus, clearly in distress. His shoes and pants were muddy (and please understand....this probably isn't mud....it's sewage...but we are calling it mud because it makes us feel better since we were walking in it too)....he looked like he hasn't slept in days, he was exhausted and at the end of himself....he told the bus driver he had no bus fare or metro card because his home had been destroyed....<br />
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and this bus driver was going to kick him off the bus. Our friend had an extra metro card and paid for it, but told the bus driver she couldn't believe he was going to kick this man off. The bus driver proceeded to lecture her about "principle"....telling us (over his microphone so we could hear loud and clear) that it was principle that wouldn't allow anyone to have a "free ride."<br />
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Seriously?<br />
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We saw the best and the worst of the human spirit while were there. We met the owner of a small drugstore whose business had been destroyed (and he likely didn't have insurance to cover it, like most people in this area) but in broken English he asked us to tell everyone we could that whatever medicine they needed, he would get for them...for free. Not only that, he would bring it to them, wherever they are. Upstairs, wherever. Please tell them, he said.<br />
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That is <i>principle, </i>my friends. Principle means you put aside the rules for doing what is right. Principle means you forego profit to do what is best. Principle means you let a hurting man ride your bus when he doesn't have the $2.25 fare. Principle means you forget about your own needs to tend to those whose needs are greater.<br />
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Principle means you would never consider having a marathon when so many in your city are dying, hurting and suffering. Never. Not for one second.<br />
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These people need help, friends. They need hands and feet to help them and love on them....they need ways to stay warm, carry on life the best they can.... and they need hope. Oh...and that man from the bus? Our friend got his name, number and address yesterday. She is headed back there today to see about him and get him some help.<br />
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Sometimes being in the wrong place at the wrong time is a good thing after all.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-71432664452192950542012-08-14T08:15:00.000-05:002012-08-14T08:15:21.823-05:00Seven<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
This girl had a birthday the other day.</div>
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After she left for school we started working on signing the card.</div>
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It takes a while when you are five.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwbtguNzI4uJ_sXqShvzuxwhvhKy8xc16nkn2A15K9-ahyebNcDCCfABpCGk9oP9un2oY9Jem5BTKM6jqPdIHJM8pDSGKP1mM7IzMx7btmCWVnZLdV8b5FMhuXlCBQRWQp-bhT7g/s1600/DSC_0572.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwbtguNzI4uJ_sXqShvzuxwhvhKy8xc16nkn2A15K9-ahyebNcDCCfABpCGk9oP9un2oY9Jem5BTKM6jqPdIHJM8pDSGKP1mM7IzMx7btmCWVnZLdV8b5FMhuXlCBQRWQp-bhT7g/s320/DSC_0572.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I love that she keeps a journal. </div>
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(even if she doesn't always finish what she starts and leaves me hanging)</div>
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Let me fill in the rest....</div>
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We do friend parties every other year and family parties on the off year.</div>
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(actually, we do family parties every year).</div>
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So when it's the year for a friend party you really get two.</div>
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This was our family party.</div>
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And <strike>we</strike> they made homemade pizza.</div>
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(they haven't figured out it's not a treat to have to cook on your own birthday).</div>
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And had cupcakes. </div>
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(red velvet with raspberry cream cheese frosting...too bad you can't taste a picture).</div>
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The girl who doesn't like to be the center of attention, well, was.</div>
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After we ate and before she opened presents we went around the table</div>
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to tell her what we love about her.</div>
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(I wasn't real sure how it was going to work, especially with the one who is five).</div>
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Some things that were said....</div>
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"you are so sweet, to everyone,"</div>
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"you look for ways to be helpful,"</div>
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"your smile makes me happy and your laugh is the <i>best</i>,"</div>
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"you look for ways to create and I love how you can make something beautiful out of nothing,"</div>
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and then the same one (you know, the one who is five),</div>
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who worked (hard) for nearly 45 minutes to write "I love you" on</div>
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his sister's card, looked at her and said</div>
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"you love me....and I love that....</div>
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because you love me all the time."</div>
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He is right. </div>
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And oh how we love this sweet girl.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-80739865119288140142012-01-22T09:34:00.006-06:002012-01-22T10:59:39.429-06:00Milestones<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCKuIEYP_3Otw7sksOgjM2i4Y2B-wSTVYmlF98NOrNHcvyhBlw3942vRp_a1pJQMnuod7rmVz1W5yf0qaaw8ujB0Z7ssK92P2rlKyfnF1-7dXm63AA_xIhI9q1eXPo30cKLz4Ybw/s1600/1164640_little_girls_running_in_field.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 212px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5700500070000609810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCKuIEYP_3Otw7sksOgjM2i4Y2B-wSTVYmlF98NOrNHcvyhBlw3942vRp_a1pJQMnuod7rmVz1W5yf0qaaw8ujB0Z7ssK92P2rlKyfnF1-7dXm63AA_xIhI9q1eXPo30cKLz4Ybw/s320/1164640_little_girls_running_in_field.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><div>I decided last fall that I wanted to run a half marathon. Now, this is somewhat laughable because (a) other than the 5k I ran a few years ago I had not run more than a mile without stopping since then , (b) I really had no idea how to go from zero to 13.1 in just a few months and (c) running half marathons is for runners and I was <em>not </em>a runner.<br /></div><br /><div>So I...actually we....registered (hubby is running the full marathon, the nut) for the Mardi Gras marathon on March 4 and there it was. My goal in black and white. And paid in full. I was committed.<br /></div><br /><div>God put two precious friends in my life after we moved here and one of them is a runner (the other one says she only runs if someone is chasing her and to call the police if we ever see her running). See, my runner friend....she can legitimately call herself a runner. A full marathon and 4 half marathons under her belt. So since she was also signed up to run the March 4 half, and because I'm such a good friend, I tricked her. Into training me. I casually asked her one day if she wanted to run with me and she said sure, great! She had no idea what she was in for.<br /></div><br /><div>I didn't make it a half mile before I had to stop, gasping for breath and, doubled over from a cramp, cried out my confession, "I'm sorry! I lied! I'm not a runner! I need help! Call an ambulance or get a defibrillator something! Then check me into a psych ward! I'm crazy for thinking I can do this!"<br /></div><br /><div>My sweet friend just looked at me, apparently forgiving the trickery, and assured me that I was <em>not </em>crazy, I <em>could </em>do it, I <em>would</em> do it, and we would work on it together.<br /></div><br /><div>We started out slow...we would run a mile, then walk a bit, then run another mile....and so on. Then one day we ran three miles. Without stopping, That was huge for me. I was so excited until I realized that my ultimate goal was to run more than four times that distance. I told her again I'd never do it and I'd just sit on the curb and wait for the men in white coats to take me away. She shushed me up, saying again that I would and could and blah blah blah...<br /></div><br /><div><em>Whatever, sister.</em><br /></div><br /><div>Then we started our long runs. We ran five miles one weekend. Then six. Then seven. Then eight. Then I lost a toenail. As I bandaged my bruised, throbbing toe with a Hello Kitty band-aid and lamented the fact that my newly pedicured toenail was going in the trash can I realized that I had hit two milestones.<br /></div><br /><div>.... the longest run I'd ever run or ever dreamed I could run and....<br /></div><br /><div>I could now legitimately call myself a runner.<br /></div><br /><div>A few things that get me through my long runs now are, ironically, the same things that get me through life.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I pray. <em>A lot</em>. I pray before I run and I pray while I run. I hide scripture in my heart and call it to mind when I need to.<br /></div><br /><div>When my feet feel heavy and like they don't want to take another step: <em>He will make my feet like the feet of a deer.</em> Ps. 18:3<br /></div><br /><div>When I feel like all my energy is drained and I have nothing else to give: <em>But those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles, they will run and not grow weary. </em>Is. 40:31<br /></div><br /><div>When my goal to finish strong seems unattainable and I just want to give up and quit: ...<em>let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith. </em>Heb. 12:1-2<br /></div><br /><div>I've always heard people say that life is not a sprint, it's a marathon. When I'm on these long runs and I'm pondering that truth, I also recognize that, like our journey through this life, it's so much easier with a friend. A friend who supports you, believes in you...<br /></div><br /><div>and runs alongside you.</div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><br /><div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-89299363246975715282012-01-09T15:25:00.003-06:002012-01-09T15:47:41.402-06:00Lucky Dog<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc3EmsYc4TuProp_4E7oWXOeU3Af46uUUNeIDwMSlu-A-nb4exmvyn9DBfyWRsV2c2CRrW_J_iStPj9CTBLek-UFbTozp4hBHq25Z-zbW1EreeEEF8WfbIqv4Rdc8kCb3SOBkbww/s1600/DSC_8297.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc3EmsYc4TuProp_4E7oWXOeU3Af46uUUNeIDwMSlu-A-nb4exmvyn9DBfyWRsV2c2CRrW_J_iStPj9CTBLek-UFbTozp4hBHq25Z-zbW1EreeEEF8WfbIqv4Rdc8kCb3SOBkbww/s320/DSC_8297.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5695751858277239394" border="0" /></a><br />Andy and I had a text exchange a while back that still cracks me up. It went something like this. And it dealt with our firstborn's future vocation. (he is 8 now).<br /><br />A: The highest paying medical specialties are something-ology, something-else-ology, and another-thing-ology. Tell William those are his options. (<span style="font-style: italic;">he was actually a little more specific than that but obviously it didn't make a big enough impression on me to remember).<br /><br /></span><span>Me: William wants to work at a video game store.<br /><br />A: Well that's just great. Tell him to study hard.<br /><br />Me: It's not that he's not ambitious. I think he wants to have a hot dog cart in the french quarter on the side.<br /><br />A: Awesome.<br /><br />We dream big around here, people.<br /><br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></span></span></span></span><br /></span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-52296879078996934592012-01-06T15:52:00.005-06:002012-01-06T16:14:48.159-06:00Hello? Hello? Is this thing on?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxP7ESz_GP5vSBaDmHpdfAXaQvYrIpVRYfZmTL24vSxk3BOOqT06Belo3e0qPbgc3xJoDI7x6G7tCktTApNJhGPgeCbQZkROcmXlRmRuiR0WVM5TBHcdMPEWu9rMLzmxY0-ncBgA/s1600/DSC_9000.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxP7ESz_GP5vSBaDmHpdfAXaQvYrIpVRYfZmTL24vSxk3BOOqT06Belo3e0qPbgc3xJoDI7x6G7tCktTApNJhGPgeCbQZkROcmXlRmRuiR0WVM5TBHcdMPEWu9rMLzmxY0-ncBgA/s320/DSC_9000.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5694644434026332306" border="0" /></a><br />So I decided to try to resurrect this blog. Not that I have any readers left (or at all). And not because I have anything extraordinary to talk about. But mainly because I am a terrible, awful memory keeper (aka scrapbooker - the word alone makes me gag) and this blog is going to be the only record my children have of their lives one day. I have a closet full of scrapbook supplies and I've tried. Oh I've tried. And I LOVE buying scrapbook paper. I have a pile of it. But all it does is stay stacked in its pretty plastic box. I've had great intentions but it's kind of like those jeans still hanging in my closet, circa 2002.... time to give up the dream.<br /><br />When I started this blog, William was barely out of diapers, Catherine was not even a year old and Stuart was just a star in the sky. Now William and Catherine head off to school every morning on the bus and Stuart spends two days a week home with me and the other three mornings at "school" (when I can pry him off of me). I fear we will have a scene every morning next year when he starts kindergarten. I fear it will be him (or the authorities) prying me off of HIS legs.<br /><br />Where has the time gone?<br /><br />It's so very, sadly, painfully true....the days are <span style="font-style: italic;">long</span> but the years are so very short.<br /><br />It's also sadly, painfully true that, even though these years are flying by, at any given time in my house I am still called upon to wipe someone's bottom.<br /><br />Seriously.<br /><br />It's time to close that chapter, people.<br /><br />The end.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-36680161311293461872011-08-16T10:45:00.013-05:002011-08-16T11:41:14.244-05:00sixso my girl turned six and started kindergarten. all in one week.
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<br />here she is.....
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEaQ2ftYiCmgFsKCYIg1Tn6g6_GItceNqoKY2NiAvFOAgCpeRlxnHrIR7Rd21aH-WS3yLbdDZQr8Xm1fE6K9fJ2ko9t0SYzCRVYrzEpaBxt_4FN2bVS2gKyuqcFCCcHh8mRBNrZQ/s1600/ry%253D400.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 233px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641482729966657554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEaQ2ftYiCmgFsKCYIg1Tn6g6_GItceNqoKY2NiAvFOAgCpeRlxnHrIR7Rd21aH-WS3yLbdDZQr8Xm1fE6K9fJ2ko9t0SYzCRVYrzEpaBxt_4FN2bVS2gKyuqcFCCcHh8mRBNrZQ/s320/ry%253D400.jpg" /></a> oops. sorry. <em>here </em>she is.
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<br />first day of school.
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<br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirwSCUljCFIMIa6IOmePREw7P-0-x3c7-K4nEp1kAuQ6ei3uj2PJ7VcdHJYIPPgqX15B9i5FEkLAyir3ZMgOJ84JbPs_Qfz6wkF-fnHqfAMIN3vOgw3AQMbXUCJJIeeTNHp804og/s1600/P1110491.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641482329367213010" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirwSCUljCFIMIa6IOmePREw7P-0-x3c7-K4nEp1kAuQ6ei3uj2PJ7VcdHJYIPPgqX15B9i5FEkLAyir3ZMgOJ84JbPs_Qfz6wkF-fnHqfAMIN3vOgw3AQMbXUCJJIeeTNHp804og/s320/P1110491.JPG" /></a>she's a daddy's girl. here's daddy with her on the first day of kindergarten....</p>
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<br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDVkfberr4uMneWhSyuN5g6a_urTUz9dbB3zRSVUNk8Zko2K1jJy66F7aJ16w-fht4Pb0Kj-5LyXJ_CNJ1QSTK0x9AS4_fkZvZX-ySrr-PdG1jRS04s4OrWC8KheycpgcF0DgCkg/s1600/catdaddy.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 233px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641481811471334354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDVkfberr4uMneWhSyuN5g6a_urTUz9dbB3zRSVUNk8Zko2K1jJy66F7aJ16w-fht4Pb0Kj-5LyXJ_CNJ1QSTK0x9AS4_fkZvZX-ySrr-PdG1jRS04s4OrWC8KheycpgcF0DgCkg/s320/catdaddy.jpg" /></a>sorry. <em>this</em> is daddy and her on the first day of kindergarten ~</p>
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<br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDFJMJGC5LpG4D-7YUORBzdWhZzSFcFchNVnOpnsd0RyAAk3mnuDbyFNo3k-mw49H31coo-haeGv4BzqW1tf82h5Go-B1Q7BkrnIxFz5mdt1_8MSY7ZdMW9FTAd0KfLCJbsiuAUw/s1600/P1110488.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641481719565756690" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDFJMJGC5LpG4D-7YUORBzdWhZzSFcFchNVnOpnsd0RyAAk3mnuDbyFNo3k-mw49H31coo-haeGv4BzqW1tf82h5Go-B1Q7BkrnIxFz5mdt1_8MSY7ZdMW9FTAd0KfLCJbsiuAUw/s320/P1110488.JPG" /></a> she and her big second grader brother are big buds.</p>
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<br />
<br /><p>...they made homemade pizzas for our little family birthday party.....</p>
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<br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXQb-c0sRLQ-hAWbRs7AhFpZqgyEhMX_yiRQDqIuCQOHHQEmx2bT7AyT8NzySi985paIc86L0tZj92_VJhZTyt2Sn-B6ZdmuJOq50Vezk-PfvUPm61n5r-FZvL2SlJ-aDxgsuR1g/s1600/catwm.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 233px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641481553139385522" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXQb-c0sRLQ-hAWbRs7AhFpZqgyEhMX_yiRQDqIuCQOHHQEmx2bT7AyT8NzySi985paIc86L0tZj92_VJhZTyt2Sn-B6ZdmuJOq50Vezk-PfvUPm61n5r-FZvL2SlJ-aDxgsuR1g/s320/catwm.jpg" /></a> darn it. i did it again.</p>
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<br /><p><em>this </em>is her and her big brother hanging out in the kitchen.....<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWg0FDBxveFv65mThqUc_yaptZsG1T6oeVAUjRwb4esagccJdnCfESpqiK4hG2DrHBRA6i1zWsdnRG_J-R20p4sCoJoHCB88M3lcrGw3sSfSjUqgKPe9RtJ65haUD9ZqjfsbkSDA/s1600/P1110460.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641481448312624914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWg0FDBxveFv65mThqUc_yaptZsG1T6oeVAUjRwb4esagccJdnCfESpqiK4hG2DrHBRA6i1zWsdnRG_J-R20p4sCoJoHCB88M3lcrGw3sSfSjUqgKPe9RtJ65haUD9ZqjfsbkSDA/s320/P1110460.JPG" /></a>oh. and the morning of her sixth birthday, i took the cutest picture of her in bed with her favorite doll. </p>
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<br /><p>aren't they cute? <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Bv-h73beQFK-faypg-kqGXu6Nk1mcEbEw8zc9ndKCYMssMewfyFEMXstiAXlV00uthJwllaWAMLPyEYV8aao3vnElrT5uny95X2NEIAYxm4DQTnGJulYB1IxWo8Xzewm8siDlA/s1600/catbed.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 233px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641481005081668898" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3Bv-h73beQFK-faypg-kqGXu6Nk1mcEbEw8zc9ndKCYMssMewfyFEMXstiAXlV00uthJwllaWAMLPyEYV8aao3vnElrT5uny95X2NEIAYxm4DQTnGJulYB1IxWo8Xzewm8siDlA/s320/catbed.jpg" /></a> wrong picture again. </p>
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<br /><p><em>here </em>she is with elizabeth. she is her favorite doll. today. <a href="http://mommyesquire.blogspot.com/2007/07/proud-mary.html">tina turner </a>is so 2007.</p>
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<br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8amVbzVj7i8bzjKloktwYJsXtqMqObi3yU9KzYvdpnQQLiq0iye4q6oiovteNQjFC9-Mtmh_bNWboosULsqKb0CzjLC1VAmZXhyyNT0-HPT4u3K-zZveQ_GdRLRFfX4CrAGCTcA/s1600/DSC_8644.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641480892363839906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8amVbzVj7i8bzjKloktwYJsXtqMqObi3yU9KzYvdpnQQLiq0iye4q6oiovteNQjFC9-Mtmh_bNWboosULsqKb0CzjLC1VAmZXhyyNT0-HPT4u3K-zZveQ_GdRLRFfX4CrAGCTcA/s320/DSC_8644.JPG" /></a>see, here's the thing. when i look at this girl, i see that baby. i see that two-year-old with the crinkly nose, curly hair and smile that melts your heart. </p>
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<br /><p>i can't help it.</p><em>this</em> is what i see....
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<br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvFjaXRnaK5o9qMFNQDqKGOaYGQ6P5GFO9wruwz4ZgIsAuBZy1O4j_f8MkGKH96LcKdlz2mDp0bexdZ7dP6E1Cp7DeXVx2dYdEsOcaVQpxg7tla_NKr__zOqfViPnwd7piwfZYQ/s1600/catsmile.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 233px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641480719097006882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfvFjaXRnaK5o9qMFNQDqKGOaYGQ6P5GFO9wruwz4ZgIsAuBZy1O4j_f8MkGKH96LcKdlz2mDp0bexdZ7dP6E1Cp7DeXVx2dYdEsOcaVQpxg7tla_NKr__zOqfViPnwd7piwfZYQ/s320/catsmile.jpg" /></a> when i look at her.</p>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOWUyHFk7X7cZgSqh0jd8y8qhHlmJ-J5UKc1oRs9xVTWuZH0KidzDp3NE80wUncTOTNYQcFxZZ0xUTHUnFdRzdNJAnBYXuT0K4J24SCIMELU_PSCPVwgpjpKCudHn7NdKfq2N81A/s1600/DSC_8653.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5641480505247964434" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOWUyHFk7X7cZgSqh0jd8y8qhHlmJ-J5UKc1oRs9xVTWuZH0KidzDp3NE80wUncTOTNYQcFxZZ0xUTHUnFdRzdNJAnBYXuT0K4J24SCIMELU_PSCPVwgpjpKCudHn7NdKfq2N81A/s320/DSC_8653.JPG" /></a> they said don't blink. or you'll miss it.</p>
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<br /><p>...they were right.</p>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-39075438289860249622011-04-20T01:44:00.000-05:002011-08-04T08:05:33.960-05:00Another Moving Tale, Part 2So we made it to south Georgia and life looked somewhat different for us.<br/><br/>For starters, I went from a full time working Mom to a full time stay-at-home-HOMESCHOOLING Mom. I went from pining over never seeing my children to <del datetime="2011-04-20T12:29:52+00:00">pining over having them under my feet 24/7</del> having them with me all the time! Because we didn't know anyone, we went from having a rather full social calendar to enjoying quiet days together. Just the five of us. And it was.... nice. Very nice. It's like all the craziness, turmoil and stress of the prior year came to a screeching halt. The noise was all turned off and suddenly there was silence. And peace. And tranquility. And we got to know each other again.<br/><br/>We spent lazy days doing just what we wanted to do. Usually in bare feet.<br/><br/><a href="http://mommyesquire.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/DSC_2135.jpg"><img class="aligncenter size-medium wp-image-2681" title="DSC_2135" src="http://mommyesquire.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/DSC_2135-300x199.jpg" alt="" width="300" height="199" /></a>We sort of fell in love with each other. All of us. All over again. Because we were all we had.<br/><br/>Looking back on our life that last year in Fairhope, I realize now that our family was falling apart. It's clear to me now that God needed to pick us up....move us....and then start to put us together again.<br/><br/>And that's just what he did. And that's probably why my prayers to stay there seemed to be unheard and unheeded.<br/><br/>And that was the answer to my <em>Why?</em><br/><br/>Then, as is His way, He started blessing us in ways we don't deserve. We made some precious friends, found a wonderful church....<br/><br/>And then.<br/><br/>And then.....<br/><br/>Much unlike before when we had no choice or voice in the decision to pack up and move....recently we were faced with a most unexpected opportunity to move again. Much closer to "home." The Gulf Coast. Where we both spent our childhoods. Where we met and married. Where most of our memories were made. Where our roots run <em>deep</em>. And where we knew we always wanted to raise our family.<br/><br/>With heavy hearts and after much prayer and soul searching, we made the decision to leave this sweet, quiet and content life we were just starting to make here....and go <em>home. </em><br/><br/>After struggling over whether we were making the <em>right</em> decision and not wanting to make any mistakes, and praying fervently for answers (and probably prodding God a little on how we wanted those answers to come), I had an epiphany...a revelation of sorts...and it came from Facebook of all places. How 21st century of God to speak to me in that way!<br/><br/>It was a friend's status one morning, and it came from a friend of hers who apparently was struggling over whether or not to take a new job. <em>Her</em> revelation was God saying (and I'm probably not quoting this just right...but here goes):<br/><br/><strong><em>I created you for fellowship with me. Take any job you like.</em></strong><br/><br/>I'll save my own commentary on what this meant to me for another post but let's just say it put everything in perspective and gave me peace that we really couldn't make the wrong decision. I became grateful for the year of rest, restoration and healing for our family. I began to get excited about what lies ahead for us. And I think that I (call me Peter here) felt God's hand reaching out, grabbing me saying "Oh ye of little faith....why did you doubt?"<br/><br/><em><strong>...and when they climbed into the boat, the winds died down.</strong></em> (Matthew 14:30-32)<br/><br/>As we are now looking at another pile upon pile of boxes, another moving van, and another season of starting over from scratch... and getting ready to climb in that boat again.... we are doing so much stronger than last time. With greater faith. And with a greater appreciation for answered (and unanswered) prayers.<br/><br/>Of course you do realize....I may be clinging to that verse up there more than ever and looking for a real boat to climb into since we will close on our new house just three weeks before hurricane season begins.<br/><br/>Oy vey.<br/><br/><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden" /><input id="jsProxy" onclick="jsCall();" type="hidden" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32232879.post-88246899391667040162011-04-19T01:32:00.000-05:002011-08-04T08:05:33.960-05:00Another Moving Tale, Part 1<p style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://mommyesquire.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/DSC_1730.jpg"><img class="aligncenter size-full wp-image-2678" title="DSC_1730" src="http://mommyesquire.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/04/DSC_1730.jpg" alt="" width="364" height="242" /></a></p><br/>A little more than a year ago I painfully watched as movers packed up my house in Fairhope and loaded a moving van bound for south Georgia. I looked on as they disassembled the baby bed where I'd laid each of my babies....as they moved toys out of the playroom where I'd helped little hands mold playdough and stack blocks....and before I knew it I was standing in an empty house, left with nothing but tears and memories....almost more than my heart could bear.<br/><br/>See, this move was not one of our making....or our choice.<br/><br/>In fact, we had no choice in it at all. Things had happened....life had happened....and we were being sent down a road we would have never chosen to travel. As I closed the door behind me and pulled out of the driveway for the last time, my heart hurt so that my entire body ached, and the tears flowed so freely and profusely that I could hardly see to drive. I couldn't imagine what good might possibly lie ahead of those more than 300 miles we would be traveling to our new home in the next few days. I couldn't imagine that there would be laughter....joy....friendships....and cherished memories to make. Because in my grief for what seemed lost forever, I couldn't see beyond....<br/><br/>Don't get me wrong....I knew that the most important, cherished and adored treasures on this earth were coming with me ( and I don't mean my luggage or my shoes). I knew that as long as the five of us were together we would be fine. And I had a list a mile long of all I was grateful for ... It's not that. It's just that....I loved...and I mean <em>loved</em>....living in Fairhope. I had dreamed of living there for as long as I could remember, so as cliché and corny as it sounds, when we had the chance to move to that little Mayberry by the Bay in 2005 it was truly a dream come true. I would have never left. Ever. Under any circumstances.<br/><br/>Well...Except one. (Turns out you actually have to have a job in order to make money and pay your mortgage to live in your house in your dream town. Who knew? So if your company eliminates your job and you don't have one anymore, you might have to leave your dream town and move (far) away to go to where the job is....in case you were wondering how that all works).<br/><br/>And when that happened it was like being hit upside the head with a 2 x 4 from behind while I was sitting peacefully and happily gazing out across Mobile Bay thinking "Life. Is. Good." (not that I've actually ever been hit upside the head with a large piece of wood but I can only imagine it felt something like this.) That blow happened in early 2009 and was followed by a couple of other near knock-outs, all making for a very, very bad year. Very bad year indeed. And I asked more than once (usually on my knees)..."Dear Lord....where did this come from? And more importantly....Why? <em>Why?"</em><br/><br/>I didn't have any of those answers as I signed (with tears streaming down my face) the closing papers on my sweet house...or withdrew my sad little kindergartner from his wonderful school and said goodbye to his beloved teacher...or crossed two state lines to meet the moving van at a strange new house in a strange new town where we didn't know a soul.<br/><br/>But God began to replace my questions with calm, my grief with peace, and continually assured me that <em>He had gone before me and would be with me, that He would never leave or forsake me... and I had no reason to be afraid or discouraged</em>. (Deut. 31:8). Even though I didn't know why, He did. And even though I'd been caught by surprise and hit from behind, He had not.<br/><br/>He knew this was coming. And He knew where we were going.<br/><br/>And He was prepared.<br/><br/>...Stay tuned for Part 2<br/><br/>(this is kinda fun...like a mini-series. or a sequel. grab some popcorn and sweet tea and hurry back, y'all).<br/><br/><input id="gwProxy" type="hidden" /><input id="jsProxy" onclick="jsCall();" type="hidden" />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0