tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26629737536434318172024-03-12T21:37:01.619-06:00a long obsession(in the same direction)klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.comBlogger437125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-60133972512969346542020-09-29T13:03:00.000-06:002020-09-29T13:03:01.270-06:00when the bass drum hits<p>loneliness hits in my brain like a low-level bass line in a distant song. sometimes i can barely hear it, just imperceptibly nodding my head to it's rhythm as i go about my day. other times, it's loud and pervasive and it's all i can hear, thumping through my ears and my brain and my heart and my body. i can't do anything to escape the thump, thump, thump of the bass, playing a song i can't quite hear but still can't escape. </p><p>loneliness has a funny way of showing up, i think for everyone, but it feels especially laughable as a part-time working, married mother of three small humans, who lives in the middle of a suburban cul-de-sac in white America. Even amid the quieter quarantine months of COVID, days are filled with: bus stops, lunch packing, yelling out the windows, pick ups and drop offs, endless virtual meetings, text messages, distance-filled masked parties and cuddling on the couch next to a husband. the irony of it all is that despite the constant activity, the cloud of loneliness hangs over and even the busiest moments are overshadowed by something i can't quite put my finger on but can't ignore.</p><p>combating loneliness, i turn to working out. pounding loud, dancey music through a speaker and throwing heavy weights around until the sweat pools under my arms and in the creases of my legs and i forget that no one sees me because i'm lost counting to twenty, over and over over. i ride the bike, over and over and over, listening to denis tell me that 'when the bass drum hits, the same leg kicks'. despite the sweat, music, and exhaustion, the same leg keeps kicking and kicking into the fog of loneliness.</p><p>sometimes i turn to friends and social media. losing myself in posting the perfectly snarky, humorous post to prove to everyone else, but mostly myself, that my life is full of people and things that matter, and people are actually paying attention or care for me. texting or dropping off baked goods or gifts to win over the affections of friends. on the surface i look like a caring, thoughtful friend that remembers your cat's death or the hard work at week you had. i look like my life is polished and sheened- just messy enough to be obviously imperfect, but perfect enough to share. underneath, i am desperately reaching for attention. importance. returned affection. craving for the details in my life to become important to you too. the unreturned text messages, un-liked or unviewed photos tell me i'm not important, i haven't quite got it yet. loneliness prevails and the bass hits on. </p><p>most often i turn to drinking. drinking is a perfect escape; and six months into a pandemic fraught with political tensions and racial division, memes and jokes and moms tell me it's ok to drink at all times. so my drinking goes unnoticed by most, and encouraged by many.</p><p>i am a good drinker, if you consider being able to consume a mass amount of poison while still maintaining functionality, a skill. i can drink a bottle of wine alone over the course of two hours or so, and still hold a conversation, still put my kids to bed with coherent story reading and prayer time and tuck-ins. i can stay up and paint my nails or paint a bedroom after drinking- anything goes at this point because the loneliness has finally quieted down and i have nothing in my brain except the desire to do, do, do to keep the lonely thoughts, the desperate thoughts, from returning. when i drink, i can be numb on the inside and present on the outside. i don't shirk any duties or take any time off, so i don't have to pay any tax or penalty for the time i've been gone. it's an ingenious solution, a perfect meld of both worlds of numbness and presence.</p><p>until it's not. binge drinking takes it's toll on me quite easily, and i swiftly spiral into a downhill race between self-hatred and self-pity. i never cry or get outwardly emotional when i've been drinking. but after a few days of blissfully numb evenings, my head gets the best of me and the thoughts swirl around and the best thought i can grasp on to tells me that i'm better off not around, the world is unsolvable, and self hatred wins the race. the bass line of the loneliness breaks through even the haziest of wine nights, and kicks a deep, resounding groove in my head that tells me, in fact, you ARE so horrible, your loneliness is real and no matter how much you try, you'll always be alone. </p><p>when i stop drinking, avoid social media, and ease up on the rigorous exercise routine, the pounding of the loneliness fades a bit. i become less obsessed with myself, more aware of the small beauties of the world. i can practice presence and appreciation, compassion and permission. </p><p>yet i can still hear the faint bass line kicking around in the background. without the numbing, overwhelming effort to drown it out, the thoughts are amplified by the quiet and empty. i am left with unanswered texts, un-liked photos, and relationships that feel untended by anyone but me. are those measures of connection? probably not. but if they aren't- what is? </p><p>sometimes, on brave days, i try to step into the loneliness by trying to kick a different foot in response: i voice my needs, share a feeling, contact a friend one more time. but the same bassline returns: lonely, unmet, unseen. i don't know how to step into this fiercely uncomfortable space. after some time here, i don't know what is real and what is made up in my head. my thoughts tell me i am overreacting; yet my feelings hint that i'm still alone. my relationships tell me they are here, and going nowhere, but my experience tells me that i need too much, expect too much, too much. </p><p>i am now trying to sit with this bass line of lonely. learning not to turn it up, and not drown it out. i'm not even trying to control what foot kicks when the same bass drum hits; i'm just noticing which foot kicks, and how that feels. every song has a bassline. </p>klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-75660457128859909552018-02-18T16:39:00.000-07:002018-02-18T16:39:36.164-07:00my mom died.<br />
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i thought a lot about a way to gently head into this post- i tried a few different, softer introductions that seemed less dramatic, less shocking, but they didn't feel right. maybe because her death is still dramatic and shocking to me. or maybe because gut-wrenching, heart-aching grief has a funny way of stealing away all things that you used to 'normally' do, and replacing them with harsh, blunt acts that seem like the new way to do things.<br />
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either way, my mom died.<br />
november 17.<br />
three months ago already.<br />
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in a way, it was expected. ovarian cancer is sort of infamous for it's mortality rate. but in another way, it was so very unexpected. my mom was a fighter, had a positive attitude, and wanted to live more than maybe anyone i've ever met. she also just loved <i>living</i>. it was sort of her thing.<br />
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expected or not, it's still a piece of reality i cannot seem to wrap my brain around. every day, there's some new way that it finds to slap me in the face. i feel it when i smile at my littlest baby, a daughter, born just five months before she died. i see it when i look at my sister learning how to mother her own baby, another little girl, born a mere 19 days after mom's death. it hits me hard each time i watch my stepdad get into his car to go home, alone. i think of it when i look through my phone and notice i haven't talked or texted with mom in ages. it hits me in every day things, surprising things, like when i read books to my kids, when i hear my daughter laugh, when i see a penny on the ground, when i hear country music, when someone talks about their own mom. when i wake up, when i go to work, when i come home, and when i go to sleep... it always seems to hit me like a brand new reality that i must somehow understand to be my own.<br />
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during the day i think of mom: i easily find memories of a healthy, vibrant woman doing life and giving love with her whole heart. memories of her laugh, her long, rambling messages, her silly jokes, her funny dances. i can find those during the day.<br />
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at night, i am ravaged by memories of the sickness that overtook her. when darkness comes and i'm awake in bed, i just can't seem to escape the harsh, surreal reality of her last two weeks of life. in a way, i'm sort of grateful for that because it keeps me in check- no questioning this actually did happen; i didn't make any of this up. the reality of her being gone forever is so surreal on a daily, moment-to-moment basis that sometimes reliving the memories of watching her die before our eyes is helpful to justify the aching hole in my heart. nonetheless, though, the pain is still searing hot and relentless.<br />
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grief is a funny little monster. it sneaks up and shows up in ways i hate. like (obviously) crying. i used to not really be a crier, at all. then i had all these babies and they messed up my hormones so i cried much easier than before, but still not often. but now... now. now i can cry just <i>thinking</i> about crying. i cry at the mention of a funny story of mom. i cry when i realize i use past tense to talk about her. i cry when i realize she'll never see the new firsts of all my babies- her pride and joy grandbabies. i cry when i start talking, i cry when i close my eyes, i cry when i'm alone and i cry when i'm with people.<br />
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i also get very overly emotional and underly (is that a word?) logical a lot lately, which is terrifying. grief seems to have taken a hold of my emotions and stuck me into this really shitty cycle of over-performing when i'm stressed out (which is all of the time, #letsbereal) and then i get upset that i'm so stressed and doing so much, and then i get <i>angry </i>and rage-y about it all and take it out on the people i love so dearly. and then i realize i'm doing that, so i dive into this deep depression for a few days, realizing i'm a horrible, grown-up human who can't even regulate her own damn self. i sort of wish i could be rageful towards my mom, or God, or cancer, or <i>anything</i> that would make half a lick of sense. rather, grief takes a hold of a normal annoyance or frustration and turns the volume up to, like, 50, and then i can't see or hear or think of anything except that i am <i>mad.</i><br />
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and so many other ways grief shows up. too many to count, really. and yet, i have to keep going. my sisters, my step dad, our family... we all have to keep going and doing life, every day. because life doesn't stop, obviously, but also because that's how she would have done it. actually, that's how she <i>did</i> do it. i can easily say that mom <i>lived</i> her life, right up until the very, very end. and for that, i am proud of her, and so grateful. grateful for that last little lesson she left for us: don't forget to live.<br />
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love you mama.<br />
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<a href="http://obits.dignitymemorial.com/dignity-memorial/obituary.aspx?n=Kim-Peters&lc=4566&pid=187307599&mid=7648095&cid=em.legacy.dm.4566.7648095&eid=sp_sciobitposted#" target="_blank">Meet my mom </a><br />
<img height="320" src="https://d5nffgciuchtn.cloudfront.net/as/assets-mem-com/cmi/5/9/0/8/7648095/20171124_141734561_0_orig.jpg?maxwidth=1800&maxheight=1800&crop=(31.416666666666664,6.041666666666666,334.7083333333333,447.0833333333333)&cropxunits=348&cropyunits=464" width="219" /><br />
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<i><br /></i>klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-90244644328602381092017-01-16T22:24:00.002-07:002017-01-16T22:24:54.737-07:00battleground<div style="text-align: center;">
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my sister's dog stayed with us the week after christmas. she is used to a morning walk, and the duty fell to me to make sure this tradition continued. now, in case you're wondering, the week after christmas is in late december, and traditionally, in colorado, this week is pretty cold and pretty dark at 6:00am. but, once sweet scout licked my face and got me up, i got going. </div>
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i am so grateful for her stay because i have actually continued to get up each morning, and now the battle of the early morning walk is now not so hard. i first started walking and now am running my large, pregnant body through the cold air and around the park for a brisk morning exercise and clarity of mind.</div>
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this morning routine has given me much needed space to engage the other silent, less obvious battles waging in my head: from littler things like my changing body and new found pregnant addiction to every food i can see, to bigger things like the overwhelming depression i have been fighting for almost a year now. each morning on this run i wrestle with my inner life. things like my grandmother losing herself in her alzheimer's disease, my mom's cancer returning, our future baby's health, my marriage, my parenting, my work, my friendships, and myself. this morning time alone with myself (and God), while much needed, is also <i>so very painful</i> for me. i think i'm finally facing so many of the inside things i have been avoiding with the outside busy-ness of life. now the battle isn't getting up, it's just showing up to my own fight and not giving in.</div>
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each morning, i see basically the same array of people- most walking their dogs, many ambitious runners, and some just walking themselves. i have started to recognize my early morning compatriots and feel a silent but strong bond with them. my nosy self always wonders what house they tiptoed out of this early, what day they are about to face, what they will be going back to when they are done with this early morning commitment. </div>
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there is one man, in particular, stands out to me the most. he is always walking counterclockwise, and i am running clockwise. he wears (what i remember to be) a stripy, colorful hat, thick gloves and winter clothes. he is an elderly gentleman, and he walks with confidence and wisdom. and each time i pass him, he looks me right in the eye and gives me a solid half grin and an emphatic, solemn thumbs up. </div>
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and each time i meet his eyes and see his arm raise in this silent gesture of support, tears well in my eyes. the small and simple thumbs up makes me feel seen. like, he sees me not just facing a battle but showing up to fight it. it somehow communicates that my fight is not only seen, but is also being won and he knows it. i know this man actually knows nothing of my life, nothing of the heartaches and tears and joys and loves in my life; and i am sure he encourages everyone that passes by him. but the solidarity we have in our cold morning walk, together with his knowing eyes and raised thumb tell me it doesn't matter how many people he sees, because he sees <i>me</i> and he is cheering me on.</div>
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so now, when i feel a little slower to get out of bed, or when i try to talk myself out of the necessity of this time alone, moving my body to the rhythm of my own thoughts, i think of lacing up my shoes for one more battle: to prove to myself that me and my battles matter, and that someone else sees that. so i will keep running. </div>
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(or walking. because let's be real: pregnant running is like, so hard).</div>
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klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-48659131655392044422016-11-16T23:27:00.005-07:002016-11-16T23:27:52.599-07:00shopping with raccoons. one time i remember when the majority of my blog was about the funny things that happened in my life. i used to be able to find inspiration for post after post about the silly, trying events of the day and could gain the 'laugh about it later' perspective just by looking at my life through the lens of this blog.<br />
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since then, life has gotten more serious.<br />
or, has it? maybe my ability to look at life through that lighthearted lens has just sort of atrophied a bit. but because i liked that ability, and it made me happy, i want it back. so i think i'm going to practice trying to find the humor in every day things and relishing in them back here. one such instance happened the other day...<br />
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so mondays i normally work a full day, morning to evening, but with my mom being my childcare provider that day and her cancer diagnosis over the last year, things have shifted a little. so now mondays are a little less work busy, and more crazy busy trying to put together a half kid day/half work day. this monday was no exception.<br />
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and of course, this monday i decided to <b>extra</b> complicate by being super mom and hitting the grocery store AND then going to work. to those of you without little people in your life, that might not sound hard. even as i type it, it doesn't sound as defeating as it always turns out to be. sometimes i forget that wrangling two small people in a grocery cart that i am continually throwing perishable and delicate objects into while pushing down brightly lit and colorful aisles is a task. but let's not be fooled, people: grocery shopping with two under three is a miracle and you should applaud every single mom with kids you see in a store.<br />
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so this extra complicated monday, i decided to up the ante by taking us the extra three minute drive to the FANCY grocery store down the street. see, our neighborhood grocery is fine, really. but let's be real: it's ghetto. like, so ghetto that i get coupons for items at the store they don't even carry because they keep it so small and basic. and most days i like it that way because i KNOW that store. like know it so well i don't need a list, i can just meander down the aisles with my eyes closed and pick out our basic necessities without exercising a brain cell (an important ability when you're shopping with aforementioned maniac munchkins).<br />
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but today, i decided the big fancy store i don't know my way around was a better choice. the store with an epic produce section, a built in liquor store, a lobster tank, and far more fancy kosher aisles than i can count was my choice for the day. and because i knew it would be a challenge, i decided to leave my wallet at home and just bring my credit card with me. i also decided it would be a quick jaunt because i knew i had to be at work, so i let the kids stay in their matching raccoon footie pjs' to "make it more fun" (aka i didn't want to deal with shoes). so i stuck my card in my back pocket , wrestled my kiddos into their car seats, and drove away to the shiny, pretty new store with my hopes and dreams and dignity still in tact.<br />
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about 45 minutes later, we are limping our way into the checkout line to finish up the task at hand. i've got a cart full of two rabid raccoons eating raisins straight out of the box we haven't bought yet, a smooshed loaf of bread, two dented cereal boxes, and 87 gallons of whole milk because... boys. i am feeling triumphant and ready to win the day's challenge, when i put my hands into my pocket and pull out... nothing. no credit card. my phone and keys are the only thing i can find anywhere near me. this is where i had my first heart attack of the day.<br />
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quickly i back out of the line before they start checking me out. i frantically run to one end of the store, eyes glued to the ground looking for my (of course) CLEAR american express card. i begin whipping up and down every single aisle in the store with the crazed look of a mom about to lose her shit. i find nothing.<br />
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at the last aisle i see a store manager. i frantically explain, trying to stay calm but failing miserably. nice, sweet steven gives me a weary eye but takes me to the customer service desk: no card. he asks all the cashiers: no card. i ask him if i can leave my cart full of carefully, hand-picked groceries here to go check my car. he nods and disappears (eagerly, i might add).<br />
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i scoop up my antsy little kids with messy raisin faces, and run to the car. except we couldn't run because an enormous fire truck was parked out side and my fireman-crazed son had to touch every light and wheel on the stupid truck.<br />
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so, <i>after</i> that we run to the car, as fast a mom with a baby on her hip and holding the hand of a three year old with no shoes can run. no luck: the card is not in my car. i gather my shattered dignity and two dollars in quarters to pay for the raisins we ate in case they shun me from the fancy store forever.<br />
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we run <i>back</i> to the store. find steven. beg him to let my cart stay there for another 15 minutes while i run home to get my wallet.<br />
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run back to the car.<br />
get in the car. buckle raccoons in.<br />
race home.<br />
grab wallet.<br />
race back.<br />
run back in.<br />
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my cart is missing.<br />
steven is missing.<br />
my heart attacks are coming at regular intervals at this point because guess what? i have to leave for work in less than two hours and i'm not home, not dressed, not made up, my kids are in pjs and their lunches aren't made and i haven't even bought the groceries i still need to unpack at home.<br />
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i find my cart.<br />
i get in line. in front of all the firemen that had their stupid truck on display. i send them the evil eye with my mind but try to flirt with them with my actual eyes because... firemen.<br />
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i breathe a sigh of relief as the checker begins and think that my hell may be over soon.<br />
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it's not over though.<br />
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feral raccoon child #1 races away to the mechanical horse. i let him go- he's in eye sight so he can't be in too much danger, right? feral child #2 is in the cart but trying to get out. i quickly notice no one is bagging my groceries so i begin stuffing anything and everything i can see into the first bag i can get my hands on. out go the rules of 'meat in plastic' and 'cold case items together'. this has become my own personal, chaotic, frantic warzone as i am trying to bag with one hand and keep my child in the cart with the other.<br />
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the firemen are laughing. i'm nervously laughing back. are they laughing at me? with me? i am not sure at this point but i want to look cool and calm, even though my insides are churning with anxiety.<br />
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finally the groceries are in, my child seems contained in the cart and the other is contentedly sitting on a horse, as still as statue. i breathe just a little and enter my credit card PIN.<br />
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wrong pin. credit card rejected. do over.<br />
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i'm slowly sinking into myself, willing the credit card machine to hurry the f up so i can just be out of the limelight and get on with my day. because let's be real: at 11:15am, a frantic mom flirting with firemen while toting kids still in their pj's and no shoes on is no longer cute, it's desperate and sort of like a car wreck you can't stop looking at even when you should move on.<br />
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just then baby raccoon in the cart climbs half way out and begins to fall. fireman #1 rescues said baby raccoon. fireman #2 shouts 'raccoons on the loose!' as my older raccoon child shouts at me from the horse. and they all laugh.at me- no doubt about it this time. and i'm mortified, convinced they are going to follow me home and arrest me for child endangerment at worst, and at best lecture me on small child safety.<br />
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and then, it's over. sigh of relief. there's nothing left to do but retreat to the safe haven of my car. the tears come to my eyes as i finally gather up my littles, slowly maneuvering my way out of the store with one hand on the cart, one baby on my hip, and the other riding shotgun on the outside of the cart. because guess what the crazy thing is? no one that witnessed this whole debacle knew what i knew: i'm pregnant right now and it means<i>, </i>without a doubt, <i>this is only going to get crazier. </i><br />
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God help me.<br />
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and please laugh with me.<br />
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and ps: for those that are wondering, i actually unpacked my groceries, packed lunches, dressed my kids, kept the house clean, left semi-on time, dropped off the kids, and made it on time to work, dressed and made up like a professional. <i>that</i> was my super accomplishment of the day.<br />
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<br />klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-27455702809937619022016-11-03T13:35:00.003-06:002016-11-03T13:53:59.220-06:00beauty from the broken<div>
the struggle is real. </div>
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have you ever felt broken? like truly, utterly broken? i have. sometimes do, actually, right now. and sometimes it's a challenge to show up to life when you feel broken from the inside out and you aren't quite sure how to trust yourself. </div>
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the first time i remember feeling broken was in my early twenties, when i was struggling with a deep depression, existential crisis, and addictive behaviors. i spent a good almost two years trying to 'fix' that broken, and pull all my pieces back together. i remember it being one of the most painful but freeing times in my whole life. i wouldn't revisit that experience again (like, ever), but i look back on it fondly with the knowledge that who i am now is absolutely dependent on that person i became back then. i remember it often, when i meet clients that struggle with something similar or when i look down at my foot at see the small but mighty tattoo i got to commemorate coming out of that brokenness.</div>
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and now, about ten years or so later, i think i've returned to another pivotal, broken period of life. it's not as tragic or dramatic as that one was, and i don't feel as untethered as i did back then, but if i'm honest, i feel pretty broken. it's been a rough year; lots of events have challenged my steadfastness. while i think i managed them in the moment, the events have finally seemed to fizzle out and i am just now finally starting to take stock of myself and realizing i am feeling less than whole. </div>
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part of my less than wholeness is in my mind. actually, almost all of it. my mind is my worst enemy and i just haven't figured out how to beat it. while this year has been oh so hard, the hardest part was actually just right between my ears: the constant struggle with depression, irritability, mood swings; the various doctor appointments to get hormone levels and genetic predispositions checked; the medications and supplements; the litany of inventories and questionnaires asking me to rate my moods and behaviors; reviewing family history and revealing vulnerable thoughts and feelings to new professionals; the mood charting, the exercise and diet regimes; the constant fighting with my loved ones and not knowing if it's because i'm actually unhappy or just actually plain crazy... all of this in hope that something will click and i will start to feel like myself, whoever that is, once again. </div>
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i can't say that i am there yet. i still feel broken and unlike myself most days. but i have found some things that work, and some that don't. i have begun practicing more mindfulness and living in the moment. and i am concentrating lots of time and energy on God and renewing my commitment and life for Him. trying to define my self worth in who He says i am, rather than who my crazy brain or my current mood of the day says i am. </div>
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i don't think i'll ever really figure it all out exactly, but i am hoping that eventually i will figure out more things that make day to day more manageable, as well as come to a peace and truth about who i am on the inside and out. i know that i am surrounded by people who love me, and most importantly, i am loved and delighted in by the God who made me. so while i keep trying to fit the broken pieces back into some semblance of a picture, i am going to hold on to that. </div>
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and this new tattoo i just got finished that i think is a great reminder:<br />
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<i>i don't normally like to explain my tattoos to most people because i like keeping the meaning personal, but this one is very symbolic to me and feels like it needs a little story:</i></div>
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<i>the anchor symbolizes my anchoring relationship to God. he is the one true thing i can wrap my world around. </i></div>
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<i>the tuberose flowers are a symbol of my husband. they have taken on a special meaning between the two of us. </i></div>
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<i>the two little hearts are my babies. </i></div>
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<i>the sparrows are my "spirit animal", if you will. the Lord has spoken powerfully to me through sparrow imagery throughout my journey with Him. i think there's some sort of word that encompasses this idea better, but you get the point. </i></div>
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klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-29375199175008906022016-07-25T22:30:00.000-06:002016-07-25T22:30:16.809-06:00wine vs vulnerability <div>
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it's tough to write when you have so little to say, but it's almost tougher to write when you have so much to say. in all honesty, i have been mulling over exactly what i wanted to write, because there seems to be so much. but sometimes i struggle with what is good to share and what is sacred and should be kept private (ask husband, he's always reminding me about my filter). but i need to write because it's my therapy. so forewarning this post is long. and rambling. and most likely won't wrap up with a tidy little bow.</div>
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i also feel the need to share at least some iteration of what's going on because one of the main reasons i write is to look at and truly embrace my real self. to really take a risk and put my vulnerabilities out there for myself and others to get to know. but guess what? that's much easier when the most vulnerable thing you have to say is that life is hard and you're having a tough time accepting it. unfortunately, my vulnerabilities seem a little more fragile these days. </div>
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on the surface, the story feeding into my current struggle is relatively cliche, somewhat even of the 'garden variety' young adult angst, if you will: girl grows up questioning her worth and self-esteem; goes away to college and becomes promiscuous, drunk and super skinny (ie my alcoholic, slutty and eating disordered self arrives on the scene); goes to rehab, finds God, gets sober, starts eating, and life turns around. said girl goes to school to forge a career giving back to others the way others gave to her, she finds a sweet dude to marry, they have two adorable kiddos together, and life continues forever and ever, amen, happy as can be. the end! thanks for reading! </div>
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except not really. </div>
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my struggle with my eating disorder led into a super dysfunctional relationship with alcohol, and by some people's definition, i was an alcoholic. i chose to stay sober for almost 8 years during my 20's, but after i got married, i decided that i would try to drink again, and guess what? i got knocked up. (that's a real life joke, guys. you can laugh!). two pregnancies and almost four years later, i was still managing my life + alcohol relatively well. </div>
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but then it got complicated. because this january, life basically began to fell apart. my mom was diagnosed with a super scary cancer; my husband's health deteriorated into an unknown hell-hole we have spent buckets of money and time trying to solve, and i was knee-deep in the middle of my youngest baby's super challenging infant-hood. not only all that, but life kept changing from week to week and staying busy and my other son morphed into some weird, bipolar, crazy lunatic two year old i didn't know, and i kept working and raising kids, and money kept getting tight, and we had to fire the nanny and.... everything. all the things!!</div>
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and, i started drinking a lot, and i started telling myself it was ok. i was starting to find lots of old drinking behaviors coming up. and i was around people that drank a lot that didn't have complicated relationships with alcohol. and i was surrounded by a mommy culture that's all about using coffee and wine to get through your day. but i was drinking after the kids went to bed and i was functioning every single day, up at the crack of dawn, still working out and eating healthy and managing life. </div>
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anyway. this is not about my love affair with alcohol (fooled ya!). it's really about depression. sadness. and vulnerability.<br />
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the reality is that i was becoming extremely depressed, but i didn't realize it (which, btw, is tough to admit when you're a freakin' <i>therapist</i>). i began taking an antidepressant in the spring time to help take the edge of all that i was feeling. on any given day i would have told you i was just a bit stressed and life was tough, but if i was honest with myself, i can see now that i was falling deeper and deeper into this lonely little hole of self hatred and loathing and sadness and hopelessness. doesn't that sound just <i>fun</i>?</div>
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life seemed so much more pointless. even little things that used to bring me joy lost a little of their luster and i noticed i had a very short fuse and a very long recovery time from my explosions. husband and i started fighting a lot more. i just couldn't seem to catch a break of peace, the quick recoup i thought would fix it all. and of course, because of that, alcohol was a great remedy. a lovely soothing comfort each night to lull my brain to sleep and quiet me and my noise. (ironically, of course, alcohol is a depressant so while it was a nice quick fix for the moment, it just. kept. piling. up.)</div>
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t things came to an (inevitable) head two weeks ago, and hubby and i have been having some looooooooong, emotional, craptastic, vulnerable and much needed conversations this week. in reality, it's been hell. i have not felt this raw, this beat-up, this emotionally hungover since i was in rehab those long, long years ago. it's not pretty. </div>
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it's not pretty and it's so hard. sharing all this stuff with someone. talking it out and being real, raw, and emotionally exposed. i so, so desperately want to fix things and make them back to 'normal'. to shut off my feelings, to go back to the way things were, or to fast forward to the way they are going to be. i want to just stop beating myself up and having nasty, scary thoughts inside my head all day. i want to erase all the yucky things i've shared with my husband and pretend they aren't real- JK hubby! i want to back take all the mean, horrible things i've said to him and lock those words and actions away in a safe that has no key.</div>
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but it doesn't work that way, vulnerability. once it's out there, it's out there- no backsies. and the funny thing, is that it a turns out it's a decent remedy for depression. i mean, let's be real: it's a <i>sucky</i> remedy (wine feels SO much better and easier than having someone point out your character defects and asking you to fix them!) but it's a <i>real</i> remedy. </div>
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and with vulnerability comes intimacy. the reality of being known. and while that is scary beyond belief (at least to me), it also brings some safety. reassurance. validation. when i can't believe in myself, when the thoughts or beliefs in my head get too much for me to handle, i am pretty sure i can share at least parts of that with someone, and the burden of carrying that all inside is lifted a little. </div>
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now the reality is, that's easier said than done. my MO is to run away and shut down- i don't normally feel something uncomfortable or scary and run closer TO it.. so i have a lot of uphill battles coming my way. and a lot of growing to do here. and still a lot of zoloft on my side. i can say, though, that after trying out vulnerability instead of wine the last two weeks, i have felt much more pain (i still hate emotions!), but i have felt so much more encouraged. i have felt real.<br />
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it's going to be a long(ish) fight. depression doesn't just go away on it's own with one night or one week of 'come to jesus' vulnerability. it takes time and patience and work. it takes days of doing things you don't want to do and doing them because you know they work in the long run. it takes self care and self love and self GRACE and self FORGIVENESS. it takes people around you to guide you with care and gentleness and love. and in my experience, it takes understanding that i am God's work, His creation, and i am a work in progress. i am not, nor will i ever be, perfect. but if i draw near to my Creator, and i draw near to the safe, loving people around me, i can be real and loved and full of grace and mercy even when i feel like i don't deserve it. so that's what i am going to try to do. at least today.<br />
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<i>for anyone that is struggling with depression, i want you to hear that you're not alone. and it's real. and hard. most people may tell you to shake it off, snap out of it, get over it. but you can't always- it's not that easy (wouldn't you have done that already if it was?!). depression can be scary. it can be discouraging. but it doesn't have to be the only way to live. if you struggle, please get help: reach out towards friends,<a href="https://therapists.psychologytoday.com/rms/?utm_source=PT_Psych_Today&utm_medium=House_Link&utm_campaign=PT_TopNavF_Therapist" target="_blank"> a therapist</a>, antidepressants, online or real-life support groups... there are options! we don't get to choose depression as our enemy, but we can chose if we want to fight against it. </i></div>
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klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-68506389410220166212016-06-14T20:09:00.003-06:002016-06-14T21:57:24.484-06:00marginanyone that is in the christian realm and has been to church for any amount of time has probably heard the word 'margin'. it's a cool, hip churchy way to say 'hey, take a load off!' unfortunately, i believe just like any other consistently used church word, the meaning slowly wears off and we begin to hear it with jaded, worn ears and nod in agreement without any thought.<br />
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at least that's what i do.<br />
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<i>margin.</i><br />
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for those of you that aren't as familiar with the term, or those that may need a refresher, margin is basically the space between- much like the margins in your word doc, or (for you old school peeps like me), the extra wide space on the left side of your college-ruled note paper (yes, once upon a time people took notes on <i>paper</i> with <i>pencils</i>. can you believe it? of course, i'm not that old to remember that, i've just heard the myths)<br />
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<i>margin. </i><br />
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an intentional building of space and time in between your life things.<br />
a scheduled or blocked off time to do 'nothing'.<br />
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<i>margin. </i><br />
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if you're anything like me, you're basically having a panic attack by now just reading the description of margin and considering people do this <i>intentionally</i>. um, what? that is SO inefficient and such a waste of time! the type a and go-go-go part of my personality cannot fathom the idea of this concept at all. and while i know it's actually biblical (the unhip, uncool churchy way of describing it is 'sabbath'), i still can't wrap my head around the actual PURPOSE of it all. and if we're super honest, i think i'm way too good for a rest. i've got things to do, such <i>important</i> things, like run a household and raise boys and clean sheets and make dinner and pick up spilled toys for the 3487th time today and run errands and cut up watermelon and apply sunscreen and write notes for work and email my accountant and.. i mean, guys, SERIOUS things. who has time or NEEDS a sabbath? if i were to take a break, it would be silly. right?<br />
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<i>margin. </i><br />
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in true 'me' form, i decided that raising two young men under the age of 3, having a job three long days a week, running a home, caretaking a husband, training for a new counseling modality, keeping my social calendar, and working out and getting sleep wasn't enough, so i decided to paint my cabinets. for any of those that think that's a simple paint job, let me 'paint' the picture (haha, get it? i'm so punny. i crack myself up). painting cabinets entails all of the following: labeling each cabinet door and corresponding hardware; cleaning each and every square millimeter with a degreaser; taking off all doors and drawer faces and keeping them labeled and somewhat organized; caulking and wood-filling, then sanding each millimeter of surface; washing each millimeter of surface; priming each millimeter of surface with an oil-based primer; sanding and cleaning said surfaces; finding fancy, expensive paint from a specialty store; painting first coat on each aforementioned surface, sanding and cleaning each freakin' surface again; painting the last coat FINALLY; letting everything dry and cure (5-7 days), and then reassembling your whole life again, one labeled hinge and screw at a time. this does NOT account for any time and energy needed to re-arrange your cabinets and their belongings to maintain whatever 'babyproofing' system you had in place; nor does it account for any cleaning and shelf-paper lining that may need to occur once your face to face with each nasty-ass surface inSIDE of your cabinets not once but like, 56 times.<br />
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so, like i said, easy peasy. right?<br />
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<i>margin. </i><br />
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during one night of this project, i listened to some sermons (yes' some'. it's not like you have this project in front of you and listen to a 20 minute talk and say 'whew. that was a lot of work!'), and they were about building in time and intentional rest and margin with God. it wasn't like i hadn't heard any of it before, but it was good to hear again. because i am straight up, plain ol' BAD at margin.<br />
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the thing that struck me was considering that margin is actually part of God's master plan- he <i>commanded </i>it, actually took rest himself, and set up the rhythm of the world to follow this pattern of working and resting- and how selfish and prideful i was being in acting like i didn't <i>need</i> what God had planned for me.<br />
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it's easy as pie to say that i don't need rest. i feel better about myself (read: my insecurities and fear of incompetency is satiated when i am packed to the gills with to-dos), and i am good at multi-tasking and doing a ton of projects. sometimes i even amaze myself in a day with all that i can do.<br />
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that in itself isn't inherently bad. where that gets dangerous for me is when i want other people to notice how much i work. how awesome i am for not needing a break. when i want sympathy or empathy or people to be on my side because how HARD i work, how OFTEN i work, how much i have GOING ON and can manage to stay on top of it. in short, when my worth comes from foregoing my margin, and ultimately God's plan for my life, that's when it gets sort of dangerous.<br />
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and guess what? that's silly. that's me looking to others to fulfill me, to validate me, to define my worth and purpose. it's blatantly looking God in the face and saying, 'i don't need you or your stinkin' plan. i have my own! i'm gonna look tired and awesome and people will praise me, so i actually won't need you to feel good. i'll just work so, so hard for approval, ignore your grace, and feel like i'm never quite there yet. that's way better.'<br />
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<i>margin. </i><br />
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margin is a time that you set aside to spend with God, sure. but it's also time to just stop. to stop conforming to the world and it's now-ridiculous norms, and to just be still. to say, 'yep. i have crap to do. tons! but guess what? so does everyone. and God commanded me to sit. so i'm gonna rest and i'll pick the crap back up later and in the mean time, it will all be ok'.<br />
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<i>margin.</i><br />
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guys, it's a form of worship!!<br />
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and if we're honest, it can be super enjoyable worship. like today, for example: instead of staying home to work on this completely overwhelming project, i met some family for a lake swim. it was awesome. and tonight- i 'should' totally be working on those stupid oak-not-white-colored cabinets but guess what? i am so stinkin' tired from all the work i've <i>been</i> doing and all the kid raising and lunch making and fun-having i've done, i'm sitting on my patio with a drink in hand, writing a blog. it's glorious.<br />
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and also so hard! i want to work. i feel burdened to work. i feel lazy to not! but guess what?<br />
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<i>margin. </i><br />
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the cabinets will get done. in the long run i'm only postponing by a few days, so it's not like i'll really regret the one night i could have spent doing it. and i'm refreshing, refueling and checking in with myself by taking time to listen to what i need (rest) instead of what i should be doing (working). i sort of hate taking margin when i stop and think about what there is to do (cabinets, laundry, mopping, showering, all of it!) but i also know that if i concentrate on the moment of margin and rest, i feel good. rested. like i'm where i'm supposed to be.<br />
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i hope you can find some of your own rest. and in that, connection. peace. time with your connecting spiritual ju-ju or God or whatever. you won't regret it. i promise.<br />
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<i>and, if it's too hard to fathom, try our tried and true recipe: dance parties. seriously one of the best stress relieving, fun activities we do. it's hard to not love a dance party. i record the ones with my kids sometimes, but honestly, my favorite ones are the ones i do when i'm alone or with husband and i'm being silly and myself. in other words: you don't need kids to dance. </i><br />
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<i>margin. </i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">open cabinets and drawers....</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">this gives me SUCH anxiety. does it you?</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">door and drawer factory. on a good day.<br /></td></tr>
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<br />klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-30627137121560413092016-06-07T14:51:00.005-06:002016-06-07T16:07:31.010-06:00sunshine in my pocketi just finished a 20 hour training weekend for work. and besides time consuming, intense, and full of lukewarm hotel coffee and awkward connections with strangers you're spending three full days with, it was also (and mostly) AWESOME.<br />
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here's the thing: i am a <i>nerd</i> at heart. like, total dork. like, come home and make my own manual and short cuts for the manual i just got, dork. geeking out over color coded post-it tabs and making handouts, dork. talking non-stop to strangers and loved ones alike about every single thing i learned, dork. i am a nerd at heart for sure. especially for something i think is awesome and useful and cutting edge and makes me more competent and all that jazz.<br />
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and this was all that, plus a bag of chips! but this post is not <i>really</i> about that....<br />
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in the training, we learned about installing what they call 'a calm/safe place' with your client. not an original therapy concept, at all, but we spent some time talking about how to do it and then actually doing it in practicum hours. the gist of it (if you couldn't guess by the title), is to create a calm and safe place in your mind- somewhere you have been or can visualize, and bring it alive with all your senses and make it real.<br />
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and because i got to be clinician and client this weekend, i had to create my own calm and safe place. for the sake of the exercise, i just went with my gut idea- the beach in hawaii- and used that. but because i am such a cognitive realist (ie cynic at heart), the exercise made me think all weekend long of what my REAL calm, safe places, in my everyday life would and could be. places or instances where i can just be me, no strings attached, no pressure, no shame or vulnerability, nothing. just me.<br />
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yesterday as i was driving to my office on the highway, after dropping the boys off, i was listening to the radio and a FANTASTIC song came on. you know, the kind where you feel like it just dials straight into your soul and hits every mood your feeling and it's so catchy you can't help but car dance the s#!t out of it and you're singing at the top of your lungs even when you don't know the words and you just <i>don't care</i> who is watching? yeah, that song.<br />
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so it came on- and the traffic was light- and i was on time- and i was going to work after being all jazzed and excited about my job over the weekend- and the sun was shining- and my boys were safe- and my husband was at work- and all was just <i>right</i> with the world, for that moment.<br />
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and it dawned on me: THIS is a real happy, calm, safe place.<br />
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yes, the hawaiian beach is AHHHHH-mazing, and i would go there every day all day if life allowed- who wouldn't? but in real life, i want a place or an experience that i can re-create and LIVE, not just in my head but with my heart and soul and body. this is a place i can recreate almost any day of the week with little effort, money or notice. it doesn't always have to be upbeat- sometimes crying my heart out is just what i need, or being sad and morose is what my soul feels- but i can get in my car by myself, drive a little down the road to the open highway, and blast that song as high as my speakers can go and just lose myself there.<br />
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can you feel it? can you hear it? can you do it?<br />
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while i believe creating a visualized safe, calm place is amazing and useful, especially in therapy, i think it's so important we have something we can create in vivo, in real life, that we can actually experience here and there. the beach is great, really, but it's just not close to my home. like, at all. i can't just go there and get that actual feeling. and while my memory of it is good, and i even have pictures, i sometimes need to have an actual experience of being refreshed, rejuvenated, and set FREE.<br />
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do you have a safe, happy place in your real life? i dare you to find one. you'll love it.<br />
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(and maybe your loved ones will too, because i came home and played my happy song for husband and did an AMAZING, all-out super dance for him while i sang out loud. i mean, he basically was treated to a live, justin timberlake music video, that lucky guy. i am sure that was his happy place.)<br />
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(or maybe not).<br />
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<img src="http://assets.rollingstone.com/assets/2016/article/watch-justin-timberlakes-joyous-cant-stop-the-feeling-video-20160517/240822/medium_rect/1463458345/720x405-JT.jpg" /><br />
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<i>*for those of you that think a fun song would be up your alley, my suggestions are as follows, in my favorite order: </i></div>
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<i>(PS: NO NO NO judging my musical taste here, people. these are upbeat, feel good songs, not necessarily mature and artistic. give me a break, i'm a mom now. i don't have time to branch out).</i></div>
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<i>Justin Timberlake, Can't Stop the Feeling</i></div>
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<i>Taylor Swift, Shake it Off</i></div>
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<i>Jason Derulo, Want to Want Me and Get Ugly</i></div>
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<i>New Politics, Harlem </i></div>
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<br />klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-35999758469266896642016-06-02T17:07:00.000-06:002016-06-02T19:52:30.375-06:00free fallin'<br />
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my car is my solace. i don't get a lot of time to sit still and be quiet, and i don't really make time in my normal life to "feel my feelings" as they say, but for whatever reason, when i'm in my car, it all catches up with me. i'm notorious (to myself) for crying almost exclusively on my way too and from work. yesterday as i was driving, (actually trying to brainstorm blog posts ideas), i heard a song on the radio- one i'd heard a hundred times, at least (christian stations are so repetitive), but this time the lyrics sort of stuck in my head.<br />
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"your world's not falling apart, it's falling into place."<br />
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i sang it a few times and felt a familiar tug at my heartstrings, but tucked it away for later i wasn't ready to cry or let myself feel right then.<br />
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on the way home, of course, i heard the same song (i told you, REPETITIVE), and the lyrics went through my head. and i thought a little more about what's going on in the my landscape of my life:<br />
<br />
my mom's cancer hasn't magically been healed (although her counts are so freakin' LOW it is a miracle- praise jesus!), my husband's condition hasn't gone away and still affects us every single day (but also, so much less! praise jesus on the double!) and my kids are struggling to find a day without any neon green fluids dripping out of their noses or pink eyes or itchy eczema patches taking over their poor little bodies. and me? i am still tired. and trying to just put the pieces together each day to make it to the next.<br />
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sometimes, it feels like things are falling apart.<br />
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the assumption i had of my life at this point was that i'd feel a little more polished, a little more routine, a little more... predictable and comfortable. and i've had moments- seasons, even- of feeling this way: that i was <i>almost</i> there, if just <i>this </i>one thing would happen or <i>that </i>thing would just resolve itself. i was a working mom, falling into a pattern and routine, getting the hang of this life of mothering and wife-ing. and then, as always, life happened. people get sick. nanny's suck. work changes. the world turns. you know the drill...<br />
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and now i actually spend the majority of my days now making breakfast (every meal is almost an hour of making, eating, cleaning), getting everyone dressed, finding snacks, finding and putting my toddlers pants back on, making/packing/feeding/cleaning lunch (my biggest struggle is coming up with some 'creative' idea that isn't corn dogs), finding more pants, finding more snacks, telling my toddler to put pants on RIGHT NOW BECAUSE WE DO NOT LIVE IN THE STREETS AND THE NEIGHBORS DO NOT NEED TO SEE YOUR NAKED BUM EVERY DAY, kicking my legs free of starving children before dinner, then making dinner, then feeding aforementioned dinner to children that don't want to eat. because they are, of course, full.<br />
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basically, i think my life is now consumed with starving children and their pants. it's not glamorous. </div>
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and sometimes, it's not even fun. i can't always seem to find the joy in my baby pinching my skin between his tiny, lobster-like fingers, or the silliness in my toddler kneeing me in the face as he is climbing up and over my head with his gollum-like little limbs.</div>
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sometimes, all the little things that are mundane and repetitive (i haven't even <i>mentioned</i> the laundry mountains), plus all the big things, like sickness and parenting decisions and health all just feel like... SO MUCH.<br />
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and then i begin to wonder... what is the <i>point</i> to all of this?<br />
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"your world's not falling apart, it's falling into place"....<br />
<br />
this is the place.<br />
this is my world, and i'm falling into it.<br />
and that's the actual point. i'm learning how to appreciate and love these new little things. the day to days, the big things and the little things. the little things like kids being silly and naked and yelly, and the big things like helping clients heal their pain. my little things actually <i>are</i> big things: i'm raising men, people! i'm shaping and loving them into people that will grow up and create the world we live in. and my big things are actually all sort of small things: cancer, family sickness, bills, etc, can all be broken down into small, every day tasks. i can't heal my mom or my husband, but i can love them and serve them and make them meals and hold their hands one day at a time.<br />
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so when things fall apart, i want to lean into it and remember that this is life actually falling into place. falling apart gives me the chance to love with grace and mercy despite my circumstances, and that's what God has called us to do- be like him by loving graciously and fiercely.<br />
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this is what it looks like to fall apart, right into place:</div>
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klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-68312989114046648792016-05-16T21:05:00.002-06:002016-05-16T21:05:46.936-06:00kansas and beyond.i so desperately want to write something. <div>
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something poignant and meaningful and something that will just make both me and you stop and think and say, "ohhhhh, that's what it's all about!" or something equally weighty and life changing. i mean, that's not too much to ask for a simple blog post, right? </div>
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reality is, i got nothing. </div>
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i'm so tired today. and every day right now, really, if we're honest. not that you aren't- i think we are all chronically tired and over-committed but that's a post for the other day. </div>
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i am tired but i want to write. writing is my way of figuring out my brain, of taking a step back and digesting it all and making sense of how i feel. a self-check that allows me to step outside of my current situation and reflect and put the pieces together. it's usually so refreshing and healing for me to write. i haven't done that in a long time and i so want to! but right now, i've got nothing in the ways of meaning and insight. i'm just plodding along, each day, trying to get through the hard stuff and enjoy the small stuff. </div>
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have you ever felt like this? like, you take a step back and realize that you're in the middle of a bunch of groundhog days, doing the same thing over and over? it's sort of discouraging or demotivating to realize that. but do you know what? </div>
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i think it's totally normal. </div>
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i see people in my job, each day, that sit on my couch and tell me how bored they are with day to day stuff. i work with people that want to add pizzazz, sparkle, <i>life</i> into their lives. and sometimes, they could really afford to jazz it up a little (if we're honest), but most of the time, (if we're still being honest), they are just experiencing life. and i always tell them the same, discouraging but (i believe) realistic thing: life is sort of like kansas- it's mostly the same thing but with small pops of joy here and there. that instead of waiting and longing for the pops of joy, you must settle in and embrace the flatland that is life, and enjoy the pops when they come.</div>
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and while that may sound depressing on one hand, i feel like it's sort of comforting in the other. to know that this monotony is part of life; to know that things, no matter how wildly they may swing from one extreme to the other, will most likely find homeostasis in the neutral, boring, flat land of kansas. to know that life's crazy will eventually flatten out to something comforting, familiar, predictable allows me to enjoy the crazy moments a little more. it allows me to have patience in the extreme times. it allows me to be more present in the silly, fun, precious moments that pop up anytime because i know that they won't always be there. and it allows me to know that, this too shall pass..</div>
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today, our sweet little 7 year old neighbor boy brought us over some cookies that his family made us just because. just because they know we are in tough times. they can't make the times easier, they can't fix or take away. but they can love us in the midst of the crazy swings and pray alongside us and love on us until we flatten back out to kansas-territory. and that's pretty cool. </div>
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so, while we continue to encounter unpredictable peaks and valleys that, some days, feel like just too much, i am going to continue to find the joy in the sweet things that get us through to the boring, flat places. </div>
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which basically means i'm eating cookies and wine for dinner. </div>
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in case you were wondering. </div>
klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-51519108633591325212016-04-29T22:01:00.000-06:002016-04-29T22:01:15.780-06:008 ways to win at (my) life! <span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">So there's this <a href="http://www.fourfinelives.com/">sweet little blog</a> I read</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"> that is full of inspiration, wisdom, great hair, and just the cutest little dang kids I can't stand it. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Go there. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Read it. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Be inspired. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Realize that life is beautiful! And that you also want an adorably squishy baby named Avery of your own. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">Then come back here- don't worry, I'll wait! </span><br />
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Back? Great (thanks for coming back!). Hopefully you read one of her last entries that was full of tips on how to keep a hectic life from running amok (which, in case you're wondering, I stared to do all of them, so my life is super peaceful and manageable).</div>
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Reading her post made me wonder what my own tips on running a life would be. As I started to pay attention to my days, I realized that I do actually have some things I've worked on in my own life to keep me happy and balanced. Naturally I thought I'd take a risk and share them here- but with the fair warning: I'm not an expert human, so take all of these with a grain of salt. I know what works for me may very well just be a fluke and not work for you at all. <span style="font-size: 12.8px;">Here we go...</span></div>
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<b>Kaci's Very Own Tips For Being A Functioning Human!</b></div>
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<b> </b>(in no particular order) </div>
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<b>1. Get up early</b>. Yep I said it (and copied Meg's tip). It's true though! So many people say they can't, but really I think it's mostly we won't. My early mornings took a while to get used to but they are normal now. I can get ready for work without chasing children, or read my Bible or even work out (not really)! If you're going to start one good habit his year, I believe this one is worth the most while. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYxXILAqCbdBDBJnrKuOnqDD92AhkasHdQ79FB2GPksNVhAP1l48UBNyHBCMHVKeU0DRV5DuVmCOHFLxhPG-pXSFYuXhxCG_Bh38BuXxA2KbMSMgWBvv-0XML2UTLilLOfnlznrIbQqHg/s1600/IMG_0477.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYxXILAqCbdBDBJnrKuOnqDD92AhkasHdQ79FB2GPksNVhAP1l48UBNyHBCMHVKeU0DRV5DuVmCOHFLxhPG-pXSFYuXhxCG_Bh38BuXxA2KbMSMgWBvv-0XML2UTLilLOfnlznrIbQqHg/s320/IMG_0477.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>how can you not want to wake up to this lazy face?!</i></td></tr>
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<b>2. Compost:</b> we started composting a few months ago. Granted we do it through the city system, so we don't get the fruits of our labor (I don't garden anyway, ol' black thumb here), but it really makes me feel good to know I'm doing some good part in this carbon footprint mess. Also, though, <b>compost your own emotional stuff.</b> Composting is taking organic material and turning it back into usable, earthy stuff right? So compost your emotional and physical "stuff": acknowledge it, process it, and turn it back around to use it for good. Turn it over a few times. Journal (or blog!), exercise, give the leftover love people give to you, to other people. All this feel good, pay it forward stuff pays off, I promise! (and you can trust me, I'm a therapist). </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvS-yrfLaVgBHRGe34GHF8vfXQ6G3YmmlPqGxmyXHwWV3PV9v9cRohALbirhgR9zZpmsxMJthT2k-wlLixi60rrDJEhNjK_ERXZlgZ7HUAi-kcBBTIeA32UEUrwmvbRuMzTcata5cPviM/s1600/IMG_0409.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvS-yrfLaVgBHRGe34GHF8vfXQ6G3YmmlPqGxmyXHwWV3PV9v9cRohALbirhgR9zZpmsxMJthT2k-wlLixi60rrDJEhNjK_ERXZlgZ7HUAi-kcBBTIeA32UEUrwmvbRuMzTcata5cPviM/s320/IMG_0409.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i> 'composting' his own sock</i></td></tr>
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<b>3. Find a routine, but be flexible.</b> Let's face it: we humans are creatures of habits. So, much like tip #1, make a new habit! Get a routine down that has room for wiggles. I think that finding a loose routine allows for some predictably, structure and comfort in what is already a busy and chaotic life. We all have to-do lists 543 miles long, and if you set out each day to check all that off and fit everything in, you're just going to be disappointed. For me, I set up a routine where I know what time I have to focus on my to-do's, like laundry, children, meals, working out. When that time is up, I move on and know tomorrow will hold more space for that. Mine looks like this: each day at home I get up, do coffee and baby bottle, breakfast, then head down to work out. After that is baby nap, pack up for the day, get dressed and head out somewhere fun! Then lunch, naps, and open afternoon. It seems maybe a little predictable but it's so nice to know what's coming and where I can fit things in. </div>
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<b>3b. Flexibility is key </b>though! Some days the kids don't nap or I'd rather die than see <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B01AS6FI02/ref=as_li_tl?ie=UTF8&camp=1789&creative=9325&creativeASIN=B01AS6FI02&linkCode=as2&tag=suzannebowenf-20&linkId=MUIH4YKPRXZUBRVB">Suzanne Bowen do BarreAmped Fire</a> yet again, so we just adjust and do something else. Go with the flow, as they say. But knowing I have a loose routine each helps me feel like all is not lost on flexible days, and I can be so much more relaxed as the flow changes shape. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>this day was born out of flexibility. the joy we got here would have been missed if i didn't go with the flow</i></td></tr>
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4. Feed yourself, both spiritually and physically.</b> Plainly put, eating food makes you less grumpy. I try to get around eating sometimes by being so busy or forgetting or trying to lose weight or being tired of food, but if I'm honest, I'm just such a jerkface when I do that. Also, I'm so TIRED! Like, drag yourself around, lay on the floor and let-your-kids-color-on-you-tired. Food is fuel. Fuel up, people! </div>
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And while we are at it, fuel up your spirit too- doing day in and out hectic stuff will leave you lonely, bored and ready to jump ship for the next exciting place (like I heard there may be cake by ocean someplace, can I go there?!). Find a way to feed your spirit with truth and meaning or purpose. For me, it's Jesus and the Bible. Spending time ingesting this brand of fuel leaves me emotionally recharged, energized, and resets my perspective on life. Ahhhh. But whatever it is for you, find your spirit animal and get your groove on! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjutkwVRaRMUnzUFyz5tDu1qMDr60UhDTVSihd0oCWZgiRLpo52XEEqaMZZqtqwdK34U6xKpuMLdVDVj0JsTr-9SvZ2R_3qPxVbHZeIx_ZAPk4_CmwLZhBmnZFozfks5hGmLNAJeyikZ00/s1600/IMG_8665.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjutkwVRaRMUnzUFyz5tDu1qMDr60UhDTVSihd0oCWZgiRLpo52XEEqaMZZqtqwdK34U6xKpuMLdVDVj0JsTr-9SvZ2R_3qPxVbHZeIx_ZAPk4_CmwLZhBmnZFozfks5hGmLNAJeyikZ00/s320/IMG_8665.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>5. Workout!</b> I know what you're thinking, "I don't have time to work out! I am fine with my body! It's too hard! I'd rather eat my own toenails than get my heart rate up! Please, anything else?" But really guys, our bodies are meant to MOVE. Moving our bodies helps do the stuff everyone says like re-energize, boost metabolism, create a better mental mood, etc. But moving your body also greases up those ol' joints and allows you to practice flexibility, both physically and emotionally. If you switch the focus of your workout to life improvement vs real crazy, unrealistic outcomes, you learn how to enjoy yourself and be flexible. Trust me, I know this. My workouts used to be 1-2 hours in a gym, every day, lifting and cardio, no break. Now I feel lucky for the 25-30 minutes I get in my basement each day, just to be concentrating on a cheap dvd and 10 pound weights. Times have changed, and so has my body (bu-bye flat abs!) but man, I sure am learning how to embrace flexibility and enjoy the time rather than the outcomes.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZRMHMqgZW6tNLL_GWoeKbwdZtKD5WEGIiyOSvGTBBCtfpEub3pwGTnCJJtOU5685WRneiuGE-wvPEOtvrHWTvkjUGKK8azPl-IuJgPdMbjl-TC-eJAhm3I28vDcWzyQ8P41ZCG4ayU0/s1600/Image-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOZRMHMqgZW6tNLL_GWoeKbwdZtKD5WEGIiyOSvGTBBCtfpEub3pwGTnCJJtOU5685WRneiuGE-wvPEOtvrHWTvkjUGKK8azPl-IuJgPdMbjl-TC-eJAhm3I28vDcWzyQ8P41ZCG4ayU0/s320/Image-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>typical mom workout. far cry from 24hr fitness...</i></td></tr>
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<b>6. A</b><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"><b>dopt an authentic heart of servanthood and grace</b>. Life isn't fair. Especially if you're a mom and/or wife. Your workload will always, always seem bigger and better than your spouses or your kids or your friends. So get over it (the sooner the better) and the less resentment you will have. Start serving others for the joy of serving. Learn that everyone is fighting their own battles and you can choose to show up graciously or like an old ogre. You may not be able to control your workload or your lot in life, but you can control how you show up. YOU are the only thing you can control. </span></div>
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<b>7. Relax. Don't do it.</b> Learn to say no. It's just not that big of a deal. This applies to cleaning, stretching yourself too thin, being everything to everyone else and losing your sanity. Even folding laundry when you want to watch a show- all those times! No is a complete sentence. Commit it to memory. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtpgqjFmOJfe1dSIOgFnl_DpnRCn6QvGj_4Xn5bckybYaSZa4V03JY-AtmvdF5zZpxMn1rvSHZgIcY1rFGaHsNyCilAY9cvhT96mmTOgPy1L9Nj53EknP0c72q6d4eoDa1eFpou8ooe4M/s1600/IMG_9646+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtpgqjFmOJfe1dSIOgFnl_DpnRCn6QvGj_4Xn5bckybYaSZa4V03JY-AtmvdF5zZpxMn1rvSHZgIcY1rFGaHsNyCilAY9cvhT96mmTOgPy1L9Nj53EknP0c72q6d4eoDa1eFpou8ooe4M/s320/IMG_9646+%25281%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<b style="font-size: 12.8px;">8. Live in the moment, and notice the small things. </b><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">This, my friend, includes messiness. Life is messy. It's fun. It's more fun the messier it is, I'm learning. If you can't learn how to be present to your moments, I promise you, you will miss the joy of life. If you spend your time</span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> waiting for it to be good all the time, you'll be always waiting. My favorite example of this is kids: they make a mess. They move on. They enjoy. They don't stop to clean up the spilled cheerios or the tipped over milk bottle- they are too busy pushing monster trucks around or turning dishtowels and blankets into forts. That, my friend, is living in the moment. </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3PpxQnRPTRsUoBf4q9LDOsUG1Etv_-5UabcMxwoYYVepU5B95E5dYxcvt7ErxwNk9FEU991hUL7GrjHFDjVueCn3GSTiy4oNX-0DsPuOKOmYC4NCFvJcKD0gwVSACeqsVtgg1O6AdHO8/s1600/IMG_0691.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3PpxQnRPTRsUoBf4q9LDOsUG1Etv_-5UabcMxwoYYVepU5B95E5dYxcvt7ErxwNk9FEU991hUL7GrjHFDjVueCn3GSTiy4oNX-0DsPuOKOmYC4NCFvJcKD0gwVSACeqsVtgg1O6AdHO8/s320/IMG_0691.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>what is easy to see is the big mess on the floor and counter. what is harder to see is the joy: v eating cheerios from the floor with his mouth, and k baking in his inside out undies. these are my kind of favorite small moments. </i></td></tr>
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Ok there you have it. I've blogged your ears off (your eyes off? I mean, how do you say that?)</div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">I can only hope that one of this ideas hit close to home for you or was something you just needed to hear today. But even if not, it was still a </span> good compost session for me. ;)</div>
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klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-17195653162249093762016-04-24T20:59:00.004-06:002016-04-24T21:04:20.678-06:00Behind Closed Doors<div style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">
i know it's like, totally spring-fever time, but for whatever reason we are going to talk about fall and scary movies today. so just go with it. </div>
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each time halloween rolls around, it puts husband and I in a super festive, fall mood. i get very lovey and nostalgic about yellow school buses, falling leaves and carving orange pumpkins (note the absence of pumpkin spice latte excitement- i do <i>not</i> like those drinks). i love the memories i have around back to school, Halloween parties, the weather turning crisp and cool. husband, on the other hand, (oblivious to all this nostalgic fall crap), gets super stoked about Halloween, scary things and... scary movies. specifically because this is the ONE time a year i, (the super scaredy weenie cat that I am), will maybe watch a scary movie with him.</div>
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and let's be honest here: my level of fear about scary movies and, basically nothing, is ridiculous. REE. DICK. U. LOUS. But SO REAL! every single time (even in the free zone of october) husband asked to watch a scary movie, I threaten him with endless loads of laundry. like this:</div>
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me: "what do you want to watch tonight honey? i'm in the mood for something light and funny or complicated and artistic!" [i never say that actually but let's pretend i do].</div>
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husband: "how about a scary movie?" </div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">me: (entering into irrational freak out/high pitched voice mode just considering what he is suggesting): "what is wrong with you? no scary movies! i hate scary movies! you know this! no way! you're ridiculous." (pause) "fine. fine. fine! i'll watch a scary movie with you. but you'll have to laundry for at least the rest of the month because the laundry room is in the basement and i'm never going down there again after a scary movie. you'll actually have to do everything in the basement for the rest of our lives. so what movie do you want to watch?"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">anyway. that whole tangent to tell you that i, by nature, am a super scaredy cat and i hate scary things- and scary things to me are the unknown. anything i don't know, like monsters in the dark or sharks in the murky water or a pregnancy actually being twins... those are all unknown, uncharted territories that scare the bejesus out of me </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">so imagine my <i>utter excitement and pleasure</i> when my husband discovered he's developed this basically medically-unknown, long-lasting, chronic-pain diagnosis with his skin. a diagnosis ("topical steroid addiction/withdrawal, or red skin syndrome for those who care) that the medical community basically poo-poos and treats with the medication that perpetuates it. a condition so debilitating that most days, given his choice, husband will sit in our bed, wrapped tightly in a few sheets and slathered in burn gel and every known numbing medication/lotion/potion/cream known to man, hyped on vicodin and whiskey to dull the pain, for hours, just to make the day bearable. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">yeah, you guessed it. i'm <i>stoked</i> for this! YAY! unknown! </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">the reality is, we are both scared to death. scared of how he will physically endure this trial of constant pain and misery (prognosis is 6-24 months!). scared of how it will affect our children, and our day to day lives. scared of how to keep a household of four people going with one pivotal person missing. scared of how he shows up to work each day when e'd rather curl up in a ball and cry. and mostly, scared- so, so, scared- of what happens to our intimate, loving marriage when the bulk of our life's business falls on one person and the other is basically trying to survive. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">when it's bad (at least once a day), husband is in bed, behind our closed bedroom door. i'm in the living room, kitchen, baby room or bathroom (aside: potty training sucks!), fending off the kids need for daddy time. each time the kids ask for him or i go to the bathroom or baby room, i see our closed door and am flooded with the feelings of sympathy, loneliness, sorrow, fear, and overwhelm.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px;">and if we are honest, (and i always strive to be), intimacy and vulnerability is not borne out of loneliness, sorrow, and fear. it's not fostered and nurtured in resentment, rejection, distant communication and constant balancing of fairness. and that is precisely what grows between us in seasons like this.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">and while i am no <a href="http://brenebrown.com/">brene brown</a>, i </span><i style="font-size: 12.8px;">do</i><span style="font-size: 12.8px;"> know that every successful marriage is built on some form of vulnerability, intimacy, and communication. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">which then, of course, leads me to wonder: HOW ARE WE GOING TO DO THIS?! we need to survive this! we need, nay WANT!, to stay married! and happy, and in love, and joyous.... w<i>hat are we to do?! </i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">enter jesus (thank GOD. like, literally). </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">i read this verse the other day, that while simple, spoke like a lightning bolt to my soul: </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">"i am counting on the Lord, yes I am counting on him. I have put my hope in his word. I long for the Lord more than sentries long for the dawn, yes more than sentries long for the dawn. O Israel</span><span style="font-size: 12.8px;">, hope in the Lord; for with the Lord there is unfailing love. His redemption overflows." <i>(p</i></span><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); font-size: 12.8px;"><i>s</i></span><i style="font-size: 12.8px;">alm 130:5-8)</i></div>
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so how do i/we get through this season? hope. how do we hold on to what we don't see? hope. how do we overcome resentment, feelings of unfairness, and loneliness? hope. </div>
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we... i... we hope. i count on the Lord that my husband will be healed. i count on the Lord that He loves us so much- unfailingly so!- that we will be redeemed of this illness but also this yucky, unfortunate time in our marriage. </div>
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i hold hope in the Lord to heal us, and i also hold hope in the Lord to give us what we desperately need: unfailing love and overflowing redemption. it's not perfect- hope is not my love language by anyone's stretch of imagination!- but it's something i can work on. it's a project i can work on. i can't heal my husband. i can't change our circumstances. but i can hope. and revile in God's unfailing love and overflowing redemption. </div>
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and i hope that for you, when you look at your own closed door, you can pour your hope into the Lord and find the unfailing flow of love and redemption He has for you. </div>
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but don't think this means i'm ready to watch a scary movie.... </div>
klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-70470315978112441122016-04-20T11:27:00.000-06:002016-04-24T20:11:50.330-06:00a mama kind of morning. <span style="background-color: rgba(255 , 255 , 255 , 0); color: rgb(69 , 69 , 69); font-family: "uictfonttextstylebody"; font-size: 19px;">As you seasoned mamas out there know, life with kids can easily start to fall into a relatively predictable pattern; after a few months in this big world, babies start to "get their poop in a group" [i.e. get their s*** together] and life starts to structure around their natural rhythms. Praise Jesus, amiright?! (New parents, take heart! It WILL HAPPEN!)</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">In my house, I see (and cherish!) this specifically in the mornings: my kiddos have a very predictable waking time, which means I get to choose how productive I want to get up and be before they greet the day with their melodic shouts of waking joy (or, more accurately, their whimpering, nasal-y cries of neediness). </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><i>Side note: just because I have the predictable choice every morning, doesn't mean I make good choices. Most mornings, I choose none. None mornings of productivity before the small dictators of the house awake. I lay in bed, hanging onto the wee moments of peace and sleepiness where I can pretend my life is not run by cute but utterly demanding</i> <i>minuscule people). </i></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Once, though, this one time (yesterday), I did choose to get up (aka move my body to a slightly inclined position), grab some coffee and READ MY BIBLE in bed while waiting for awakening babes. Miracles of all miracles! And that one time, I stumbled upon this verse, which struck a chord: </span></div>
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"...I don't concern myself with matters too great or too awesome to grasp. Instead I have calmed and quieted myself, like a weaned child who no longer cries for its mother's milk. Yes, like a weaned child is my soul within..." Psalm 131:1-2</div>
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Weaned child? Mother's milk? Ew. For whatever reason this imagery just grossed me out. So naturally, I re-read the verse a few more times and asked God to help me understand WITW was going on here. </div>
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What I immediately thought, of course, was of my own little world and connection to babies and milk. This is actually super relevant right now: my youngest is one year old (sob!!) in two weeks and with that comes the ability to wean him off the bottle/formula he drinks every day. It's a daunting task on the surface, but I've started to notice he's actually sort of doing it himself. Each morning over the last few weeks he has woken me up with babbles ("Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Hi! Ya ya ya! Hi!" .... <i>Sooooo </i>cute) instead of wailing hunger pains. He's tossed his morning bottle to the side before he's finished it, instead turning to play with me or look for his brother. </div>
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Not only is it adorable to wake up to, but it's relieving. It reminds me to trust his process, and to see that he trusts me. A newborn wakes up with urgency, hunger, immediacy: he needs milk and needs it NOW. His belly has digested his last feeding and needs more, there's no time to wait! (middle of the night feelings, anyone?!) </div>
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A weaned, growing baby is a relief to a mama; there is less urgency. His belly is big enough to hold his night feeding til morning (yay sleep!) and he is contented with enough knowledge and security to know that I will come to him and he will be satiated. Dare I say a weaned baby is on the verge of a small, baby-sized does of maturity?! </div>
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Reading this verse, while thinking of my baby still in bed and waiting for his wakening cries made me think: this is exactly how I want to be with the Lord: <span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Contented. Trusting. Knowing my meal will be provided for. Being mature and developed enough to hold trust between each encounter I have with the Lord. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">"I don't concern myself with matters to great or too awesome to grasp..." It says. I am not sure about you, but right now I'm <i><b>for sure</b></i> in a life season that is too "great" to grasp right now. I don't know why people around me are sick and struggling; I don't know why I am being called to serve beyond what feels like my capacity; I don't know why we can't catch a simple rhythm in our daily lives. It's too great for me to grasp, in all honesty. And if I try to figure it out, spend my time making sense of it all and trying to understand it, I drive myself crazy. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Instead, this moment and verse reminded me I need to trust: to turn to my God and settle into the calm and quiet His way provides. He has shown up time and time again in my life- in so many ways that I could not even fathom or make sense of at the time- but he has shown up. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And he will again. And again. And again! Just like I show up, every morning, again, with loving arms and a full bottle for my own baby. </span></div>
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klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-86572272302993656182016-04-11T22:27:00.000-06:002016-04-12T06:49:38.072-06:00O.O.M.C.life is hard sometimes, you know?<br><br>well, if you're reading this, my guess is that you're a human, so i <i>know </i>you know that. being a human is super tough. this is one of our universal truths that connects us all in human-ness.<br><br>i think right now what is really the most challenging for my little brain to understand is the idea of controlling the tough human stuff: what is actually within my sphere of influence, and what is out of my control (OOMC). and then, once i make that distinction, riddle me this: how do i saddle up for the ride of the un-controllable things that are inevitably going to come?<br><br>for instance: my current out-of-my-control things involve big ticket items like: my mom in the middle of intense cancer treatment; my husband going through a very difficult and debilitating skin condition that doctors dismiss; trying to decide how to transition from working mom to stay at home mom and back again each week; having two small children that do NOTHING i want them to when i want them to (naps, anyone?! please? pretty please with a cherry on top?).<br><br>i also have a myriad of small, inane things i can't control: the worry over my baby boy's incessant crying- is it because we decided to wean him off hypoallergenic formula too early? or maybe the fever he woke up with today? or the four teeth he has coming in? then there's this baby pink nail polish dribbled in a long, splotchy line over the <i>one</i> and only (expensive) rug we have in the whole stupid house (my toddler <i>needed</i> to paint his toenails in the two point five seconds i stepped away to throw something in the trash). i also have these two swollen eyelids that are apparently suddenly allergic to my life, and i look like a really awesome stoner mom all day. i am <i>still </i>waiting for license plates that just won't come in the mail, even after i paid an arm and a leg for them, and the temp tag on my car is expired by, like, 452 months past the grace period, and i just *fingers crossed* reeeeeally hope i don't get pulled over every day i drive.... etc. etc.<br><br>so. many. things!<br><br>all the things!<br><br>i can't control a single one! lord help me.<br><br>lately, it's been difficult to not dwell on the list of OOMC things and come to a sort of justified conclusion that i <i>need</i> to drink a bottle of wine tonight - and every night- til kingdom come and things finally get back into my control. however, let's be honest: i've put in some research in the last few months and learned that drinking a whole bottle of anything doesn't put anything back into my control and lately (because i'm old as dirt), it just gives me a raging headache the next day as i work through that day's out-of-my-control problems.<br><br>so let's just go drink wine anyway and call it a day. who's with me??<br><br>bueller?<br><br>i guess this is where i'd love to insert some amazingly sage wisdom that makes everyone feel like they just figured out the secret to life and can now control all their out-of-my-control problems. wouldn't that be great? sorry (notsorry) but i actually don't have that wisdom.<br><br>i could tell you some things that i feel like give me some semblance of control or relief from no control (praying, running, laughing, wine <i>in moderation </i>(most times)<i>, </i>Jesus, calling friends, blogging, praying, knitting, staring at walls, sitting in a locked bathroom alone for like three minutes, praying, etc), but those are sort of distractions and really just serve to release some tension. they don't solve much.<br><br>i think i found two things that allow me to actually sit with the discomfort of being out of control (and therefore are the answers to my world right now, and i should probably make sure to re-read this later to take my own advice).<br><br>one: remembering the stuff that makes life awesome. because most of that is out of my control too, and i couldn't make it better if i tried. for me, a lot of that is the stuff surrounding my kids do during the day (insert vomit/"she's talking about her kids again" emoji here please). like today, i said to my husband, " i didn't mean that in a condescending way" and my two year old ran around naked, yelling, "condescending way! condescending way! condescending way!". or when my one year old intentionally walks up to me with a poker face and then points at me with his chubby little hand and smiles so big, from the bottom of this toes to the top of his head. or the light of the sun setting as we walk back from the library and ice cream store, pulling my little dudes in our red wagon and holding my husband's hand. i can't control any of that stuff but man, it melts my heart.<br><br>and, take heart, you with no children! not all of it is kid stuff, either- some of this happens at work, too. like when my clients make big break throughs or changes that i can see radically improve their lives. or when i hold the newborn baby of a client that came in initially because she thought she'd never be loved by anyone, let alone get married and have a baby. i don't get to control what my clients do in their time away from our sessions, but when i see it working and them finding joy, i can't help but relish in the mysterious nature of life that i cannot control nor predict.<br><br>the second solution for me is: perspective. reminding myself and surrounding myself with other people. because they also have out of their control problems. and some of them are so much smaller, and some of them are so much bigger, and all of us together can connect over the same feeling of being out of control. for instance: there's this blogger/writer/beautiful woman i recently started following (ie stalking, like a total creeper) on instagram and her blog. on the surface, she has the most beautiful life, in photos and in writing. but if you look closely, you learn that that beauty is made up of mothering three adorable kiddos, two of which are medically fragile, and one of which she was told would probably not even been born alive. as i read through the chronicles of her life and admire her simple, bright pictures, i am in <i>awe</i> that someone that has had so many seemingly discouraging and life-changing out of control problems has such a beautiful, hopeful perspective on life. she has taken her out-of-my-control prob;ems and embraced them, lived them, loved through them.<br><br>and i don't have to find people that only have bigger problems than mine to gain perspective. every single person i do life with has their own story they are trying to write, fraught with plot twists and antagonists, pit falls and broken story lines. we are all just these humans, with broken things happening to and around us. rather than trying to compare, rather than trying to isolate myself and tell myself that my stuff is 'so bad' and i 'just can't handle it', i have to immerse myself in others to see that i'm not alone in my out-of-my-control feelings. it's a healing that's hard to beat, learning that you're not alone (even if you're the only one with a pink nail polished rug).<br><div><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-Y7NHaRODehU/Vwzu4D600eI/AAAAAAAAAeM/hARO-wHMqPk/I/photo_87888.jpg" border="0" class="bloggoimg"></div><br><br> <br><br><br><br>klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-16469126032879411732016-02-04T23:23:00.000-07:002016-02-04T23:23:21.322-07:00Cancer sucksit's been awhile. hi. hello. <br />
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i've been meaning to write (so they all say). no really, i have (come on, be original here). it's just that mom-ing two small humans with minds of their owns takes SO. MUCH. ENERGY.<br />
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says every mom in the world.<br />
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and all spare energy goes to either trying to lose baby weight or drinking wine. one is not necessarily inclusive of the other, but... oh well.<br />
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the reason i'm really back though, is this: my blog is my therapist. sometimes. i mean, i have an actual live therapist (how i love her, dear Bobbie...) but honestly, when i can't make time for her to work, my blog and writing is the most therapeutic thing i can think to do.<br />
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why do i need therapy these days? small kids, you guess.<br />
well, sure. that's a great reason to go to a shrink. if nothing else to have an hour without small humans needing you to do something for them, like feed them or wipe their butts.<br />
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but it's more than that this time. see, the reality is, my mom- my nearest and dearest friend of a lifetime, my security and safety- well, she has cancer.<br />
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and not just cancer. like real live, stage 3c ovarian-not-fucking-around cancer.<br />
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and it's so scary.<br />
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can i tell you how scary it is? it's like the thought of losing the most important person to you. not just losing, but like, MISSING and NOT HAVING the best person in the whole world there, to hear you cry and laugh, to guide you along, to steer you right, to impart wisdom, and just the freakin' mom of your dreams to hug you. it's as scary as losing all of that in a fell swoop.<br />
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and want to know something else? it's not fair. it's just not fucking fair. i'm gonna be honest here- my mom comes from a super f'd up family. and hear me here: i'm a mental health clinician, i have heard of f'd up families and i know everyone is to an extent, but some more so than others. so when i say my mom comes from a <i>super f'd up family, </i>i am <b>not</b> joking around. so when the best thing to come out of her family gets diagnosed with a cancer that has a 39% or so survival rate (and survival means living 5 years here), i tell you, it's not fucking fair.<br />
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i'm struggling a little. mostly to wrap my head around all of this. to integrate the story of 'my mom has cancer' into the story of my life. reality is, though, that's a small struggle in the grand scheme of what's going on. my struggle is how do i accept my mom has cancer, and my mom's struggle is, 'how do i accept that i have cancer and am holed up in a hospital for a week missing most of my insides because i have cancer?". if i'm honest, i'd chose my struggle.<br />
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and here's the real scoop, folks, listen up: WE HAVE JESUS ON OUR SIDE. and before you poo-poo this idea, let me tell you: HE WINS BATTLES. and that is what we need right now. we have shared mom's news with people, and i have never felt more overwhelmed with love and prayers and text messages and LOVE than i have like now. and i know that's because my mom emulates Jesus, and i know that means we have Jesus behind us. i mean prayer- it's such a cliche but really, talking to the God that created the universe? i am sure He could find some time to help a sister out down here.<br />
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and the cool part? he HAS. like, SO MUCH. she has only been out of surgery about 24 hours, and been diagnosed less than three weeks, and she is cancer free in her body, and moving about, and out of the ICU. i mean, AWESOME. she's doing great.<br />
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so we have cancer here.<br />
but we have Jesus.<br />
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and while it sucks (more than anything i've ever imagined) to accept the former, i also KNOW the latter, so i'm 1000% confident we will be ok.<br />
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praise.<br />
the.<br />
lord!<br />
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<br />klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-87384247410222537012015-01-27T11:46:00.000-07:002015-01-27T11:46:28.164-07:00go eat pies....<br />
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so for my baby shower a while back, i requested that guests bring books as gifts or cards. i really wanted to stock up on the baby's library, and have lots of fun options to read to my little one. i especially loved the idea of having my friends favorite childhood books as a gift to my new little reader. side note: if you're in the mood to take advice and needing a baby shower idea, i would highly recommend organizing this for a mama-to-be. it's been such a blessing- we got so many books, many of which i would have never thought to purchase myself!<br />
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one of my many favorites has to be a little 'It's a Small World' set from my friend Michelle... four little board books with super colorful illustrations that introduce a little diversity into my monkey-head's little world. i like them because a of all, monkey-head loves them. b of all, they are thin and book-like, c, they are colorful, and d, they actually have real words (even sentences!) that make sense and don't get stuck in my head.<br />
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now don't get me wrong, i love that 'hippos go berserk' and animals have 'barnyard dances' and nonsensical stuff like that (thank you sandra boynton!) but seriously, sometimes a mom needs a little reality in her life: i don't love it when husband tells monkey-head to, 'stomp your feet' and i finish his sentence with 'clap your hands, everybody ready for a BARNYARD DANCE!' and break into a do-si-do.<br />
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enter 'It's a Small World' here...<br />
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the way these little books work is each title introduces the 'theme' of the book, and each page introduces a new country and a generic association to that country, matching the theme. </div>
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let's look at 'let's eat' for example:</div>
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first we visit france, where, obviously, pierre is going to eat bread and cheese:</div>
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then we go to china, where ling should, of course, eat noodles:</div>
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off to mexico, where everyone knows rosa should eat quesadillas at every meal:</div>
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then we whisk away to italy, for a hearty dish of spaghetti and meatballs with dario: </div>
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lastly, we get to visit america, where good ol' katie eats nothing but PIES:</div>
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wait wait WAIT a minute- PIES?? i mean seriously. i'm not saying that everyone in france eats bread and cheese every day, and that mexicans view quesadillas as a staple to their daily diet, but come on- at least all the previously mentioned food items are all <i>meal-worthy</i>. why oh why does fat ol' katie eat dessert for lunch? now, i get it on the surface: pies are quintessential americana, especially if they are made of apples, and it fits in with the somewhat generic food theme. but for goodness sake. if dario gets a hearty dinner and ling gets to slurp up yummy asian noodles for lunch, why can't katie at least eat hamburgers? or macaroni and cheese? or chicken nuggets? or something that at least consists of a meal? why is she eating dessert when everyone else in the book gets something substantial?</div>
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i know, i know. i need to get over it. it's a kid's book for goodness sake, and i doubt my monkey-headed son is going to start asking for pie for dinner because that's what american katie eats. i need to just move on. but for some reason whenever we get to this page, i read it with such disdain, such mocking tones in my voice. sometimes i even read it with my fat girl voice, like i'm too busy stuffing my own face with pie to read it clearly. </div>
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now that i've ranted, i can move on. i just had to share my loathing for katie and her pies with the world so i could get over it, and move on to being irked by other stupid things, like why a turkey wearing a yellow hat and purple socks diving into a pool constitutes an 'oops' when a chicken wearing the same outfit but different colors is totally fine. or why three pigs sing 'la la la'. or why the animals bathe and brush their teeth and <i>then</i> exercise before bed (again, thank you sandra boynton!). </div>
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ps don't read kid books with expectations </div>
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<br />klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-55510797190339005002014-12-20T11:45:00.001-07:002014-12-20T11:51:43.757-07:00not just another hat rack, my friend... <div style="text-align: right;">
<i>warning: this post is on the serious, long side. </i></div>
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do you ever stalk yourself on the internet? like, sometimes look at your facebook profile like you're a stranger, and try to see it through their eyes? or google yourself? or look at your instagram feed and try to determine what other people see in you when they look at it? well, i have a confession. i do this. sometimes a lot. i don't know what this means about me-it probably means i'm a deep narcissist and really messed up and self involved and you should probably stop reading right now... or maybe it just means i'm normal? i don't know. i just know i do it, and it feels good to admit it.<br />
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having a blog adds a slighter deeper dimension to self stalking- it's not just quick glances at pictures or profiles, but almost a time capsule. my old posts capture where i was, who i was with, what i was thinking, and how i was experiencing life over a span of time. jackpot for self-stalking!</div>
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i had the best of intention to write the other night, but inadvertently got caught up in stalking myself ... i was working on a post about mice (ah, MICE! insert fist shake here) and wanted to remember what i had already written about my on-off again relationship with the furry little pests. so i found an old entry, and starting reading, and the next thing you know, i'm too tired to move my fingers or craft a sentence, and i've spent all my writing time reading my own blog. and before i turned off my computer, i recognized this weird tingly feeling inside, deep in my heart and belly. i couldn't name it, but knew it was familiar... yet foreign. a few minutes later as i nestled into bed and closed my eyes, the name of the feelings flitted across my minds eye: nostalgia. missing. longing. </div>
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i had sort of danced with these feelings a few days earlier, when i had attended a women's event at our church. it was a night of honest confessions, beginning connections, lots of pie and hot chocolate (what women's event is complete without chocolate?!). it was so easy: i had been asked to be a table host, which meant bring a pie and talk to girls. it had been so real: i spent the night meeting new women and talking to old friends. it had been so raw: i heard an amazing testimony of an old friend. and all these easy, real, raw-ness reminded of what it was like to connect -truly connect- with no intention or agenda other than to be the person across from you. i used to do this a lot, a few years ago: spend time with other women in my life, being real and honest and unexpecting. and they used to do this with me. i left this night with a full heart and a questioning mind: why can't i feel fed like this more often? again, i felt nostalgia, longing, missing. </div>
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a few days after blog-stalking and hanging with church girls, with all these weird little feelings tucked inside my heart, i had a spontaneous heart to heart with a great friend over the phone. she, being such a good friend, is always so good at asking me where my heart is. i started talking- just spilling words out, not knowing the direction i was going. a few minutes in, she said, 'well, it sounds like you really cherish a place where you are just <i>you</i>, and not anybody else'. and while this sentence seems silly on the surface, it hit somewhere deep inside, really close to my hidden feelings of nostalgia and longing and missing. </div>
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now don't get me wrong: i love my life.<br />
so.<br />
very<br />
inexplicably.<br />
much.<br />
i am so blessed, literally beyond measure: i have the best husband in the world; i have an amazingly sweet and loving son (did i mention he's also adorable?); we have another baby coming to be ours in May; i have a job i love and <i>get</i> to do three days a week, and four other days a week i <i>get</i> to hang out with my family. i can't put into words how much i love my life- i'm not trying to brag, i'm just trying to find a small, tiny way to tell you how much i love what i have. </div>
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but what i've come to realize in the past week or so is that so many of the areas of my life require a specific identity: wife, mother, professional, friend. mentor. daughter/sister. etc. etc. now, i realize this is common and everyone wears some variance of all these hats- some more, some less. my experience of wearing many hats is not unique to me, by any means. and the realization of the hat-wearing is not actually the challenge. the actual challenge is figuring out how these feelings of nostalgia, longing and missing fit into all these hats. it makes me question what am i missing? what am i longing and nostaglic for? </div>
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me. </div>
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in all the hats i wear, i can't identify one that has just MY name on it, nothing more. when i read my old blogs, i see a me that has no role, no hat, no expectation. a me that just shows up and thinks about life and experiences. when i go to the church event and spend time with women, i feel a me that is just showing up and has no expectation, no hat, no role: just wanting to show up and connect in a real, raw way that feeds me as ME, not me as a mom, not me as a wife, not me as a professional, not even me as a christian. </div>
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i am longing, missing and nostalgic for the place in my life that is just me. no one needing, no one expecting, no one feeding into me, and no one i am feeding into. i had this place, this me, so well defined before. of course, it's easier to do when you're single and get to do life on <i>your</i> terms, not incorporating other people's terms. i'm not saying life is better single (because that ain't easy, amiright?!) and, i'm not saying i don't love my hats, because i do! i chose these roles, and i LOVE them. </div>
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i think all i am saying is that i need to find a hat with my name on it. i need a space to just show up. and because i've had it, i know that hat is somewhere on this hat rack... i know it fills my heart and rejuvenates me and refreshes me for other areas of my life. and me space looks different, each day. some days it means gym time, some days it means going out with friends. some days, like today, it means telling the husband i'll be back in an hour and just going to the local coffeeshop with my computer and a half-caf latte and writing about whatever i want. </div>
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i need a place where no one is tugging on me, physically or emotionally. where i can just show up and be who God has created me to be, and nothing more. i have been missing this in my soul, and i'm just realizing and putting a name to what this longing, missing nostalgia feeling is. and i believe everyone needs this. i read so many blogs and books and devotionals directed towards women, trying to help them find a balance. and you know what they all have in common? not losing ourselves. not letting life turn us into a hat rack to hold all the roles we have to fulfill, but creating our own hat, labeled with our name only, and finding time to wear that hat and that hat alone. </div>
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i've come to believe we are not going to find a perfect balance of family, self, gym time, healthy eating, going out and staying in, and dog walking. it's going to be a constant juggle, a constant rotation of hats and roles. my only words of advice (to myself mostly) are: don't forget to wear your own hat.</div>
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klghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00264245509617619788noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-57185003922743860622014-11-10T21:50:00.004-07:002014-11-10T21:50:43.157-07:00the keeper of things<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>...sticks and stones and graham crackers</i></div>
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as the mother of a toddler, i am learning how to look at the world through a new lens. not just in the 'oh my gosh, isn't the world a miracle once you experience the joy of a small baby?' lens (although yes, i do have that), but i mean a lens that's a little smaller, and seemingly less epic. let me explain... </div>
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i am 5'8". i've been this tall since maybe... 8th grade? so, for like, 1000 years, i've been this height and experienced the world at this (literal) level. my crazy, monkey-head of a son is 2'6" tall. that's a full three foot difference- which is a lot when you think of it. and i didn't think of it much, honestly, until i started to really watch him walk around our house, and pay attention to what he pays attention to. a three foot difference creates a very different lens through which to view every day life.</div>
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and what i have found is that there are lots of little, fascinating things that i take for granted- hanging dish towels on the stove handle, or extra toilet paper stacks next to the toilet, or even boxes on the floor, full of out-grown clothes. each of these examples i have seen my son look at with marvel, and adopt into a fun new toy or experience that only he can understand as awesome. just today, i watched him wander into the kitchen, waving a squash racket, walk around me, and then walk out of the kitchen just as fast as he came. and as he walked out, passing by the stove, he nonchalantly-without missing a beat- moved the racket to his right hand, grabbed the red dish towel with his left hand, and continued on his merry way, waving both of his new found objects in the air, yelling.</div>
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later in the morning, as i got ready for work, i looked down at him playing under the pedestal sink and realized he was fascinated with, and yelling at, the silver cylinder that holds extra rolls of toilet paper. upon closer inspection, i realized that he had managed to shove all of his (now crumbled) graham crackers through the hole of the cardboard rolls, along with one of my tubes of lipgloss and more shreds of toilet paper. </div>
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last saturday, i watched him (valiantly) fight his afternoon nap on the video monitor. i watched as he pulled off his own pair of pants and then reach through the slats of his crib to a small, cardboard box in the corner, full of all the clothes he has outgrown. i watched him throw his discarded pants out of the crib, and then systematically pull in pieces of clothing, one at a time, and wave them around his head like a parachute. also yelling. </div>
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and let's be honest. the fascination that toddlers have with new things does not stop at small, unnoticed treasures in your home. i have watched him find the smallest, tiniest things to make his toys. and as an attentive parent, i have also realized that these small tiny things are not only toys, but amazing choking hazards. so many of these things end up in my pants pockets by the end of the day. discarded bottle caps, dirt, small sticks, small wrappers, dirt, tags to clothes, leaves, dirt, dog food, and dirt have all been chosen by my little monkey head as amazing, new-found trinkets of joy. did i mention he loves to eat dirt? </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfmt7q931KDqR6Bu53lMjmoATsTGl_5IE8Ss_NKuQFx-PgEbXztIBYmmohVkengjgnrPDliV0Bqfl3sb9Q2XlzqOeelLOJW8YEw8Iv2gUYhsYk_TyPBF1lyqP0YhS7MannM21NL6XAgB7q/s1600/IMG_1558.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfmt7q931KDqR6Bu53lMjmoATsTGl_5IE8Ss_NKuQFx-PgEbXztIBYmmohVkengjgnrPDliV0Bqfl3sb9Q2XlzqOeelLOJW8YEw8Iv2gUYhsYk_TyPBF1lyqP0YhS7MannM21NL6XAgB7q/s1600/IMG_1558.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
all of this wonder and merriment is more than just entertainment (which<i> i</i> believe it really is). it's truly a captivating blessing to watch a small, new little human discover the world around him. i can't get enough of watching him learn things like how to stick a plastic spoon through the appropriate size hole, or chase ice around the kitchen floor with his mouth, or work out this new 'exchange system' he's begun where he brings one object into a room (say, a baseball hat), and leaves it in place of the new object (tupperware) he decides he must leave the room with. i laugh with my whole heart when i think of what his little mind must be thinking when he leaves me tupperware in my pajama drawer, or waves a towel over his head in the living room, or can't get enough of the remote in his small mouth because apparently he <i>needs</i> it in there. </div>
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so this new lens leaves me blessed and awed and lighthearted. and really, he's created a good exchange system here too: he is the discoverer of new things- a small but long tube that fits all his cookies, or a new red flag in the kitchen. and i get to be the keeper of these things- cookies in toilet paper rolls or sticks and bottle caps in my jeans. and all these little things i get to keep all add up to an amazing, enviable collection of the unique, quirky little joys that come with raising a small but mighty little human. and i am so grateful to be the keeper of things. </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-12055861579865538852014-11-07T21:09:00.000-07:002014-11-07T21:10:05.149-07:00what to expect<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>...when you're expecting. again. </i></div>
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<i><br /></i></div>
husband and i are not necessarily known to be slow movers. his enthusiasm and inherent trust in the goodness of the world, combined with my somewhat compulsive, "just do it" attitude, has led us to be a good, but fast-moving match. so it wasn't a surprise to anyone when we got engaged after only 7 months of dating, and then had (what i learned most people consider) a 'quick', 7 month engagement. and it only seemed natural that 7 months after we tied the knot, we decided that we wanted to try our hand at parenting, and i got pregnant.<br />
<br />
of course, because pregnancy lasts approximately 9.6 months (which, sidenote soapbox: i logically round up to 10, and am still baffled about what doctor agreed to trick everyone to thinking we are only pregnant for a mere 9 months? those last weeks are the longest, and might as well be years.... ok, stepping off the soapbox now). anyway, because a full pregnancy lasts longer than 7 months, we broke our 7 month streak, and had to wait a whole 39 weeks for the next big change in our life.<br />
<br />
that change was our first born son, whom i lovingly refer to as 'my little monkey head'. he arrived on the scene and changed our lives. and as cliche as it sounds, it was the most amazing, magical, profound, awesome, life change we could have ever have imagined. which i think contributed to us slowing down our need for the next change. i mean, a baby is a lot to get the hang of... amiright?!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_tOFHZ-8T4bLujtnJyZXKrUTau-o9J0ykwuQQOPSUs19cWrfn4iWsfSQhqAR-6qxTRtdNC8ylhlnoG81HY29sGXJC2Id41ksZ8N7_7W7zUaL5RH-aLkHIvApQ6c5f2Y-F_9PWZTNM-HEK/s1600/monkey.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_tOFHZ-8T4bLujtnJyZXKrUTau-o9J0ykwuQQOPSUs19cWrfn4iWsfSQhqAR-6qxTRtdNC8ylhlnoG81HY29sGXJC2Id41ksZ8N7_7W7zUaL5RH-aLkHIvApQ6c5f2Y-F_9PWZTNM-HEK/s1600/monkey.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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however, about 10 months into little monkey head's new little life, we got that familiar itch. that "wouldn't it be fun if..." itch. and us being, well... us... we went ahead and scratched that itch and guess what? baby #2, whom i affectionately call 'G2' is now on it's way.<br />
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and with a baby comes a belly. and with a belly comes the awkward, "oh hey. looks like you ate chipotle for lunch. and second lunch. and third lunch. actually, are you just hiding a small horde of burritos inside your shirt? if so, can i have one? i'm starving." so to avoid this shame inducing conversation, i prefer to announce my pregnancy to those that choose to care- or stare at my belly. you know, just so they don't try to get in on any burrito action that me, as a hungry pregnant lady, may have hoarded away for a late morning snack.<br />
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so with an announcement comes a reaction. and in my experience, the first go-round reactions were so special. they were so genuine and full of excitement and well-wishes and just authentic happiness that it made me glow from the inside out (sidenote #2: i believe this could be the source of that pregnancy 'glow' they always talk about).<br />
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so when it came time to announce #2 was an actual baby and <i>not</i> a burrito, i was naively expecting similar reactions.<br />
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however, to my chagrin and actual surprising disappointment, the most common reaction i have received is, "oh congratulations! <i>was it planned?</i>"<br />
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now i admit on the surface that sounds relatively harmless; possibly even merely inquisitive. and if it was only a good friend or two asking me this in a deep, one-on-one conversation, i would possibly consider this a reasonable question. but honestly, when a mere acquaintance/coworker/ stander-by asks me this, i am oddly yet truly offended. "<i>was it planned?"</i> feels not only like a nosy dig into my possibly raucous sex life, but it also implies that it is sort of your business... and i can't help but hear judgement about my choice somewhere in the depths of that.<br />
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now i get it: well-intended people ask many questions without realizing the possible offensive nature of them- things like, "why are you single? when are you going to get engaged? when are you going to have children? when are you doing to have another kid? what do you do all day without your kids?" can all be innocent yet hurtful questions to someone that is desperately wanting to date, or waiting on engagement, or struggling with infertility, or feeling pressure to have but not actually wanting kids, or finds fulfillment in being a stay-at-home wife/spouse. and, i also know that some pregnancies are actually very unplanned; even the most mature, plan-ahead people have gotten pregnant on accident.<br />
<br />
i guess it's not just the question that's offensive (since when did the business of my sex life, family planning-or possible lack thereof-become anyone's personal business?) but it's also the inherent, underlying judgement in assuming that there is some sort of 'right' way and time to do things, and i'm bending the norm. if i'm pregnant again, and i'm asked <i>'was it planned?'</i>, i hear "oh. so you didn't wait long. they are going to be close together- do you know that? you're not supposed to do that. do you know you're crazy? you must not have planned that because sane people don't have children so close in age. yes, that's it. must not be planned."<br />
<br />
and i will also readily admit that this question hits on some of my own insecurities, which makes me bristle even more. while i am fine with the fast-moving nature of my husband and me mentioned above, i am also a little scared that we bit off more than we can chew with this new baby. so when you essentially ask me if i 'planned' this ensuing craziness of two young children, i panic inside a little. "did i plan this?now i don't know! was this a horrible idea? did we do this wrong? i have NO IDEA what we are in for! maybe this was a horrible choice and we SHOULD have planned better! oh my gosh this person knows i have NO idea what i am doing. i am a fool! who trusted me to be a grown up?!"<br />
<br />
but then i realize that i had no idea what i was doing when my son was born and they sent us home with a new, dependent little human and the expectation that we would keep him alive. nor did i know what i was doing when we decided to 'try' and then i saw the double pink line on a pregnancy test for the first time. or when my husband and i both said "i do" to an eternity together, in front of 160 people. or when i said "yes" when he asked me to be his wife. i was clueless and unplanned in all of those situations. and truth be told, if i had the insight to know what i was in for, i may have just hesitated a little or even said no. and then i'd have missed out on the best part of my whole life! my husband, my marriage, my son- this life that we live together as a clueless, unplanned little family- is by far the best thing that have ever happened to me, and i can say with absolutely certainty i couldn't have planned it any better.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6PlxH4mlnil2ZBUyX26gfCbnNXlvmZ7vzEYb-IPBmkWV1r2ttCM8w9Ag03ANiESCtGSYXR69O7RZcBZpnn7928VcVj5g_zl9YkntlUiCUNvVTEeRasRKos1WZz-r_YTBpyHYCkVF_HHo7/s1600/monkey+and+mom.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6PlxH4mlnil2ZBUyX26gfCbnNXlvmZ7vzEYb-IPBmkWV1r2ttCM8w9Ag03ANiESCtGSYXR69O7RZcBZpnn7928VcVj5g_zl9YkntlUiCUNvVTEeRasRKos1WZz-r_YTBpyHYCkVF_HHo7/s1600/monkey+and+mom.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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so here's the moral of my story: when someone asks me if my pregnancy was planned, i'm going to resist kicking them in the shin, and instead confidently say yes. and then i'm going to beat them to the punch and tell them i'm so excited our kids will be close in age. and i'll smile and think about how excited i am for my kids to be amazing together, and i won't have to worry about being judged or doing it wrong. i'll just get to remember how lucky i am to have this life that i'm not planning very well.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-30222622295381297682014-11-04T21:11:00.004-07:002014-11-04T21:11:53.159-07:00my obligatory blogger recipe list. <div style="text-align: right;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">whole30, paleo, low-carb... creativity is the only way to get through it</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">recently my sister and i embarked on a (seemingly) impossible task of completing a "whole30". what is that, you may ask? basically, it's an intense, ridiculous 30-day food challenge that, on the <a href="http://www.whole30.com/">website</a>, says it will reset your body and start some new, amazing food habits that make you feel like one thousand million gajillion dollars when you're done. in reality, i'm sure it could do something that cool, but starting a 30-day elimination diet when i was barely 9 weeks pregnant was maybe not my best idea. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>however.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">my sister is awesome and she is a good motivator and teammate, and we decided to do it together. and secretly, i was hoping that restricting my access to apple jacks and ramen noodles and rocky road ice cream would help me feel better about pregnancy weight gain. so we started. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">and we did it. for 24 whole days! this blog is not necessarily about my experience, buuuuut the long-short of it is that i learned my true kryptonite is candy. (candy. candy. yum.) and guess what happened on day 24 of our whole30? halloween. i was a goner. that night i couldn't deny my love affair for twix and reese's peanut butter cups. and it didn't help that my good friend brought over gourmet, individual acorn-squash-fondue-cups. i mean, seriously. i had no hope... </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">despite our lackluster finish, we <i>did</i> have a good experience on the food challenge. while we didn't last the full 30 days, and i didn't feel like a rich, jillionaire from the inside out (i partly blame the small little human growing inside me), i <i>did </i>enjoy learning how to cook differently, and more often. i really would like to stick with some of my new habits, but also feel totally ok with having a second bowl of rocky road ice cream every once in while...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">because i did really enjoy learning how to cook new recipes and using new ingredients, i wanted to share some of my favorite dishes from the past few weeks. below is a list of links to some yummy (and easy!) food, as well as a few of my own recipes that i 'perfected' as i went. cheers!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: red;"><a href="http://glutenfreehomemaker.com/stuffed-acorn-squash-squash-fest-guest/">Sausage Stuffed Acorn Squash</a></span>, from Tasty Eats at Home</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong><span style="background: white; font-weight: normal;"><a href="http://justenjoyfood.com/2013/10/easy-balsamic-infused-pot-roast/">Easy Balsamic Infused Beef Pot Roast </a></span></strong><span style="background: white;">from
Just Enjoy Food</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><a href="http://www.rubiesandradishes.com/2013/06/10/paleomeatloaf/">Sun-Dried Tomato and Mushroom Meatloaf </a></span></strong>from Rubies and
Radishes</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong><span style="font-weight: normal;"><a href="http://www.theorganickitchen.org/blog-tutorials/tropical-salmon-a-summer-favorite/">Tropical Salmon </a></span></strong>from The Organic Kitchen</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong><span style="background: white; font-weight: normal;"><a href="http://bravoforpaleo.com/2014/07/09/lemon-rosemary-chicken-recipe/"><span style="color: windowtext; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;">Lemon Rosemary Chicken</span> </a><span id="goog_1989746854"></span><span id="goog_1989746855"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a></span></strong><span style="background: white;">from Bravo for Paleo</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.paleocupboard.com/mexican-pulled-pork-with-onions-and-peppers.html">Mexican Pulled Pork</a> (slow cooker) from Paleo Cupboard<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://paleopot.com/2012/10/paleo-sausage-stuffed-peppers/">Sausage Stuffed Peppers </a>from Paleo Pot</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://meatified.com/super-bowl-crock-pot-chili/">Paleo Crock Pot Chili</a> from Meatified</span></div>
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<a href="http://www.agirlworthsaving.net/2014/01/slow-cooker-chili-verde.html" style="font-family: inherit;">Slow Cooker Chili Verde</a><span style="font-family: inherit;"> from A Girl Worth Saving</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://www.mynaturalfamily.com/recipes/paleo-recipes/paleo-chicken-curry-recipe/">Chicken Curry</a> from My Natural Family</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> so let me be honest and tell you that while
the end product of this recipe was AMAZING, I found the recipe to be a titch
bit...lacking. I mean, there isn’t even measurements! So I added a little
here and there, and this is what I came up with…. </i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Ingredients:</b></span></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">1 lb Chicken
breasts/tenders, cut into bite sized pieces</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">~1/2 bottle
of (dry) curry powder</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">2-3 tsp
paprika</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Salt, to
taste</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">6 Roma
tomatoes</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">1 zucchini</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">1 yellow
squash</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">½ can tomato
sauce</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">1 can tomato
paste</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">3-4 cups
chicken broth (to taste/consistency)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">1 can coconut
milk</span></li>
</ul>
<b>Preparation:</b><br /><ul>
<li style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Heat
a lot of coconut oil in frying pan, and add chicken and spices. Allow chicken
to cook and spices to carmelize (cook a lot longer than you think! The carmelizing
of the spices is the best part).</span></li>
<li style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Add
chopped veggies, tomato sauce and paste, then chicken broth to taste and
desired consistency</span></li>
<li style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Cover
and simmer about 10-15 minutes</span></li>
<li style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Remove
from heat, stir in coconut milk</span></li>
<li style="text-indent: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Serve
over cauliflower rice or baked potato</span></li>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i> and below are three of my favorite new staples in life... mostly adapted recipes that I tweaked to my liking. my contribution to the whole30/paleo/low-carb craze, if you will...</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Baked Apples</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ingredients:</span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Apples</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ghee</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cinammon,
Nutmeg</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Coconut
milk</span></li>
</ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Preparation</span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Buy
large, delicious apples. I went with one apple per guest, and bought enormous,
crispy Honeycrisp apples. But you can buy as many of any type of apple you’d
like</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Core
each apple, but leave the bottom in (i.e. don’t put a hole through the whole
apple- core just enough of the apple but leave the bottom in tact to keep all
the good juices in!</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Heat
oven to 350</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Stuff
the core of each apple with a huge spoonful of ghee, and sprinkle with a
healthy dose of cinnamon and dash of nutmeg</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Bake
for 20-60 minutes- until apples are soft (the bigger they are, the longer they
take!)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Serve
with a splash of coconut milk</span></li>
</ul>
</ul>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Cauliflower
Rice: my own recipe</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ingredients:</span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cauliflower</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">3 cloves
garlic, crushed</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Salt, pepper
to taste</span></li>
</ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Preparation</span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Get
a head of cauliflower. A good, big one with no brown spots</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Wash
it up, de-leaf and cut the bottom stem out, leaving just a nice ol’ cauliflower
head</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Grate
the florets of the cauliflower with a cheese grater, down to the stems</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Put
grated cauliflower into a pan with coconut oil, some salt, pepper and 3 crushed
garlic cloves</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Saute
for 8-10 minutes, or until the cauliflower is nice and tender.</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Eat
it up. So good!</span></li>
</ul>
</ul>
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Chicken
Tortilla Soup</b><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Ingredients:</span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">1 medium
onion</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">3-4 cloves
garlic</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">4-5 chopped
tomatoes (or 1-2 cans diced tomatoes)</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">Chopped
cilantro</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">3-4 cups
chicken broth</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">1 lb chicken
breast, shredded</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;">6-8 limes</span></li>
</ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit;"> Preparation</span></li>
<ul>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Brown
onion and garlic in sauté pan</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Add
tomatoes and lime juice from 2 limes. Sauté about 5 minutes</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Add
chopped cilantro to taste</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Puree
in food processor/blender with juice of 2 more limes. Put back in pan</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Add
chicken broth and shredded chicken, plus more lime juice to taste</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Simmer for 10 minutes or so</span></li>
<li><span style="font-family: inherit; text-indent: -0.25in;">Garnish
with lime juice, avocados </span></li>
</ul>
</ul>
<div style="text-align: center; text-indent: -24px;">
<i><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: x-large;"><i>I hope you enjoy!</i></span></div>
<!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-30657173345489739312014-03-21T21:57:00.002-06:002014-03-21T21:57:15.352-06:00family circus<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>...a night out...</i></div>
<br />
so he and i have been parents of both a baby and a hound for five months now, and to be totally honest, the baby part has been relatively easy. (i shudder even admitting that outside of my own head, for fear of what lightning may strike my home and bring devastation and crying babies with it).getting a hound dog used to a baby and a new routine took some time, but truly, baby is pretty much wonderful and easy to please. he loves to eat, sleep, play and basically just take in the world with his big blue eyes. we're smitten with him.<br />
<br />
before baby, we used to take long, sauntering walks down to some local shops and restaurants to take in the sights and grab a bite to eat. after the hound dog arrived last year, we (he, really... depending on a dog to behave for extended periods of time in public is a source of neurotic anxiety for me) would love to take the hound with us on our walks. we would tie him up outside whatever local eatery we were at and sit on the patio or closest window seat, watching our pup and the world go by over a fun date.<br />
<br />
now that the weather is nice and it's lighter out, we are getting a pep back into our step and coming out of hibernation. meaning, the few block walk down the street sounds inviting and fun, and reminiscent of even warmer and longer days. so naturally, when we had an unexpected evening together last night, we decided to pack up baby and hound and go grab a bite. we only had about an hour before baby bedtime, (which was unusually important this week because we began sleep training), so we were super happy that good food and a patio was within such quick reach.<br />
<br />
it started out normally enough: the hound was curious, leading the way with his giant hound nose. he and i walked in sync with the enormous stroller, talking about life and even stopping at our neighbor's <a href="http://littlefreelibrary.org/">'little free library' </a>to grab a book to laugh about on our way.<br />
<br />
it took us a long time to decide where to eat- somewhere that had an open patio and food that wasn't fried sounded good, which left us with the new taco bar on the corner. i was excited to try it, because i had just visited another local taco joint the week before and had great food, so i had high hopes. plus, if you're trying to usher spring/summer in early, what better ambiance to revel in than a street taco bar patio during golden hour with margarita in hand? it was shaping up to be awesome.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNcXMDcE1VsAvAYGS7Ds0nzUupHkgroyxCiIY_V6Qh_4ErrggYQXGSXc9SGhRp-aaV_3uysEheNTMqj2sYoSVViEuvwepp9wXtVBtV-cOO1-Gq3SiuNuss6c5UcDy74AUnDO004Yfa04Ud/s1600/photo+2+(6).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNcXMDcE1VsAvAYGS7Ds0nzUupHkgroyxCiIY_V6Qh_4ErrggYQXGSXc9SGhRp-aaV_3uysEheNTMqj2sYoSVViEuvwepp9wXtVBtV-cOO1-Gq3SiuNuss6c5UcDy74AUnDO004Yfa04Ud/s1600/photo+2+(6).JPG" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>proof that it was, at one point, a relaxing evening</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
we sat down at most accessible patio table there was, and parked the enormous orange taxi- i mean, stroller- on the sidewalk side of the fence, and tied the hound right next to us. immediately his nose went to into overdrive, and he was all sorts of curious, which meant he kept tangling himself up in his leash, over and over again, until it was so short he couldn't move. so we got up and untangled him, only to find him repeat the same cycle over and over. we had poured him some water (out of our water glasses) into a dog dish, and he lapped it up, spilling half of it all over the sidewalk. normally that would be nothing of note, except that baby has entered into 'get anything and everything into my mouth' stage, so when he continued to throw his toy on the ground, it fell right into the dog-infested water, and somehow kept ending up back into his mouth before i could stop him. after a minute of this, he looked at me and asked me for my ice.<br />
<br />
"i can't get it, my hands are dirty with dog..." he said.<br />
<br />
i looked down at what he was referring to as 'my ice' and realized he wanted me to scoop out all the ice cubes from my full, not-yet touched, glass of water and give it to the dog. i looked back at my husband, and maintaining eye contact, i sucked down the whole glass of water through my straw, and handed him the glass of now ice. little did i know this was only the beginning...<br />
<br />
although we were quickly approaching baby bedtime, and we still hadn't even ordered yet, we tried to relax a little- he ordered a margarita, i ordered an agua fresca and we sat back to watch the sun set into golden hour, talk about how awesome our baby is, and just generally enjoy each other. we ordered some chips and salsa, and spent time debating over the best tacos to choose, which we finally ordered from the nice but overly-busy waitress. this lasted a glorious six and a half minutes.<br />
<br />
as the hound continued to tangle himself up and howl at strangers, we realized the table next to us was on an obviously awkward first or second date. because it was a nice night and everyone was in a summery mood, (and we were sitting at the closest table), they kept trying to strike up random conversations with us. at one point, they asked us how our chips were. and then later, if we liked our food (which, to note, we hadn't been served yet... ), and of course, what kind of dog we had. and as if on cue, our hound lost what little cool he had left, and started howling as only hounds can.<br />
<br />
before the howling, i had been getting up here and there to visit the bathroom to wash my hands or baby toys of dog drool, and my husband was on dog/baby patrol. once the howling started (approximately 43 seconds after we placed our dinner order, of course), my husband took up dog duty: trying to tempt him with chips, tie him up further away, and finally walking him around the block- anything to get him to shut up- and i was on baby and lonely hearts date duty. and, i was trying to forget that we were 30 minutes past the start of bedtime.<br />
<br />
finally the food came, while he was out walking the dog, so i asked for the check and a box, and started shoveling the tacos into my mouth as fast as i could- partly to get home to put baby to sleep, but mostly to stop the insanity of having a dog at a taco bar. of course, just as i finished wolfing down my tacos, he showed up, having tied the dog-that-still-could-not-shut-up a block away. so as he waited for the box, we traded duties and i went to get the dog, while he entertained the baby and shoveled tacos into <i>his</i> mouth as fast as possible.<br />
<br />
by the time the waitress arrived with the box and the check, it was 40 minutes past when we 'needed' to be home, we had eaten all seven tacos and were standing, ready to go. i had the dog in my hand, he had the baby in his, and we loaded up the big orange stroller to leave.<br />
<br />
thank goodness we live three blocks from the liquor store that's right next the ice cream shop, which was on our way home from dinner. i won't tell you if we stopped at both places on the way home or not, but i will say the night ended on a chocolatey note for me.<br />
<br />
just another relaxing night out as parents!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-87928502127556647472013-08-13T21:37:00.001-06:002013-08-13T21:38:00.292-06:00drastic measures<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>...i blame it on my pregnancy</i></div>
<br />
i am now in my third trimester, and i feel very pregnant. no question about it. a lady* asked me the other day how pregnant i was, and without even skipping a beat, i answered, "100% pregnant."<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">*this lady will receive a cameo in an upcoming blog post about my recent aquatic adventures. stay tuned*</span></i><br />
<br />
now, before you stop reading because you think this will be a long laundry list of pregnancy complaints, hear me out. i am in no way complaining about pregnancy. yes, there are extremely weird aches and pains i've never felt before, slippery memories and emotional outbursts, and seemingly huge rotund parts of my body that get in the way of doing simple things, like picking up a dropped set of keys or something. yes, pregnancy is unpleasant, and i feel like a turducken most of the time, but guess what? it's also awesome. awesome in the way the word is supposed to be used- awe-inspiring awesome. i mean, there is a human, inside of me, growing. i'm GROWING A HUMAN. i feel it move, and kick, and roll and react inside of me. it makes my belly jump in small spasms all day, and i can feel, from the outside, the little baby limbs that will be here, in person, to make up the body that will be my actual, real-live son or daughter. i mean honestly, that's hard to beat.<br />
<br />
if that's not enough, pregnancy also gives you an amazing excuse to do stupid things, and totally get away with it.<br />
<br />
for instance...<br />
<br />
last night i wanted chocolate. a normal, non-pregnant me would have sucked it up and said too bad, so sad, no chocolate in the house. (i'd also like to believe that non-pregnant me probably wouldn't crave chocolate by the bucketful every single night either). but pregnant me said, "no chocolate in the house? baloney. i'll make some." and then i proceeded to make individual servings of chocolate cake in a mug for me and him, which we ate in bed, while watching mythbusters, Breaking Bad edition. and it was totally acceptable, because i am pregnant and growing a child.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghIZHQunJ9SnD4PcX3dSNcyZvfPndrsw9Zlntj_nP78y7IvSdGNtxjIZdmFdDbFAq4TECZXF6G0IAMk-YcvIJIgEI_TxWj37_WFjumIckHO7lDRodAIxPxbtsZhgOYy8mLgqcsfruWYdIx/s1600/choc+cake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghIZHQunJ9SnD4PcX3dSNcyZvfPndrsw9Zlntj_nP78y7IvSdGNtxjIZdmFdDbFAq4TECZXF6G0IAMk-YcvIJIgEI_TxWj37_WFjumIckHO7lDRodAIxPxbtsZhgOYy8mLgqcsfruWYdIx/s320/choc+cake.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>mine actually looked nothing like this. more like a haphazard, desperate attempt at a midnight snack.</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<i>note to husbands: do NOT try to take away chocolate from a woman that can argue she worked hard all day growing an arm, or a leg, or an extra organ for you soon-to-be child inside of her own body. she will always win, and she will always deserve cake, preferably in bed. while watching the office.</i><br />
<br />
<i>another note: pregnancy allows him to do silly things, like indulge in chocolate cravings with his wife every night- even when he "really doesn't like dessert that much". see, it's a win-win, really...</i><br />
<br />
another instance of sheer ridiculousness that is completely excusable by belly is buying tickets to a meet-and-greet with one of my all-time favorite musicians, brett dennen. on the surface, this looks completely undeserved of an excuse, and maybe even rational- especially if you realize how cheap the tickets actually were, and that they came with his new album <i>and</i> an autographed poster. yes, this decision seems completely reasonable... until you understand the show is a mere 11 days after our baby is due.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtFN30zPqBVYmpsWxPBd7j7aqiVJ6aYrJIcnZtKjk6DSFgkCTEnbzma647hg_Vyy_PPBkJKBBHUS_ew9yMH4XO7UDsml4izfzZRvezt08cctxywMIDucOC0inf4ViW-BIrnQKJbsnQOL_H/s1600/brett1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtFN30zPqBVYmpsWxPBd7j7aqiVJ6aYrJIcnZtKjk6DSFgkCTEnbzma647hg_Vyy_PPBkJKBBHUS_ew9yMH4XO7UDsml4izfzZRvezt08cctxywMIDucOC0inf4ViW-BIrnQKJbsnQOL_H/s320/brett1.jpg" width="229" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>brett dennen then- a barefooted, guitar-yielding hipster</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
now, i have never given birth, nor do i have any children, but one thing i do know for certain is that babies, and labor, is unpredictable. as lovely as the idea of a 'due date' sounds, i know babies show up when, and how, they want. i am very aware that i may be actually recovering in the hospital, or even in labor, or just plain tired and crazy after being a first-time mom for a week or so. but guess what? pregnancy is my excuse (i will <i>deserve</i> a night out, after all i did the last 40+ weeks in growing and birthing a human, right?!). so i bought these tickets and i cannot freakin' wait to shake the hand of my very favorite red-headed giant pot-smoking hipster.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj08l8-Ovo_WftBXwPKUAVMaxpy_KwIt6HCGf_5PBJmRXCHXgnUfpSKmhglY9mwI7_1NOdz1JwkrrC_pZ40WnvG-vmc8N0qwHasVO1B9lD_4R16VG5eR3fWA-ZMicNYJiBF1LQkDc8j9tOn/s1600/brett2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj08l8-Ovo_WftBXwPKUAVMaxpy_KwIt6HCGf_5PBJmRXCHXgnUfpSKmhglY9mwI7_1NOdz1JwkrrC_pZ40WnvG-vmc8N0qwHasVO1B9lD_4R16VG5eR3fWA-ZMicNYJiBF1LQkDc8j9tOn/s1600/brett2.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>brett dennen now- as hipster as they come. but still barefoot!</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
so there you have it. three amazing reasons that pregnancy is great- you get to grow a real-live human, you can eat as much chocolate as you want, and you can make extreme date-night purchases.... and all are (or should be) considered within reason.<br />
<br />
after all, i grew extra organs in my body today. what other excuse do i need?<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-71129256468933722372013-04-18T08:30:00.000-06:002013-04-18T08:30:01.845-06:00kickin' the bucket<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>(...peruvian style!)</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
today marks the beginning of a very, very exciting adventure with him: machu picchu, yeti style!! </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
machu picchu is on the VERY top of my bucket list... actually, it's the only thing on my bucket list, so i've been told it's really more like a bucket item. and lucky me, i'm ready to conquer that whole bucket list *ahem... <i>item</i>... in just a few short days! </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
allow me to paint the picture for you....</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
it all begins with a romantic* rendevous in lima, peru... i will be flying to lima, from denver by way of houston, to meet up with my lovely, doting husband who is already in peru, pining away for his long lost love.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>*romantic includes a blizzard in denver potentially delaying/cancelling a leg of my flight; my husband's already lost baggage which leaves him with ONE outfit that he will have been wearing for the past six days when we meet; packing a full-on pharmacy for any in-case, pregnant, high-altitude emergency; and arriving in lima a day before my husband, to then take a hotel taxi to my lonely hotel room overnight and then back again to the airport the next day to catch my husband on our shared flight from lima to cusco.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
then, after the romantic 45 minute interlude at the lima airport together, we will gather <i>all </i>(hopefully) our bags and jet over to cusco* to prepare for the amazing hiking and views ahead of us.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>*cusco flights are typically delayed, sometimes hours at a time, due to weather and clouds that happen at 14,000 feet. oh, did i mention cusco is 14,000 feet? it's like flying into a 14er and staying a while. and 14ers are typically as good as this little baby inside of me at making me puke.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
after our lovely night's stay in cusco, we will then get up with the morning sun and board a train (with windowed ceilings!) to travel to the quaint* little town of aguas calientes, which sits neatly nestled at the foot of machu picchu. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>*quaint is what we say in america. in peru, aguas calientes is referred to as the armpit of the country. however, it's a low sitting armpit, only about 8,000 feet, so i'm sure my altitude-sensitive stomach will appreciate the new digs. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
the next day we will rise with the beginning of day* to catch a bus ride to the beautiful and grandiose machu picchu, where we will hire a local guide, eat at lunch at a fantastically indulgent buffet, and climb to the top of the high peak, huanya picchu. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<i>*meaning beat the sun, and be in line for the bus at 4:45am. AM!!</i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
then, we will travel back to our cozy little hotel, cuddle up with some delicious dinner and enjoy each other's company. the next day, we will get up and retrace our traveling footsteps, back onto the train from agua calientes to cusco, a night in cusco, then cusco to lima, lima to houston, and houston to home... returning (again, hopefully!) with all of our baggage sometime midweek morning next week. then we'll swoop up our hound dog, who is bound to be missing us something fierce by then, and spend the late morning napping and recouping from an amazing adventure. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
i simply cannot wait. doesn't it sound romantic??</div>
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<br /></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-8688633458148940202013-04-17T23:25:00.003-06:002013-04-17T23:26:26.830-06:00four!<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>(...is the magic number)</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
i have an announcement: </div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ypSc5ldIAIWIw7cK39acAoHEvQ5B_xYdqQIjmabaKG9qM36utohqQa8v__t3hthMsuexomY78aBo5gkUOMfWold3bd3as5BRrhmu0g9cydiO2j5Isl_i2GUWun1C_cztAyTTrF8bO1M_/s1600/babyG$.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ypSc5ldIAIWIw7cK39acAoHEvQ5B_xYdqQIjmabaKG9qM36utohqQa8v__t3hthMsuexomY78aBo5gkUOMfWold3bd3as5BRrhmu0g9cydiO2j5Isl_i2GUWun1C_cztAyTTrF8bO1M_/s320/babyG$.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
yep. i love ice cream!! phish food especially, maybe my favorite flavor ever. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
oh. and i'm pregnant. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
!!!!!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>baby g is due to arrive at the end of october. </i></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2662973753643431817.post-16969733986313776352013-02-20T09:01:00.001-07:002013-02-20T09:01:18.462-07:00kitchen of errors<div style="text-align: right;">
<i>(a homemade comedy)</i></div>
<div style="text-align: right;">
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so, in case you didn't know, i am a wife now. and (at least in our somewhat traditional household), wives do important things, like: dust the places you never see, wash the never-disappearing pile of dishes, continually move socks from the living room to the bedroom hamper, remember where lost things are (especially if they're your husbands lost things) and... cook food. like, food that you can eat. and your husband can eat. that you could even call, say... dinner? breakfast? lunch? </div>
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now, don't get me wrong- i'm not a stranger to the kitchen. in fact, i'm pretty handy around a kitchenaid mixer, and i've actually been pretty busy as of late, just doing what i love to do best: dessert. cookies, cakes, yummy and pretty treats. </div>
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don't believe me? well, lookie here:</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglD3pGao8BZWZUdmTQyw2dC0TkIVsrO7Kt7mcsABEMIblenHN0MiS51fmtf82NCEiOdZqhLyaEevDeaCXfXGxENyjR_3mWqhXR_QEUwhfyUfsW6FlMF-LRfJ77ho2TmaC48v3qgrzCcLho/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglD3pGao8BZWZUdmTQyw2dC0TkIVsrO7Kt7mcsABEMIblenHN0MiS51fmtf82NCEiOdZqhLyaEevDeaCXfXGxENyjR_3mWqhXR_QEUwhfyUfsW6FlMF-LRfJ77ho2TmaC48v3qgrzCcLho/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>bugs for my niece's dedication- whole wheat sugar cookies with royal icing</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgiEFZfXS4Qt1Qsjc7KZLwcM8GR7IVVUNIWzaPx16cp21JzGJyVEok8xnzFJJxF-l648MTKcEhdx8du60L7ztheRjyIOk46Am2jCyFvDi4A9z3VqGSC7GX1l7rxbf_MYe_tdl50k7vE1nA/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgiEFZfXS4Qt1Qsjc7KZLwcM8GR7IVVUNIWzaPx16cp21JzGJyVEok8xnzFJJxF-l648MTKcEhdx8du60L7ztheRjyIOk46Am2jCyFvDi4A9z3VqGSC7GX1l7rxbf_MYe_tdl50k7vE1nA/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>super bowl cookies- whole wheat sugar cookies with royal icing</i></td></tr>
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however, cooking (like, not baking), is a little more challenging for me. but now that i have a husband to support with my culinary-ness, and the fact that he actually eats what i make, i made the decision to really buckle down and start trying to cook. </div>
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and honestly, i don't think i'm that bad- i mean, recipes are pretty easy to follow, and new ones can be challenging or fun to try. while i'm not, by any stretch of the imagination, a foodie, nor do i see myself really enjoying cooking <i>just to cook</i>, i am embracing this new aspect of my role and learning to enjoy, and better, myself. i've even taken to meal planning (gasp) and shopping lists (double gasp).*</div>
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<i>*i love lists, it's no secret. shopping lists are fun cause you can make one draft, then make a second draft, organizing items into categories/store departments. nerd alert!</i></div>
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here's some evidence of my wifely duties:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjDPyFIC4aLvhnB6ViQVJROQEAud6QjY1OHMU3hPe9xf4RBDQbAD1VDTYLIj7pKGsSF0l62hAWe2-2mwWQkrrFEpr7MpC-Uq-70zEK8N6JpeqmwKrjFZ89_uzicTSUNDvkE_TW6MvTVg_x/s1600/photo+2+%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjDPyFIC4aLvhnB6ViQVJROQEAud6QjY1OHMU3hPe9xf4RBDQbAD1VDTYLIj7pKGsSF0l62hAWe2-2mwWQkrrFEpr7MpC-Uq-70zEK8N6JpeqmwKrjFZ89_uzicTSUNDvkE_TW6MvTVg_x/s320/photo+2+%25281%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>weekly recipe planning and shopping list</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsK2ZKy9Ax5jtr_cOy4rgVP4A6OrM_bHeZJUT05N9pOA1n9ZdM102Tq6AtAY_DbOU-8Jsq2zlCZdHwdLDSkW1OWfHFOaYdj92lYOILxcA5l6Mg8RB_0tbVgNIQaVJeXhxLTJ66xUrB46sO/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsK2ZKy9Ax5jtr_cOy4rgVP4A6OrM_bHeZJUT05N9pOA1n9ZdM102Tq6AtAY_DbOU-8Jsq2zlCZdHwdLDSkW1OWfHFOaYdj92lYOILxcA5l6Mg8RB_0tbVgNIQaVJeXhxLTJ66xUrB46sO/s320/photo+4.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>an actual delicious dinner- greek chicken and grilled veggie pitas!</i></td></tr>
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<br />so by this time, you're probably thinking i'm awesome at being a cooking wife, and you're wondering why i'm writing a post about my awesome culinary skills. just to brag, perhaps?<div>
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well, dear reader- not to shock you, but guess what? i'm not perfect! by any stretch, of any imagination. to my dismay, and humor, my follies and spacey-gracey character follows me everywhere... even into the kitchen. for instance...</div>
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this past saturday i decided to wake up early and make my loving husband some breakfast. typically he is a great homemade waffle cook on sundays, so i wanted to surprise him with something great to show my gratitude. </div>
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i woke up, went into the kitchen, and pulled out the waffle iron. i pulled out my favorite glass bowls, a measuring cup, a banana, and the waffle/pancake mix. i pulled out the the thick-cut bacon (a real treat, we're usually thin little turkey-bacon eaters) and a huge frying pan. cheerfully, i read the directions on the back of the waffle/pancake mix box, mixing up my little floury batter, and added a teeny touch of pumpkin pie spice and a banana. i put the bacon in the pan, and i heard the waffle iron 'ding' that it was ready. i pour the waffle mix in, thinking 'this doesn't seem like much- just four waffles from the whole recipe?'. i close the waffle iron, with thoughts of golden, fluffy banana waffles to come. yum! </div>
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i pick up the box, and read the directions again to see why my batter seemed like such a little batch. "Makes 6-10 pancakes". how could i have possible stretched that batter to make more than 4? 4 was a stretch to begin with. then i read again... "Makes 6-10 <i>pancakes</i>". oh. yeah. i made waffles. </div>
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turns out the waffle recipe has a few more ingredients and makes a lot more batte, if you do it right. who knew they were so different?</div>
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so i remixed another batch of batter, this time following the directions for <i>waffles. </i>the batter looks much better, but i'm out of bananas, so i grab the pumpkin pie spice, for a shake or two of yumminess to spice up the new batch. little did i pay attention to the top, and i opened the wrong end, so one shake actually turned into one huge <i>dump</i> of pumpkin pie spice. at this point, i was debating whether to switch from decaf to regular coffee, because i definitely needed to pay a little closer attention to what i was doing.</div>
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by this time the bacon was burning, (because i had totally forgotten about it), so i grabbed the bowl of batter to bring to the sink and dump out the extra spice before i mixed it in,while i turned the bacon over. however, my natural instinct kicked in and before i knew it, i was stirring the batter, and 13 gallons of spice, together, and flipping the burned bacon over. </div>
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at this point there was no helping me: i had pancakes cooking in the waffle iron, super spiced pancake batter ready to go, burned bacon, and i hadn't even made the coffee yet. i was out of pancake mix, so i did what any nice wife trying to feed her husband would do: cooked the extra spicy batter into mini pancakes. </div>
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by now i thought i had a handle on the morning, so i got out the regular coffee beans to grind up for my husbands coffee. we typically grind our beans in our magic bullet, which can do a lot at one time but doesn't always grind them all evenly (the bottom beans are super fine, the top can be super coarse). since this was a new bag of coffee, i had a fair share of grinding to do. </div>
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so- i begin. pour the coffee beans into the magic bullet cup; pulse them to a ground pulp. open the cup, pour the ground beans into the coffee container, then repeat to fill up the container. it can hold about 3-4 magic bullet cups-full, so i filled up the second time and started grinding. then i fill up the third time, and start grinding. of course, i assumed i knew what i was doing, so when i opened the cup and poured them into the container the third time, i didn't even look at them. maybe not my best choice. </div>
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because, when i looked into the container after the third grind, there was about half a cupful of almost whole, unground beans that hadn't made it to the grinding blades in the magic bullet. and these big beans were mixed into a big, dark, oily pile of powdery beans. </div>
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and the bacon was burning again. </div>
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and the pancake-waffles were beeping to be done. </div>
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and the spicy pancakes needed to be flipped. </div>
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seven minutes later, my husband was up. he came to the table and was greeted by hot coffee, extra-crispy bacon, (super spicy) pancakes AND banana waffles. after i gave him a quick warning on the extra well-done bacon, the spicy pancakes and the pancakes-turned-waffles, he managed to choke down his breakfast. only then did i tell him i had to fish each and every single whole bean out of the ground beans with a fork. he just laughed at me.</div>
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moral of the story: i can be the good wife during the week that cooks and plans. but i think he has proven to be the weekend breakfast hero in our house. i can accept that, and maybe i'll just be the wife that sleeps in on the weekends. </div>
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