tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62914032442116450802024-02-20T02:02:16.678-06:00Coffee HappensAshleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.comBlogger371125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-31029913522953915952020-05-05T16:52:00.000-05:002020-05-05T16:52:24.015-05:00I've Changed<i>{Documenting life during the Covid-19 Quarantine}</i><br />
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For better or for worse, things are starting to "open up." Here in Arizona, retail is starting to return. Restaurants and coffeeshops were fast-tracked to a Monday open, assuming that certain social distancing standards can be followed. I know that more will follow.</div>
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I still don't know that we can really say that we're getting back to normal. I'm in the camp that says things aren't ever going to look exactly like they did 2 months ago. Two months ago, I took the kids to the dentist and out for ice cream without giving it a second thought. I don't think things will ever be that carefree for me again. </div>
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Because even if everything opens up and everything goes back to "the way it was," I'm not the same. I've changed.</div>
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Here are 3 ways that I anticipate this has changed me for the long haul.</div>
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<b>I'm a little cleaner.</b></div>
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I don't mean to say that things around here were bad; I was just never much of a germaphobe. We kept the bathroom and floors clean. I tidied regularly and kept up on the dishes and laundry. We weren't <i>dirty</i> people, exactly. Just not sanitized within in inch of our lives. But now? Now I'm a wipe everything down with Clorox wipes and disinfect the counters daily kind of girl. Even if I back off of the daily wipe (big if), I think it will still be done at least several times a week. The habit of washing my hands more has become so ingrained that the other day, I was concerned that I'd grown lax. No. Just accustomed to more frequent washings. 2 months does a habit create. </div>
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<b>I have a food stash.</b></div>
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I've long been decent meal planner. I actually get pretty stressed out if it's lunchtime and I don't know what I'm making for dinner. Accordingly, I've found it easier on the budget to buy what I need and use what I buy. I've generally kept very little on hand for a rainy day -- really not much more than a couple of boxes of pasta, some mac & cheese, and backups when I notice staples are running low.</div>
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Not anymore. Because of concerns about potential (real) quarantine, illness, food shortages and the like, I've stashed lots of staples, frozen plenty of meat and veggies, and actually reorganized my overflow pantry to accommodate. And instead of eating through that stuff, I'm buying to replace. I'm buying backup staples when I open a new container instead of when I finish one. If I'm eating pasta this week, I buy a new box, even though there are several boxes in my pantry. Same with most everything. </div>
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I have a family to care for, and experience lots of anxiety when I imagine a rainy day without at least some basics. </div>
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Maybe in time the stash will shrink. Or maybe they'll clean out my house after I die and find 700 cans of beans and a lost package of chicken thighs from 2020. </div>
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<b>Appreciation. </b></div>
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A couple of weeks ago, Charles came home from a run to the store with a bottle of hand soap with a seasonal scent -- evergreen or the like. It was approaching Easter, and clearly some associate found a box in the back of a warehouse or something and knew that it would be purchased. Not even at clearance prices. ;-) It was a PRIZE! As I pumped the green goo onto my hands, I laughed at myself. It wasn't that long ago that I spent long minutes in the aisles, carefully considering whether lilac or peony or ocean water was the better scent for my buying dollars. Did I prefer orange or lemon disinfectant wipes? </div>
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I'm sure that I will feel giddy the day I when I can worry about those minor decisions, things that really, really don't matter. But I'm sure I'll also appreciate it. </div>
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I appreciate the feeling security when I see stocked shelves at the store.</div>
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I appreciate the beautiful, loving, enriching environment of my kids' school and teachers.</div>
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I appreciate slow(er) mornings and not making lunches.</div>
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I appreciate time with my family.</div>
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I appreciate my family's health.</div>
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I appreciate people.</div>
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I look forward to the time I can appreciate things like grabbing coffee with a friend, going to dinner, going to Mass, the Sacraments.</div>
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I appreciate a thousand little things that make life wonderful and hard and real. </div>
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I look at people who lived through major moments in history: the Depression, the World Wars, the societal shifts of the 60s and we see how they were changed by those experiences. This is, in so many ways, the defining moment of my generation. More than 9/11 or the 2008 recession, this is going to shape the way we live, age and parent, because it is touching so many fundamental parts of life for, well, everyone. I pray that, when I look back on this time, I'm all the better for having experienced it, and that I can say it changed me. For the better.</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-51100998531066014592020-04-20T18:24:00.001-05:002020-04-20T18:24:59.940-05:00To Thine Own Self Be True<i>{Documenting Life during the Covid-19 Quarantine}</i><br />
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You guys, I've definitely reached the point where the days are all just the same and things are either feeling hopeful or bleak, depending on your point of view -- or maybe how well you've done at avoiding the news.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjapzaXKGttaNYVaYBhJmnQrYn4Mea8HnZwJSl8YQPTMYoRyMbBBBAyL-j_KzEgXltkKXwQcZ3xbyOI0qTzx8o8hTr2-2XlMu9u2zRmpTWH2rjUp3SU-nPwDojNkuIo1ezbKaG364MiZo0/s1600/IMG_6059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1192" data-original-width="1600" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjapzaXKGttaNYVaYBhJmnQrYn4Mea8HnZwJSl8YQPTMYoRyMbBBBAyL-j_KzEgXltkKXwQcZ3xbyOI0qTzx8o8hTr2-2XlMu9u2zRmpTWH2rjUp3SU-nPwDojNkuIo1ezbKaG364MiZo0/s320/IMG_6059.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at those cuties ready for LiveStreamed Mass.</td></tr>
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I'm sort of over everything. Any novelty that this situation once held has worn off. Any sense of Lenten penance that it provided ended with the coming of Easter.</div>
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And yet, here we are. And whatever comes next, I'm pretty sure, is going to look very different than what we once had. This is not a battle. This is war.</div>
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Which means that self-knowledge is more important than ever.</div>
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I know that I need to be one cup of coffee in and have spent some time in prayer before my kids start scrambling down the stairs. I <i>definitely</i> need this, more than ever, even if it seems ridiculous when there is nowhere to be and no rush to get there.</div>
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I know that I am a get dressed and ready person. Dressed might be jeans and a t-shirt. Ready might be a ponytail and a smidge of mascara. But dressed and ready it is. </div>
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I know that books are my jam. So we read. A lot. Reading aloud to my big kids is the best part of quarantine.</div>
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I know that crafts and I don't mix, so . . . I just don't. </div>
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I know that I love being in the kitchen, so we bake and cook. I've tried a couple of new recipes and made some old favorites. My insistence on meal planning certainly comes in handy in these strange and uncertain days.</div>
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I know that in times of uncertainty, kids needs lots of love and security, so I do my best to provide them with plenty of hugs and snuggles and reassurance. And maybe a stray chocolate chip cookie.</div>
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I know that God is in charge, so I pray. </div>
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I know that He is merciful, so I trust, even when it is hard.</div>
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At least I try.</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-19042016511163224842020-04-13T17:32:00.001-05:002020-04-13T17:32:33.350-05:00Holy Week at Home<div>
<i>{Documenting life during the Covid-19 Quarantine}</i></div>
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I'm not going to lie. I spent most of last week feeling sorry for myself, and a pretty hefty portion of the rest of the time trying to convince myself to <i>not</i> feel sorry for myself.<br />
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I was, to put it mildly, pretty bummed about not doing all of the things for Holy Week and Easter, most especially not getting to attend Triduum services on Holy Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil. I was bummed that there would be no visiting. I was irked that my kids' Easter clothes are still hanging in their closets. </div>
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While I 100% understand and support the need for social distancing and the dangers that Covid-19 presents, especially for the most vulnerable, I was still heartbroken about not receiving Jesus in the Eucharist, not worshipping with my parish, not witnessing the receipt of the Sacraments by the newest Catholics at the Vigil. </div>
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Everyone agreed that this Lent got very Lent-y very fast. The quarantine was a twist no one saw coming. Accordingly, I was really, really perseverating on whether things would feel like Easter when we're all still trapped in this quarantine. Daily life didn't promise to look much different on the flip side. </div>
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And as much as I tried to talk myself out of it, I kept circling around to the same thing:</div>
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I. <i>I. <b>I.</b></i></div>
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Me. <i>Me. <b>Me.</b></i></div>
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Anyone else spotting a trend here?</div>
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My mood was completely tied up in my own selfishness.<b> I</b> don't get to go to Mass<b>. I </b>don't get to receive the Eucharist.<b> I </b>don't get head-pats for cute pictures. <b>I </b>don't get to do what<b> I</b> want. What a spoiled brat!</div>
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Once I was able to start seeing my attitude through that lens, I started doing better. No, things this year weren't going to look the same as they have looked in years past. </div>
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I threw myself into bolstering our Domestic Church. I decided to Make the Most of It. I made a fest that would <i>feel</i> festive and Easter-y.</div>
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I recognized a few things.</div>
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Easter is an undeserved gift in itself, so I don't deserve to have Easter be any particular way.</div>
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In an average year, life before Easter and after doesn't actually look that different. There is school. There is laundry. There are things going on. The trappings might be different, but the effect is the same. Day to day life. War. Quarantine. It is up to me to have Easter in my heart and to keep it there throughout the season, maybe even model that for my kids. </div>
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We are <b><i>so</i> </b>blessed to have been able to take the Sacraments for granted all these years.</div>
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God is with us, through all of this. He is faithful. He will not abandon us. And He will allow us to use this time for His glory, if we let Him. Even when things seem hard. Especially when things seem hard.</div>
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(I am working on being more appreciative. I really am.)</div>
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So, we streamed the services and let the kids fall asleep in their jammies.</div>
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We dyed eggs.</div>
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We prayed.</div>
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We feasted. </div>
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I'll bust out those Easter clothes and get some cute pictures next week when we dress for Sunday Mass, even though we'll still be streaming it in our living room. </div>
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We praise God because He is risen. He is risen, indeed.</div>
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Alleluia!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look! I even put stuff on my mantle!</td></tr>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-35740306570274156272020-04-08T18:00:00.002-05:002020-04-08T18:00:26.251-05:00Happy Birthday, Peter!<i>{Documenting life during the Covid-19 Quarantine}</i><br />
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Yesterday was Peter's 6th birthday. <a href="https://coffeehappens.blogspot.com/2014/04/peters-birth-story-part-1-of-2.html" target="_blank">Pretty sure it was FAR fewer than 6 years ago. . .</a> </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Happy times at the beach.</td></tr>
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Anyway, I spent a good chunk of the weekend feeling sad that he wasn't going to be able to have a party with his friends or see his family or do anything besides . . . be home. Maybe go crazy and take a walk. Finally, on Monday, I asked him what would make his birthday special. He started describing our (now) typical day. Nothing crazy or novel. Familiar. Normal.</div>
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Peter has always been my homebody, but his description of the day reinforced that what I've been doing for birthdays all along is working.</div>
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Birthdays are not for fanfare. It is not about a Pinterest-worthy party. It is not about a pile of presents. It is not about having 700 people in one place. I mean, sure, we sometimes throw a party. But sometimes, most times, we don't.</div>
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It is about making sure that the birthday boy/girl feels loved, feels special, and is celebrated. Usually there is a 'Happy Birthday' banner. There is plenty of favorite food. There are presents and prayers. There is most definitely dessert. Mostly, though, there is love.</div>
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Seeing how well Peter took the quarantined birthday celebration made me feel so much better about, well, everything. </div>
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He is an amazing kid. He is hilarious. He is smart. He is kind. He has a heart for Jesus that often astounds me. He is such a blessing to our family.</div>
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Happy Birthday, kiddo! Hopefully, next year, we'll be able to leave home to celebrate! </div>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-42563811632863061312020-04-04T13:29:00.000-05:002020-04-08T18:02:09.490-05:00Disinfecting the Dinosaur in the Age of the Coronavirus<div style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: 11px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-kerning: none;">We’re just going to pretend that this dinosaur hasn’t been extinct for the last 3+ years. We’re also going to pretend that it’s not going to die off again in a month or two or ten, however long it takes this Coronavirus/Covid-19 thing to go away (or at least to reach the kind of new normal in which we’re not all constantly processing the world we live in). </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I took this picture when we stopped at the Sand Dunes on our way to San Diego. It seems strangely fitting for these crazy days. </td></tr>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Let’s recap: In early March, things were rough in Italy. Things were starting to get ugly in Seattle. Dominos were teetering, but not so scary that we didn’t leave for a few days at the beach in San Diego for spring break. As Charles said, when we left, it seemed like a 2/10 level worry. We washed our hands a lot, ate out, played in the sand, got caught in the rain — you know, enjoyed a lovely little vacation before the storm.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">By the time we came home a few days later, toilet paper was out of stock, Italy was a disaster, and places like New York were shutting down. It had reached 10/10 on Charles’ things to worry about scale. I went to the grocery store and bought. . . . a week’s worth of groceries and several products to flesh out our “stash.” I’ve got enough food on hand to keep us fed for about a month, but go to the store weekly-is for a week’s worth of fresh stuff/supplies to not over-deplete the stash, in the (I consider very likely) event of a full, two-week quarantine for our family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">(With regards to that pesky beast, toilet paper, I had happened to go to Costco a few days before the first, now tiny, wave of panic hit and got our family well-stocked on paper products. I am convinced that I will never be able to purchase hand sanitizer again, though.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">We wisely went to Confession and Mass that weekend, not knowing when we’d be able to go again. Sure enough, Masses were cancelled that Monday. Indefinitely. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">School closed — for a day, for a week, for 2 weeks, for 4 weeks. This last week, schools were closed for the remainder of the school year.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">So here we are, we’re three weeks into distance learning, three weeks into stay-at-home-ing, three weeks into this new-never-normal.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I’m trying to see the good. I love not having a crazy morning rush every morning. I love not having the chaos of evening extra-curriculars. I love playing games, reading chapter books to my big kids, and taking walks. We’ve enjoyed the first blooms of the roses we planted. We’ve built outdoor fires for sipping weekend coffee. At moments, it has been positively dreamy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I have grown so much in my faith. I’d already begun to open Scripture more and am increasingly grateful for that gift. I have started to pray the Rosary daily — a habit I hope to maintain</span><span style="text-align: center;"> when the world starts to reopen. The absence of the Eucharist makes me realize how desperately I need it. I know with more certainty than ever how much I need God. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I have seen how blessed I am by our faith community and friends. I love our parish and our school. I feel particularly thankful when I see the extremes that people in other schools, districts, and states are dealing with as they navigate the distance-learning shift for their kids. I cannot wait for the day I see that sea of early morning plaid, but still find it surreal that my kids will be in 1st and 3rd grades when that happens.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Instead of going to the grocery store and Target and Costco willy-nilly, sometimes just because, I feel like a trip to the store is a glimpse into wartime. I only go to the grocery store — everything else is ordered online. I arrive a half-hour before store open. I stand in a socially-distant line. I buy with certainty that I won’t just “pop in on Wednesday and grab what I forgot.” This is is, guys. Today, for the first time, the store didn’t look post-Apocolyptic. Sure, the paper goods and cleaning supplies were pretty wiped out. Canned goods and rice were still pretty picked over, but you could get some. There was plenty of meat and produce and dairy. It makes things feel less dire, I guess.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">But you guys, I’m aching.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I desperately long to attend Mass. I’m heartbroken not to have it. I am in stunned disbelief that Easter is next week. I went, in the blink of an eye from dreading wrestling little boys at the Triduum to tears that I don’t get to wrestle little boys at the Triduum. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Peter’s 6th birthday is Tuesday. It will certainly be a once-in-a-lifetime celebration. I am probably sadder than he is. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I miss people—I miss my friends and my family. I miss date night. I miss all the acquaintances I say good morning to just walking my kids in and out of school each day. My kids miss their friends and classmates. They miss going places. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">There’s no conclusion today. Isn’t that when this space has always been at its best — when there is no conclusion, just my pondering? It’s also when I’m at my best, and right now, I need to be my best, so that, even at my low moments, I can be present.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I hope to use this space that way in the coming days and weeks — to think about, pray about, and process the things that are happening in the world today; to have a recorded memory of them; and to share those in the best possible way.</span></div>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-10869877462920566302016-09-11T15:03:00.001-05:002016-09-11T15:03:20.462-05:007QT {09.11.16} -- Random Brain/Photo DumpIt's Sunday. I've been trying to write this post since Friday. I'm alone at Starbucks for an hour or so -- the first time I've been alone anywhere that I don't have to clean since Dominic was born. Let's get to it before I get a call that Mr. D is starving and inconsolable. (Tardily linking up with <a href="http://thisaintthelyceum.org/" target="_blank">Kelly</a>.)<div>
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1. <span style="font-family: inherit;"> I feel like we're settling in to life as a family of 5. Charles started back on an in-service rotation last Monday, which was also the day after the last of our family/company/helpers left, so that was our kick back to reality. I'm still figuring out how to get out the door consistently on time, in part because Dominic is still pretty unpredictable. Tonight, Charles starts his first week of nights (plus a more-than 24 hour shift on Saturday/Sunday) since D was born. I'm not going to like, I'm terrified, but I also know that we'll get through it, and I'll feel like I've got a much better hold on life as a family of five on the other side of this week/end. Just trying to take it one day at a time, instead of overthinking it. Trying being the operative word. Let's just say I bought paper plates, I intend to use them, and I generally hate paper plates.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">2. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Speaking of Mr. D, he turned one month yesterday. He's cooing and smiling and only hates tummy time 50% of the time. The other half he just finds a fist to suck on and goes for it. Boy loves to nurse, and even takes his "cow paci" sometimes. He still sleeps insanely well at night (counting my blessings while they last), and is basically my little appendage. He's a good, sweet boy, and the big kids are in love. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">3. He also got baptized two weeks ago. Boom! Good-bye Original Sin! Hello New Life in Christ! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">4. Clare started pre-K (?!?) at the end of August. She's loving it. Her class has 14 girls, no boys, several friends, and the same teacher as last year. #winning. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Bonus: This year, Peter is enjoying his Clare-free time, "helping" me around the house, reading lots of books of his choice, and playing with whatever he wants whenever and wherever he wants. Then, he's excited to go pick her up -- it's just enough alone time for him!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">5. Clare is also back in weekly gymnastics and dance. This year, her dance class does both tap and ballet, and she's loving having tap shoes. She especially seems to love them during nap time. #notwinning</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ahem. Throwback pic to her first class . . . in June.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">6. Life with your third newborn is decidedly different than life with your first. Example: at three weeks, Clare had been to Target and Mass. At three weeks, Peter had been to Target, Mass, the grocery store, and one or two parks. At three weeks, Dominic had been to Target, Mass, the grocery store, a few parks, the zoo (twice), the children's museum, a handful of other stores and several restaurants. Yet, somehow, I'm trying harder to soak up his tiny-baby status, because I know it won't last. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">7. I would be remiss if I didn't make mention of today, since it's the 15th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks. It's a day that I, like pretty much everyone, will never forget. I can recall my "where were you" vividly -- huddled around a dorm TV. I cannot help but pray today -- for the lives lost, for lives irreconcilably changed, in thanksgiving for those who served in the aftermath, for the changed world that has emerged. I pray to remember, and I pray for peace. I also reflect on my own life in that time, and pray in thanksgiving for the gift of faith. I pray in thanksgiving for the life I'm now living. </span><br />
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Happy week (and waning hours of the weekend)!</div>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-19032099313860789502016-09-08T06:30:00.000-05:002016-09-08T06:30:02.047-05:00Savoring the Season<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: 12px;">It started with a check yourself moment Monday morning. I began to feel sorry for myself, because the holiday day was starting to look like a pretty ordinary morning. And, with Charles off, wasn't I supposed to have a lovely, photogenic family day?!? It lasted about 30 seconds before I snapped out of it, reminding myself that the media, and especially social media, are not purveyors of 100% accuracy in their portrayal of life. Besides, our afternoon plans were for the pool and burgers on the grill. What is more hashtag-worthy than that?</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So I righted my thinking, got over it, and got on with my day, which proved to be perfect in that it gave me, not an Inta-worthy photo, but deep, penetrating, soul-feeding contentment. That happiness is so very much better.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Four hours after my momentary pity party, I found myself reflecting on the whole thing. It was a strange Labor Day Weekend. On the one hand, the calendar had flipped to September, so we (societal we) were all about apples and pumpkins, scarves and boots. Fall, in all its glory, had arrived. On the other hand, here we were, celebrating the waning days of summer, on the last "official" (if artificially designated) day of summer. Knowing the days ahead will bring the fall of the media and the catalogues in fits and starts for weeks, months even. Knowing that the public's taste for autumn will come and go all too soon. The Christmas catalogues, surely, are already being prepared for mailing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So there I was poolside, nursing Dominic, while Charles took the big kids to play in the water. Watching the scene before me, my eyes welled with the simultaneous recognition of how blessed I am and how fleeting it all is. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Change, like fall, is in the air. Charles' and my minds are occupied with figuring out what follows residency--and where. Mulling possibilities and futures and dreams.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Clare was running and splashing and squealing -- oh! how she squeals! -- in French braids and her purple tutu tank that will surely be too small next summer.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Peter was there, a home body away from home, but happy with his people. His safe place. Fumbling his toddler-ish way from baby to boy, his cars and his family never <i>too</i> far away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And tiny Dominic, 4 weeks old, and already filling out, growing. I'm going to blink, and he'll be Peter's age. Clare's. And they'll be...I don't want to think about it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I want to rebel. Stop rushing time. Stop declaring the commencement of fall before summer ends. Stop running headlong into Christmas before the turkey is roasted. Stop wishing away today's challenges, tempted by the promise of tomorrow.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Instead, I want to savor the little girl squeals (even though they pierce my ears), the cars under foot (even when they make me curse under my breath), the sweet baby who has dozed off in my arms (even when it means the laundry won't get folded). I want to savor the present, not because it is perfect, but because it is good, intrinsically, life affirmingly <b>good</b>. Because I can already feel it slipping through my fingers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I want to savor this season, because I only get to taste it once.</span></div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-22728568079680553032016-08-26T14:22:00.002-05:002016-08-26T14:22:45.798-05:00Naming Dominic Jude<div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I love when people share a little bit about how they came to name their children what they do. I'm an old-school name nerd.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dominic's name was the longest, hardest, and easiest for us so far. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We (I?) decided that being Team Green (not learning the gender of baby until delivery) was something I really wanted to experience, probably right after Peter was born. Our biggest "drawback" to going for it was the daunting prospect of coming up with names for either a boy or a girl.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We had tossed ideas around in the past, and pretty much have a girl name settled if we are ever so blessed. At least a first name. Middle names around here seem to be up for debate until the last possible minute, so you never <i>really</i> know!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, that left us with deciding on a boy name! There are, of course, two types of people in the world: those who struggle with girl names and those who struggle with boy names. We are the latter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We had tossed around ideas and possibilities in the past, but when there's an actual baby to name, stuff gets real! Compounding the challenge this go 'round was my due date: August 8, which happens to be the "feast" (liturgically: memorial) of St. Dominic, to whom Charles and I have a long standing devotion. I said that if I had a baby boy on my due date, we *had* to use Dominic as a first or middle name.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So Dominic started its rise toward the top of our name list, along with a surprise contender: Jude. At one point, before I was even pregnant, I found Charles' St. Jude medal--one I didnt even know he had -- while sweeping. I decided it was a sign and started to consider Jude as a name, even watching it grow in popularity among young Catholics. At some point, we threw out the idea of Dominic Jude together, and we both sort of agreed that we really liked Dominic Jude.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But did I want to "save" Jude for another first name down the road? Did we want to use Jude as a first name now? Did we want to choose a middle that we just can't use as a first for whatever reason (like being <b>too</b> weird or used by close family/friends)? So began our trip down the long, winding middle name road. We had SO many middle name possibilities. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I chatted with <a href="https://sanctanomina.net/" target="_blank">Kate</a>, who gave me plenty of ideas, which was both helpful (great ideas!) and not (more ideas!).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">We knew that middle names would be a game-day decision either way. We were somewhat settled on a middle for a girl, but for a boy? Still not sure.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">By the time we were walking into the hospital for my August 8 induction, it was clear that we'd be using Dominic for a boy, but I remember thinking that I was pretty settled on a different middle name.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Once he was born, and he was a Dominic, everyone in the room found out that we were still debating a middle name and threw out some terrible (for us!) suggestions, most notably, Chase! I mean, my Paw Patrol obsessed bigs might have liked it, but it's just not our style. *Giant wink*</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As I was holding him, for the first time, I felt like I knew: his middle name was Jude. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally, after what felt like forever, the room cleared out of alllll the people, and Charles and I had a chance to talk middle names with privacy. I told him that I was really feeling Dominic Jude and, miraculously(?), Charles agreed right away.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It was the longest naming process, because it really did last theee longest. Twelve or fifteen or twenty-four months. It was the hardest because 1) two names and 2) all of the doubt. It was the easiest because the due date gave it away and the name we ultimately settled on had felt so right for so long.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">St. Dominic, pray for us.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">St. Jude, pray for us.</span></div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-86751128612364915602016-08-18T07:00:00.000-05:002016-08-18T07:00:10.330-05:00Baby Dominic's Birth Story<span style="font-family: inherit;">It's a boy!!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dominic Jude</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>{Skipping over the announcement post, and getting to the real meat: birth story! Also, all the usual birth story TMI warnings.}</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://coffeehappens.blogspot.com/2013/01/littles-birth-story.html" target="_blank">Clare's Birth Story</a></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://coffeehappens.blogspot.com/2014/04/peters-birth-story-part-1-of-2.html" target="_blank">Peter's Birth Story</a></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, much like with <a href="http://coffeehappens.blogspot.com/2014/04/peters-birth-story-part-1-of-2.html" target="_blank">Peter</a>, I was pretty much done with being pregnant several weeks before birth. Also much like Peter, I went through weeks of irregular early labor/Braxton Hicks/whatever contractions. A few times, things looked promising...until they petered out. Blah.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />So we get to 39 weeks. I had an appointment that Monday, when I was 39&0. Since we were planning induction for the next week, we had to do a cervix check (to see how favorable I was for induction, etc.), and things were promising: 3cm/80% effaced/0 station.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />My doctor was sure that I'd go Monday or Tuesday. Or in the next few days at the outset, but scheduled a pitocin induction for Monday morning just in case. Ha! Famous last words!<br />So Monday came and went. My in-laws arrived to watch Clare and Peter on D-Day. That was helped put my mind at ease. Greatly, since, even though I had several people offer help, it just made everything so much easier to know I didn't need to worry about it.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, weekend. All the walking and eating and pedicure-ing did nothing to move Baby along. By Friday, I resigned myself to induction, because it was so much easier on my mental state.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />At least Baby would (presumably) have the awesome birthday of 08.08.16!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Sure enough, Charles and I were up and moving bright and early Monday morning. Ate breakfast--enough to sustain me in labor, not so much as to be a huge disaster if it came back up. Fun times! Gave the kiddos final good-bye kisses. Headed out.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">As predicted</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />It was grey and rainy. I felt at peace about everything, but I also can't say I wasn't nervous about the unknown. We parked and made our way in to admissions. Ironically, it was the first time I'd ever set foot in St. Joseph hospital. Ironic because of the thousands of hours Charles has spent there. Literally thousands.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Anyway, we got checked in and make our way up to labor and delivery, and got the administrative side of things going. Flattering hospital gown. IV. A million questions from nurses and residents* and the anesthesia team. Another (always fun) check on progress.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />When all was said and done, they started pitocin at about 8:30. For the first two hours, we watched the Olympics, ate ice chips (disappointingly old school--at least give me real water, people!), and hung out. Contractions were getting regular and were more uncomfortable, but still not too bad.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />My main complain the whole time was that my nurse, who was so kind and very competent, was also an insane chatterbox. Like she made small talk constantly--even through contractions--to the point of being really annoying, and keeping Charles and I from having any conversations (important, ridiculous or otherwise) of/on our own.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />I had my second check at 10:15ish without much progress, but after that, things started picking up. Contractions were getting really hard to sit through, and I was definitely breathing/not talking/wouldn't be walking through them. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />I got out of bed to use the restroom with the intention of laboring on the yoga ball after, but standing felt so good, I decided to stand/sway through them instead. </span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: inherit;">By now, the contractions were pretty regular and pretty intense. I was definitely breathing/ working through them. I'd found through the last weeks of pregnancy that praying the Hail Mary through uncomfortable contractions/checks/whatever was really comforting and helped me to relax greatly. 2 or 3 Hail Marys really got me through each contraction. I'm sure calling in divine comfort and assistance aided me to that end as well. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />I also found great comfort in the Crucifix. Because I delivered at a Catholic hospital, there was one in the room and I happened to have positioned myself so it was right in front of me while I was up and out of bed. Maybe my guardian angel helped me get there. Regardless, focusing on Christ and His sacrifice, and trying (however pitifully) to unite my suffering to His, also helped me work through contractions. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />At noonish, they came to check me again. Progress! Officially declared to be in active labor!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Throughout my pregnancy, I had debated the epidural question, in part because of how fast I went with Peter. Finally, I had come down to the realization that natural onset of labor would likely go too fast to bother, but if I was induced I was going for the meds. I wasn't trying to be a hero, and didn't see any reason to work through 6 more centimeters unmedicated.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />So, since I was officially "in labor" the plan was to get the epidural, break my water and go from there. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />According to everyone, the anesthesiologist on call was The Best, and soon he and his nurse were in my room working their magic. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Sure enough, in spite of the world's most uncomfortable labor position, and even though I had breathed and tried to relax and pray and was straight coached through a lot of rough contractions by Charles (who also got his hand squeezed like I was trying to do serious damage), the epidural worked its magic and the pain? Gone!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />So, back the residents came to check again and break my water. But now? 8 and then 10 centimeters! Baby time!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />They let me labor down, thanks to the epidural, while the team got things ready for delivery, then it was time to push.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />I was actually nervous, because the epidural was so fresh and because I had no feeling of pressure or needing to push or anything "baby is coming"-y. That was one thing about Peter's birth--I definitely experienced that primal urge to push!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />But, as it turns out, I'm one of those people who is naturally fairly good at pushing, and even without feeling it, I was pretty effective. I pushed through about 4 contractions and then...there he was!<br />It was interesting, because from the angle I was at, I could see that baby was a Dominic* at the same time as everyone else. No big "it's a boy!" announcement--just a lot of comments that yep, it was a boy.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />They did immediate akin to skin (I was feeling very Mama Bear--give me my baby)! He was slow in pinking up, though, so the newborn team pulled him over to the warmer to clear mucous and get color in him. I got all teary waiting and watching--talk about hormones! I'm sure his initial set of Apgars was less than stellar, but once they got him going, a few minutes that felt like forever later, he was fine. They put him back on my chest and we snuggled (and Dominic started rooting), while they finished the slowest set of repairs ev-er for a barely second-degree tear. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Finally, I got to sit back and nurse and let people know that the baby arrived. About this time, Charles and I were finally given a minute alone to finally decide on a middle name--Jude winning at long last*--to share with family and friends.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />After a couple of hours, we were moved to a recovery room--the giant corner room, actually (perk of delivering where Dad works!). My in-laws brought the big kids to visit.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Reading" to her brothers</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Baby Domnick, I love you."</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My little mama</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />We ate and rested and nursed and got bored and got the heck outta Dodge 26 hours after birth, when we got the all clear on bilirubin! I don't care what anyone else says, there's no place like home!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br />Since then, things have been great! So far, we're enjoying the sleepy newborn phase, the sweet tiny baby snuggles, the help/company/baby holders, and Charles' days off + relatively easy schedule this month.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">As nervous as I was about the induction, it could not have gone more smoothly. I was on the piton for about 5 hours from start to baby, and once labor kick started, things progressed fast: a little more than two hours from the onset of hard contractions to baby; one hour from 4 cm to complete -- it looks like those contractions while they were placing the epidural were as bad as they seemed. I'm sure all of those things will impact decision making if we have more kids. I'm mostly just grateful for a good experience, and for a healthy baby boy. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Yeah. We're all smitten!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First family pic -- not cropped. :S</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">*Blog post forthcoming</span><br />
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-37050339158778246502016-08-05T06:44:00.001-05:002016-08-05T06:44:21.659-05:007QT {08.05.16} -- A Watched Pot Never BoilsHere I am. I'm 39 weeks, 4 days pregnant, and feeling every single bit like that watched pot. So long as L&D are not happening, I'm trying to keep walking and keep busy, which means I'm linking up with <a href="http://thisaintthelyceum.org/" target="_blank">Kelly</a> this morning.<br />
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1. At this point, I've had irregular contractions more or less every day for weeks. These range from totally fine to pretty uncomfortable, but I'm still waiting on the big daddy contraction: the one that says get me to the hospital NOW! I've had 2 or 3 instances where I was hopeful that things were picking up, but only to have my hopes dashed. At my appointment on Monday, the doctor thought things looked promising to happen soon, but just in case, the plan is to induce this coming Monday if Mr./Miss Sassy pants here doesn't decide to come on his/her own.</div>
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2. In preparation for the next month of recovery, ceaseless breastfeeding and momming through the fog of sleepless nights and busy days, we got a new rocker/glider for the living room. It only took 3 shopping trips to find the perfect one, but on trip #3, we found it at the first place we looked. We wanted: something really comfortable, something that would last and work in future homes (more investment, less throwaway), something wipeable (for easy clean-up of spit-up, milk spills, whatever else kids do to furniture). This guy was delivered last weekend and fits the bill perfectly. Charles calls it my captain's chair, and while I'm sitting in it now as I type, I am mostly just looking forward to settling in with my little snuggle bug. The one who's still waaaay too comfy snuggling on the inside.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Post-chair delivery photo courtesy of Charles.</td></tr>
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3. Want some bump pics? I'd love to say that these are my last 3, but the way things seem to be going, I'll get a 40-week picture on Monday morning. :-P</div>
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4. Last weekend, I was able to do something that I really wanted to do for each kid before baby comes: take them on a Mom-date. The original plan was to go to ice cream or something, but because of schedules, ironically, things got more elaborate. Clare and I went to dinner (she wanted pizza), then we did a little back-to-school shopping, grabbed a treat (she picked gelatto), and ate dessert by the fountain at the shopping center where she made wishes and ran around like the 4 year old she is.</div>
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5. Saturday morning, Peter and I went to breakfast, ran errands, and then had coffee/juice/giant cookie at Starbucks. He took soooooooo long to eat that dang cookie, but by golly, he ate the entire thing! It was nice to spend time with them before the baby. They are<i> so</i> excited and are going to be such good big siblings, but it IS going to be a real adjustment for them, too. Especially Peter. (Side note: he's already too big. I'm not looking forward to the come-home-from-the-hospital and your former baby is a giant/kid phenomenon.)</div>
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6. Last weekend was a flurry of activity (Clean! Get haircuts! Finish projects!) and preparations for arrival of the baby and the family that comes with it. Charles' parents are here until sometime next week. Then my dad and stepmom, and then my sister. So, we were busy, busy bees trying to make it all happen. One thing we finally did was set up the swing in the living room, since it did require some toy moving and rearranging to make happen. Anyway, Clare immediately decided it needed some love and put her baby down for a nap in it--sweet girl. </div>
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7. OPENING CEREMONIES ARE TONIGHT!!!! Do you hear that baby?!?! Come out and watch with us! I'm super excited, and not ashamed to admit that when I saw when my due date was for the baby, I was excited to have a totally justified reason to sit on my bum and watch way too much Olympic coverage. I'm not watching dressage at 5am because I care. I'm watching it because Baby is hungry. </div>
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And that's all I got. Happy weekend!! </div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-53665212667908395302016-07-21T06:00:00.000-05:002016-07-21T06:00:23.805-05:00Finding Joy<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Summer = popsicles on the deck, no?</td></tr>
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Maybe you can relate.<br />
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I have an amazing life. I am blessed beyond measure. I am happily married to my best friend. I have two amazing (ex-utero) children. I am on the brink of welcoming another little soul to this big, bad world. We have all of our material needs met. We're doing the best we can on spiritual matters. We have amazing circles of family, friends, support -- both here in Wichita, and itching for us to come home to Arizona. </div>
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I also have small children. I am 37 weeks pregnant in this sticky August heat that seems not to be going away anytime soon (at least according to the weatherman). I have a husband who works long (and currently very early!) hours. </div>
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So, at the end of the day, where's my focus? On the moments that made me laugh so hard that I cried? On the joy of stopping my girl on the stairs and embracing her in a monster hug for no reason at all? On Peter's hilarious statements, lacking in any sort of connecting words?</div>
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No, I focus on me. On my problems, concerns, complaints. On how the kids are fighting or loud or not respecting my need for personal space between the hours of 3 and 5 pm.</div>
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One way that I'm hoping to combat that plague is by looking for the joy in my life. Identifying it. I mean, it's right there for the taking. I just have to do it. And I hope to share those moments here. To capture them. To make them my focus, instead of my blur. To count my blessings. </div>
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My name is Ashley, and in my life, I am finding joy.</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-1560306320976131862016-07-19T06:00:00.000-05:002016-07-19T06:00:10.647-05:00When It's All Bottled UpI have barely touched a keyboard in months.<br />
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I want to. I want to find my creative mojo and write. I want to share the thousand things in my head and in my heart. I want to tell you about how beautifully God is shaping me with this whole marriage and motherhood thing. I want to tell you about how miserably I fail time and time again. I want to capture this moment in my life, because I see how fleeting it really is.</div>
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But yet. </div>
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But yet. The words are just not there. Not where I want them to be. I have so many drafts sitting unloved. Unedited. Untouched. Unfinished. Unpublished. </div>
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People talk about the death of blogging. Sometimes, I see where they are coming from. Sometimes, I feel the frustrating imbalance between not really caring how many hits I (don't) get, being happy to be a small-time blogger. Sometimes, I dream of more. Then I think about the time commitment, and it's time I just don't want to spend . . . on that. Not now. It's not the right time. Not for me. Maybe someday. </div>
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Someday, I want to dream a big dream. I want to write or teach or DO. But right now, that's not where I'm called to be. I'm called to be Mama to these kiddos of mine. And that's more than okay. That's where God wants me. Doing God's will is always the path to joy, even (especially?) in the face of self-sacrifice.</div>
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But these thoughts, these ideas, these experiences? They aren't good when they are bottled up. <b>I'm</b> not good when they are all bottled up. </div>
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Can I promise that my hope of wading back into the blogging waters will be fruitful? No. But my fingers are itching, and that is something I haven't felt in awhile. I'm hoping to run with it, and see where I land. I hope you'll come along for the ride.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Also, where else will I share pictures of my crazy kids being crazy?</td></tr>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-19087490911708442822016-07-18T16:38:00.002-05:002016-07-18T16:38:45.832-05:0037 Week Bumpdate . . . AKA the end of the roadOk, fine. I still have 3 weeks to go. I still have 2 weeks before I told baby that s/he could make his/her appearance. But I think we all know that this is going to be the last bumpdate I manage to post. I just feel so blah about it.<br />
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Anyway, without further ado: </div>
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<b>Feeling: </b>Okay, I guess. I'm hot and tired. I have various aches and pains. I have plenty of irregular contractions that aren't going to be sending me to the hospital anytime soon. One minute, I'm convinced that there is no way I'm going to make it to 40 weeks. The next, I've convinced myself that I'm going to be induced in the end. I'm pretty emotionally done, but as I mentioned, really would prefer Baby to stick around a couple more weeks. Basically, your classic preggo at the end of pregnancy, with the added bonus of an August due date. :-P</div>
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<b>Wearing:</b> The same things over and over and over. I'm mostly pretty sick of my wardrobe and mostly pretty ready to move on to the next phase: getting sick of my transition wardrobe. Also, I underestimated how short a couple of my t-shirts would get by the end of pregnancy, so that's making the situation even worse, if I want to be presentable when I leave home. </div>
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<b>Sleeping: </b>Pretty well, all things considered. I'm doing the beached whale roll over every couple of hours, and I wake for the day pretty early -- even earlier than the kids, and that's saying something! -- but overall, I can fall asleep and go back to sleep, so I can't complain too much. </div>
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<b>Missing: </b>It's summer. I would really like to enjoy a cold alcoholic drink on the deck while Charles grills and the kids run around like maniacs. I love my La Croix, but it's just not the same. At all.</div>
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<b>Bonus: </b>I've actually taken a lot of bump pictures in the last few weeks that never got posted, so here's your chance to watch me grow. And if you're really lucky, I'll add an actual 37 week picture later, when I'm not bedraggled from being at the pool this morning. :-)</div>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-7828320520488759462016-05-17T10:25:00.002-05:002016-05-17T10:25:31.992-05:0028 Week Bumpdate<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Feeling: </b>Ok. I’m feeling bigger by the day, and I’m starting to feel the aches and (hip!) pains of pregnancy, but nothing a heating pad, hot shower, or Tylenol can’t fix. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Wearing: </b>Maternity t-shirts and jeans, with a cardigan when necessary. I’m eeking 2.5 pairs of jeans and a couple of pairs of leggings out through the spring shoulder season. I don’t want to buy more pants when I know that, as soon as the weather turns, I’ll be living in skirts and dresses the rest of the summer. Spring in Kansas really makes my Arizona show loud and proud — what friends from colder climes view as shorts weather still finds us in pants and layers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Eating: </b>No real change on the food front. Whether it’s baby or spring or both, I find myself wanting lots of fruits and veggies, which can’t be bad. And I’m drinking tons of water (or at least I'm trying really, really hard--depends on the day!!), and trying to eat plenty of protein. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Craving: </b>Baby has pretty much established his/her love for cheeseburgers, chocolate, and raspberries. Peter liked his beef. Clare liked her sweets. No gender hints there!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Sleeping: </b>Sleep is getting a bit more elusive. I find myself waking every hour or two, but sleeping hard in between.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><b>Bonus: </b>The 20s weeks of pregnancy feel like they are creeeeeeping by. But then I think how fast April went, and how fast May going. Suddenly, by the end of May, I’ll be in the 30s, and that always goes fast (until the end when it doesn’t). Which is a long, very complicated way of saying that even though it feels like time is moving slowly right now, I know that the end of pregnancy is going to be here before I know it.</span><br />
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-36205175475807243892016-05-15T14:57:00.001-05:002016-05-15T14:57:35.299-05:007 Quick Takes (05.15.16)I don't even remember the last time I did 7QT, but here goes! Linking up with <a href="http://thisaintthelyceum.org/" target="_blank">Kelly</a>. (For reals, yo, I started this on Friday, then naps and quiet didn't happen and now it's Sunday, and I'm actually trying to get stuff up.)<br />
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So, since I haven't done much blogging recently, here is a photo dump update.</div>
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1. First, I gotta brag that I got not one, but two posts published this week, thanks to some Mother's Day time at Starbucks. <a href="http://coffeehappens.blogspot.com/2016/05/to-peter-on-his-second-birthday.html" target="_blank">Birthdays </a>and <a href="http://coffeehappens.blogspot.com/2016/05/my-heart-wasnt-in-it.html" target="_blank">parks</a>. That's what motherhood is made of, am I right, or am I right?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_ogWqPFQHrg/VzjMx37xSgI/AAAAAAAAOco/I3YHPCJeawE-YGpmpS1jJ9zgESiYsWbxQCKgB/s1600/3aa3825b-c879-4304-b154-c325fb9dcc12" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-_ogWqPFQHrg/VzjMx37xSgI/AAAAAAAAOco/I3YHPCJeawE-YGpmpS1jJ9zgESiYsWbxQCKgB/s320/3aa3825b-c879-4304-b154-c325fb9dcc12" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Park Kids</td></tr>
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2. Speaking of birthdays, Peter's second was pretty great. Even though Charles was working nights, we managed to celebrate with gifts and breakfast on the big day, and had a gaggle of friends and a few family members over for a shindig on Saturday.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mCcaqvWTCZo/VzjMx53dynI/AAAAAAAAOco/_bpn_RFGluoX3elMPImiiOSgcDmiPJtcQCKgB/s1600/3c23f1ec-317b-434e-bfb5-1265a21efb57" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-mCcaqvWTCZo/VzjMx53dynI/AAAAAAAAOco/_bpn_RFGluoX3elMPImiiOSgcDmiPJtcQCKgB/s320/3c23f1ec-317b-434e-bfb5-1265a21efb57" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cake and gifts and bikes, oh my!</td></tr>
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3. Last week (two weeks ago?), the kids and I took a whirlwind (emphasis on whirl) trip to Arizona for my grandma's memorial/burial. It was my first time flying with both of them, and I I have to say that I was really nervous about the whole thing. I'm really proud of how they did--great on the flight and for most of the week. By the last couple of days, they were pretty exhausted from being dragged around, nonstop stimulation, and being on some weird hybrid of Central Daylight and Mountain Standard times that basically meant that they were getting very, very little sleep at night. Overall, it went well, but I'm still none too eager to do it all over again.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VwGEm7kdNqo/VzjMx2FJAvI/AAAAAAAAOco/C7yJ6BJomegduK4w4dlyCBkfJKUPmZlYACKgB/s1600/21c2c4bb-aaa9-433c-9ae0-943740794652" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VwGEm7kdNqo/VzjMx2FJAvI/AAAAAAAAOco/C7yJ6BJomegduK4w4dlyCBkfJKUPmZlYACKgB/s320/21c2c4bb-aaa9-433c-9ae0-943740794652" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snacks on the plane like pros.</td></tr>
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4. One night at my dad's house, when I went to get ready for bed, I found them sleeping like this. The photo quality is awful (iPhone and all flash, go figure), but it just melted my heart. I love that they love each other, even though their volume/fighting doesn't always show it.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Oq7QlNtH9iY/VzjMx4ipJPI/AAAAAAAAOco/OoEyW6fQ-tknndqYuI-6xCb5m11WVRyswCKgB/s1600/3bc72905-0606-4301-82a5-b2d187c8d7a2" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Oq7QlNtH9iY/VzjMx4ipJPI/AAAAAAAAOco/OoEyW6fQ-tknndqYuI-6xCb5m11WVRyswCKgB/s320/3bc72905-0606-4301-82a5-b2d187c8d7a2" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He was actually sleeping on her! </td></tr>
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5. Before we left, we went with our playgroup on a little excursion to go strawberry picking. Fruit picking is pretty foreign to me, since the only thing that really grows in Phoenix is citrus, and enough people have a surplus in their yards that going picking is not really a thing. Anyway, we had so much fun, and my kids devoured our pickings for a pre-flight afternoon snack!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting' our country on</td></tr>
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6. <a href="http://coffeehappens.blogspot.com/2013/05/some-almost-mothers-day-reflections.html" target="_blank">I've written before</a> about how Mother's Day was really hard for me for a long time. This year, for the first time in 17 years, I can honestly say that I had a wonderful day. Yes, I had those twinges of sadness, but Charles and the kids made my day with the sweetest flowers and funniest cards and food and coffee and laughter. I felt too blessed to be burdened with sadness.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">3 bouquets from my 3 loves</td></tr>
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7. Next week, Clare is going to have her first dance recital! Of course, that means a dance-heavy week and lots of time with poor Peter stuck at dance stuff, but I'm pretty sure it is going to be adorable. I'm also pretty sure that one or both of Charles and me will cry on the big day. We're nothing if not a couple of big saps.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j6RDTO8hYWw/VzjMx4_Hq-I/AAAAAAAAOco/sAnHTHmuZK0idVan_ChJma5SZDejqCIlgCKgB/s1600/81db6e36-a80e-4105-8d5e-d5479fe39b6d" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-j6RDTO8hYWw/VzjMx4_Hq-I/AAAAAAAAOco/sAnHTHmuZK0idVan_ChJma5SZDejqCIlgCKgB/s320/81db6e36-a80e-4105-8d5e-d5479fe39b6d" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blurry picture day pics</td></tr>
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Have a lovely <strike>weekend!</strike> week!!<br />
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-73222112871444449972016-05-11T07:00:00.000-05:002016-05-11T07:00:18.508-05:00My Heart Wasn't In It<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; line-height: normal; min-height: 15px;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">This is the rainy season in Wichita. Rain is in the forecast several days each week. That rain may or may not bring with it severe storms, thunderstorm warnings, the works. It will probably bring rain and a day or two of being cooped up. I learned my lesson last year that I need to get my kids out to burn energy as much as possible on the days when the weather is halfway decent in order to save my sanity the rest of the time.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">All of this to explain why I told my kids that we could go to the park to play and eat lunch on our way home from story time on Wednesday a couple of weeks ago, even though I really, really, really didn’t want to go to the park: it was a couple of degrees cooler than I would have liked, and a whole lot windier and wetter, thanks to storms the days before. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The whole drive, I offered alternatives that were basic rewordings of: let’s go eat lunch at home and we can play later. No, they want to go to the park. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Fine.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, we go to the park and all of the reasons I didn’t want to go to the park start proving perfectly accurate, right before my eyes. It’s cold. (Okay, fine, it’s a tiny bit chilly.) It’s wet. The kids are dropping peanut butter sandwiches in the dirt. They are setting soaked in puddles and caked in sand. I just.want.to.go.home. They finally “finish” eating and I give them 5 minutes to play before we load our wet selves into the van. Royal we, of course, because I’m dry and annoyed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">In a desperate attempt to get some good playing time in before The Wicked Witch makes her leave, Clare sprints to the play structure, Peter on her heels. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And, oh my gosh! Something, on this particular day, has clicked in my girls’ brain. Instead of playing on the baby equipment and being timid timid timid, she is going down the big slides and climbing back up. She is going up and down the up-to-now terrifying twisty tube slide. She is climbing and sliding and laughing. We stayed a whole lot longer than 5 minutes!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">That triggered something in me. I was so dang proud of her for overcoming her fears, her preference for taking the proven road instead of pushing herself. At one point, while helping her climb, I literally teared up. These moments are what parenthood is all about. There is nothing better than watching your kids fly. And that Wednesday, my girl flew.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">What a lesson in parenting, even when we don't want to! I'm not good at doing things -- anything! -- when my heart isn't in it. Sure I can push through and get it done, but probably not up to the standards I'm capable of. That day, my heart wasn't in my own promise to go to the park. Sure, I pushed through, but I had every intention of half-***ing it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But parenting? Parenting isn't about us. It isn't about us at all. It is about emptying ourselves, sacrificing what we want, for the good of our kids. And the reward? That is even greater.</span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My kiddos that day at the park</td></tr>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-83753787020251847942016-05-09T07:00:00.000-05:002016-05-09T07:00:09.362-05:00To Peter On His Second Birthday<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>{SO belated in posting!</i><i>}</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Dear Peter,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">One is such a weird age. You start as nearly a baby and end as a legit toddler. This year saw you walking, talking, moving into a big boy bed, and getting ready to be a big brother. And you’re going to be a great big brother, once you get over the fact that someone else will be competing for my attention! (You’re quite the Mama’s Boy, if we’re being totally honest!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You are sweet. You have the best little smile. You give the best hugs, and are SO naturally affectionate.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">You are smart. People — </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(102, 102, 102);">sometimes</span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(102, 102, 102); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;"> including Mommy and Daddy — underestimate you, because your speech has been a little slow in coming. You are putting more and more words together, though, and now others are starting to see can see what we’ve known for awhile. That little brain of yours works in overdrive. Probably the result of <b>all </b>the books you get us to read.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You love to color. You probably have a better natural writing grip than your sister, and can sit with crayons for a long, long time. You also like to show off your skills on any other surface available, if you get your hands on a rogue crayon/pencil/pen. We do our best to keep those things out of reach, and have also made ample use of Mr. Clean Magic Erasers. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You love food — especially your first-thing-in-the-morning yogurt. And you devour it with passion — which is a nice way of saying that you are THE messiest eater. You’ve also inherited your mama’s love of ketchup. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You are a daredevil, but you are shy. It takes you awhile to adapt to a new situation. That means that me leaving you in the Church nursery or with friends while I run to the restroom freaks you out. But climbing to the tippy top of the play structure or going down the highest, fastest slide? That doesn’t phase you in the least. We’re just waiting on the ER visit that we know is coming.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">You are charming. With that little grin and impish sense of humor, you try to get out of whatever mischief you get into. You try to deflect attention by making any object into a hat or pointing out the baby in Mama’s belly. Yeah, we’re on to you, Buddy!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">It is such a joy being your Mama, Big Man. I’ve grown so much as a mother, and learned so much about love in our two years together, and I cannot wait to see what the future holds.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Love always,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Mama</span></div>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-74216467412572513802016-03-22T11:32:00.000-05:002016-03-22T11:32:25.679-05:0020 Week Bumpdate<div>
<b>How far along: </b>20 weeks (and 1 day, if you're being all technical)</div>
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<b>Feeling: </b>Pretty good, truth be told. I'm starting to feel the occasional crick in my back and whatnot, but the stomach feels good, the viral yuck that passed through the whole dang house in the last month or so is finally gone. I've had a few days where I woke up totally in nesting mode, and needed to scrub bathrooms or clean out cabinets or whatnot. Which is fine, except for the day that I really, really wanted to wash all the newborn stuff, but had to resist, knowing that I'd need to rewash it this summer. So I limited myself to sorting and putting it in a bag to be a load later this summer.</div>
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<b>Wearing: </b>Pretty much all maternity all the time. I still have a handful of non-maternity things in the rotation, but they are mostly things that I bought or have put aside in part because they are so flexible.</div>
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<b>Eating: </b>Still just trying to keep it reasonably healthy and every couple of hours. The cravings have dropped off a little, but yesterday, I freakishly decided I needed a bowl of cereal mid-afternoon. I think it is the first time in my life that I have eaten cereal for anything besides breakfast.</div>
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<b>Craving: </b>Ice cream. Is it Easter yet? </div>
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<b>Sleeping: </b>Pretty well. I have to get up a time or two each night to use the bathroom/deal with a kiddo/whatever, but I'm sleeping and falling back to sleep easily, so no complaints there.</div>
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<b>Missing: </b>An afternoon caffeine boost. Some afternoons just drag on forever, you know?!? </div>
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<b>Bonus: </b>Mid-pregnancy beauty shot from our little Monkey. This was from my anatomy scan at 18 weeks. Looking healthy. We're standing by our decision to be Team Green, so we'll find out whether this little wiggle worm (and baby is a serious wiggle worm--I've been feeling pretty strong movement since 17 weeks!) is a boy or girl at delivery!<br />
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-56680008838272551902016-03-07T06:58:00.000-06:002016-03-07T06:58:28.139-06:00Roasted Potato Soup<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>{I have said many times that I am not, and have no desire to be, a food blogger. But I love food, and sometimes, I have to record a recipe or blather about baking. My apologies.}</i></span></div>
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Have you ever had the privilege of reading a recipe review that looks something like this:</span><div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">"It was terrible! I substituted baby formula for the half and half and didn't use any salt. I also omitted the potatoes and used soft pretzels instead. I will never ever EVER make this recipe again!!?!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Okay, so you didn't make the recipe you made...something. Maybe it was edible. Presumably didn't kill you, since you wrote the review. I know some of them aren't quite that bad, but it's frustrating to read a review and then hear about how great it was . . . after they totally changed the recipe!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Anyway, I felt like a bit of a recipe Frankenstein Friday night while making potato soup <i>inspired by</i> <a href="http://www.foodnetwork.com/recipes/ina-garten/roasted-potato-leek-soup-recipe.html" target="_blank">this Barefoot Contessa recipe</a>. I saw the episode in the week (ironing + Food Network gets the ironing done, okay), promptly forgot about it, then re-remembered it Thursday night (i.e. the day I do my grocery shopping when the getting new stuff ship had long sailed). But I thought it might be a fun way to spruce up "boring old" potato soup, which was already on the menu for Friday.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, instead of leeks, I used onions. And boring old russet potatoes. And veggie broth. And no arugula. Or crime fraiche. Or crispy shallots.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So this is what I <b>did</b> do. No process pics, because I didn't know how much I was going to enjoy my concoction to know that I needed to document it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">2.5 pounds of potatoes (I eyeballed a quarter of a 10-lb bag.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">2 quarts (8 cups) of vegetable broth (I used homemade, but you could use store bought or chicken)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Whole milk to taste (again, what I had; you could use half & half or cream or whatever)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Thyme -- a few sprigs</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Salt & Pepper to taste</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">1. Peel potatoes and cut into large chunks. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">2. Dice onions into large chunks.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">3. Coat onions and potatoes with oil, salt and pepper. Spread on baking sheet. Add thyme on top.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">4. Roast in 400* oven for 45 minutes or until cooked and golden brown</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">5. Remove thyme twigs</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">6. Transfer potatoes and onion mixture to food processor in batches (I used 2) with a little broth. At this point, you do not want a smooth mixture, but a chunky one. Transfer to a pot or Dutch oven, and add the rest of your broth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">7. Simmer and season to taste. I made the soup mid-afternoon and let it simmer for a couple of hours, but it would be just as good after 20 or 30 minutes. A bit before serving, add milk to taste -- we don't do a super creamy soup, so I used maybe 1/4 cup (eyeballed, of course). Honestly, it was pretty good without it, if you're a non-dairy person.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">8. Try not to eat it all before you serve.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">On Friday night, I served it with a salad and crusty artisan bread. I ate leftovers with a sprinkle of cheddar. I can't help but feel like the dish calls for some good white cheddar, or maybe a grilled cheese or another toasty sandwich on sourdough. Yum!</span></div>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-24942585346785814902016-02-22T14:08:00.000-06:002016-02-22T14:08:50.266-06:0016 Week BumpdateWhat's a Catholic mom-blog type blog without baby talk?<br />
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I guess I haven't really shared the news here, though I certainly shared it with family around Christmas,<br />
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and with the rest of the world via Instagram and FB.</div>
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Anyway, I'm trying to get back on the blogging bandwagon, especially now that I have some second trimester energy. But I also still have a boy who resists naps with all of his might, and an early-rising girl, which makes computer time pretty hit and miss. </div>
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So, without further ado, this is us at 16 weeks with #3, also known as The Monkey. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Please forgive the still-wet hair. Was trying to get a picture before the late-day bloat made me look even bigger.</td></tr>
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<b>How far along: </b>16 weeks. Officially due August 8, but I am going with "early August" to hopefully keep the late-pregnancy crazies away (at least a little).</div>
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<b>Feeling: </b>Not too bad. I had some on and off nausea through first trimester, especially if I didn't eat frequently enough or eat enough protein. It was nothing debilitating by any means, but it was probably the worst I've felt any pregnancy. I also spent those weeks bone tired -- fall-asleep-standing-up kind of tired. I still feel pretty run down (thus too much time staring at the TV/phone, not enough time doing anything more productive), but I feel like a functional human, albeit one wishing I could consume considerably more caffeine than ACOG recommends.</div>
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<b>Wearing: </b>A mishmash of stuff. In the last couple of weeks I've <i>finally</i> admitted that I needed to bust out the maternity garb. I can still wear a few loose sweaters and flowy tops, but mostly I'm in maternity shirts (with normal cardigans, because winter -- even if it feels like spring sometimes). Pants are in that awkward stage where maternity is still uncomfortably loose and non-maternity is already uncomfortably tight. Boo!</div>
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<b>Eating: </b>Incessantly. I feel like I'm always starving. I aim for something reasonably healthy every two hours, but not promises that it is either healthy or not more frequent.</div>
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<b>Craving: </b>Arizona. Seriously, mention food from Arizona, and I will probably spend a few days craving it, until I either move on or find something that can be a kind of sort of passable substitute -- for the craving if not for the food. Lately, it has been Oregano's, ever since Charles mentioned how good it sounded to him. Or really good restaurant salsa. </div>
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<b>Sleeping: </b>I'd actually be sleeping pretty well if my sweet children (read: ex utero children) would just cooperate. </div>
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<b>Missing: </b>It has been a rough couple of weeks, and I'm not going to lie -- there were a few evenings that an adult beverage would have really hit the spot.</div>
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That's all folks! </div>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-48920045756689743342016-01-13T06:00:00.000-06:002016-01-13T06:00:14.856-06:00The Struggle is Real: My Reading Woes as a Mama of Littles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Stop me if you've heard this one.<br />
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Growing up, calling me a book worm was probably a little too tame. I was more of a "book boa constrictor." I devoured as many books as possible. I spent my summer days pouring through stacks of library books half as tall as me, until my mom sent me outside for fresh air and sunshine in the afternoon. My cousins, on more than one occasion, hid my book from me to force me to interact with real, actual humans. </div>
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And, in part because I read so voraciously, and in part because of my mom's guidance, I read a good mix of quality fiction, a little nonfiction, and the Baby Sitters Club (and other cotton candy books). </div>
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All the way through law school, I read for pleasure as much as I could. I had learned to not start a novel the week before finals. I can proudly say that there is only one book from all my years of education that I didn't (at least) skim -- <i>Walden</i> -- which I keep meaning to pick up again. I suspect I'd have much deeper appreciation for it now than my too-cool-for-nature teenage self. </div>
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When I was teaching English, I didn't read for pleasure nearly as much as I would have liked, but that part of me still felt fulfilled, as I spent hours dissecting reading to prepare for class. Plus, when I did read, I had a great excuse for reading fluffy YA material: I wanted to read what my kids were reading (and using for book reports). </div>
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Then came the babies. Since Clare was born, reading has been at a pretty predictable ebb and flow. It goes like this: I don't read books for too long. I find myself spending too much time doing that idle web browsing of nothingness that is not so much not-fulfilling as soul-sucking, so I pick up an easy read. I tear through it. So I pick up another, and find myself tearing through four or five books of little substance. </div>
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Great! I have my reading groove back!</div>
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With that feeling, I pick up a weightier book. A classic. Something that's really worth reading. And while I enjoy it, I need to give the book a little more attention: I can't read in 3 minute spurts before another Angelina Ballerina book is thrown at me as a little bug climbs into my lap. And don't get me wrong -- I love reading to my kids (mostly!), and I love that they love books as much as I do -- it's just that those little spurts make it hard for me to do much by way of quality book reading. So, I stall out on page 57, and since I'm "reading" that book, I go a few weeks before I pick up something light and start the process all over. </div>
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I don't mind reading fluff, but I don't like how little non-fluff I've been working into my diet.</div>
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This year (starting yesterday when I finalized this resolution), I'm going to try a couple of new things, and I'm recording them, because it helps when I say stuff "out loud."</div>
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1. I'm not going to feel bad if I read mostly fluff. Reading fluff is better for me all around than non-fluff.</div>
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2. I'm giving myself permission to buy a few books. I'm not blowing the budget on books (which I easily could), but I'm buying more than I have in the last 5 years.</div>
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3. I'm reading real books. I think eReaders and eReading apps are great for certain seasons, but when I'm reading on a device, I'm distracted by all the other junk on my phone and don't read as much, or with as much focus. </div>
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4. I've chosen one book (<i>Kristin Lavransdatter</i>), as the book that I'm going to focus on as my "quality book" when I'm wanting to read better something better. I'm not, though, putting pressure on myself to finish it before I start something different. It's a long book. I'm not even putting pressure on myself to finish it this year. </div>
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5. I'm getting back to spending my morning quiet time doing spiritual reading -- either Scripture or a religious book. I was doing really well until Christmas then . . . too much feasting, not enough praying.</div>
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So that's it. That's my reading plan. For now. We'll see how it goes.</div>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-55555597600201235752015-12-31T14:59:00.000-06:002015-12-31T14:59:53.788-06:00Merry Christmas! Happy New Year!I had the loveliest Christmas Day . . . and took almost no pictures. Yay for just being present. Here are a couple of the ones I did manage to take. I know that others who were around took more. I'll get them eventually. Right now, I'm still tripping over train parts and Duplos, so the memories are quite vivid, thankyouverymuch. So, Merry Christmas, everyone!!!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And some "tucks!"</td></tr>
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And yesterday's (not)substantial snowfall meant the kids <i>had</i> to play in it.<br />
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Meanwhile, 2016 is about to begin. </div>
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I'm not usually into resolutions, but I'm doing a little goal setting this year anyway. Read more. Write more. Be present more and on my phone less. That may or may not mean I'm around more. I hope it means that I am. </div>
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I, as I always do, jumped on <a href="http://jenniferfulwiler.com/" target="_blank">Jennifer Fullwiler's</a> Saint Generator train to select a patron saint for the year. I got Blessed (soon to be Saint) Teresa of Calcutta (i.e. Mother Teresa). Sounds like a good choice to me! :-)</div>
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The bigger question, for me, is a word of the year. I didn't do one last year, for whatever reason that I don't recall, but I know that my 2014 word, patience, came back over and over and over again, in so many different aspects of my life. This year, the word that came to mind is boldness. I don't know where that will take me or whether it will look the same in 12 months as it does now, but I'm excited to find out.<br />
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Meanwhile, here's my everybody's doing it <a href="https://www.instagram.com/coffeeash/" target="_blank">Instagram</a> #2015bestnine:<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Bn3PaWRKudU/VoWWQYEjwnI/AAAAAAAAOOo/4zuVB7vxkMI/s1600/15%2B-%2B5" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Bn3PaWRKudU/VoWWQYEjwnI/AAAAAAAAOOo/4zuVB7vxkMI/s320/15%2B-%2B5" width="320" /></a></div>
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Happy New Year! Blessings in 2016! (And, above all, be safe out there tonight!)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlPUouV0eQ9sN-vz6pU9hiFugAMtpDfjtch1bUsYIqy-BqtFASoYji4agO2zjr42k2AYMgko4twKOZBeP8qKkSORY5Doy5TykhYjqEQ5vJv7MaX8jgcni662eCiwWvcOcrLJknqxXjz0/s1600/Signature.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlPUouV0eQ9sN-vz6pU9hiFugAMtpDfjtch1bUsYIqy-BqtFASoYji4agO2zjr42k2AYMgko4twKOZBeP8qKkSORY5Doy5TykhYjqEQ5vJv7MaX8jgcni662eCiwWvcOcrLJknqxXjz0/s200/Signature.png" width="200" /></a></div>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-36360740251179243142015-12-11T14:23:00.001-06:002015-12-11T14:23:32.254-06:00This MorningHi there! I'm alive, and have the usual caveats of no promises if/when I'll be back, but I had a chance to type and something to say, so here I am.<div>
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Today started on a, "will I survive?" note, since Clare has been awake since 5:15, and going back to sleep, in spite of my best efforts, did not happen for either of us.<br />
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Then, Peter woke up and his crazy morning antics got me laughing and snapping, so I thought I would share a peek at my morning.</div>
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Most mornings, before I can lift him out of the crib, Peter insists on grabbing a stuffed bear or two. Today, it was three and his blankie . . . but one bear was bigger than he is.</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="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r6lQcUzXPgI/VmsuOhT3MPI/AAAAAAAAOMU/UhFVzw-8phA/s1600/15%2B-%2B11" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-r6lQcUzXPgI/VmsuOhT3MPI/AAAAAAAAOMU/UhFVzw-8phA/s320/15%2B-%2B11" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bear Crazy</td></tr>
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Then, it was time for breakfast. I ate a bowl of oatmeal. After just the tiniest bit of debate and negotiation (ha!) my <strike>mini-me </strike>non-breakfast-eater agreed to eat some fruit and some milk. Peter ate a small apple, a clementine, a large piece of mango, a bowl of oatmeal, a cup of yogurt, and some milk.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p0kOOzaZXXg/VmsuOiRpxsI/AAAAAAAAOMc/QxEnGTq-OqE/s1600/15%2B-%2B8" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-p0kOOzaZXXg/VmsuOiRpxsI/AAAAAAAAOMc/QxEnGTq-OqE/s320/15%2B-%2B8" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oatmeal not pictured (still cooking!)</td></tr>
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After I took a picture, Clare needed one of her, too.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nT-5m8pz0cc/VmsuOqJpY5I/AAAAAAAAOLU/I1brtl_Qn6c/s1600/15%2B-%2B7" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nT-5m8pz0cc/VmsuOqJpY5I/AAAAAAAAOLU/I1brtl_Qn6c/s320/15%2B-%2B7" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Look at that feast!</td></tr>
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Not pictured was this interaction:</div>
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(To myself) <i>I should change Peter out of his jeans so that he can wear them tomorrow, and I don't have to do laundry.</i></div>
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Peter starts crying in the basement where he was playing.</div>
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(Down the stairs) Come on up, Buddy, Mama's right here!</div>
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Peter climbs the stairs crying . . . and hands me his jeans! I don't even want to know . . . </div>
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Then, wearing a different pair of pants, he sat down to watch a show while I gave Clare the bath she refused to take last night. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-op50s6WZHOk/VmsuOs13glI/AAAAAAAAOL0/BpzYLcVULA8/s1600/15%2B-%2B6" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-op50s6WZHOk/VmsuOs13glI/AAAAAAAAOL0/BpzYLcVULA8/s320/15%2B-%2B6" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taking a load off</td></tr>
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The plan had been to go play at the park and have a picnic, because we've had gorgeous weather, and rain/seasonal temps/indoor weather is coming back tomorrow. Then, as I was getting ready and debating which park to go to, I decided to forego the park altogether and head to the zoo!</div>
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Peter was, as always, so enthralled with the animals. I love it.</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="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T9P7v9cTvko/Vmsunj4yv6I/AAAAAAAAOL8/c0-Qilw_eH0/s1600/IMG_3417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-T9P7v9cTvko/Vmsunj4yv6I/AAAAAAAAOL8/c0-Qilw_eH0/s320/IMG_3417.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ti-goh. Roaaaaaa!</td></tr>
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Clare, unlike last time we were there, was obsessed with all of the statues. Last time, she was terrified. Today, we stopped at each and every one so that she could climb on them.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JsqLKtLmr8w/Vmsuraak_-I/AAAAAAAAOMM/JemkAD5KQyw/s1600/IMG_3419.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JsqLKtLmr8w/Vmsuraak_-I/AAAAAAAAOMM/JemkAD5KQyw/s320/IMG_3419.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Up close and personal.</td></tr>
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The second mini-me moment of the day came when she chose this route to the lion statues:</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6mCKdLAK0Wg/VmsupqfR10I/AAAAAAAAOME/ELEkiGsRxaI/s1600/IMG_3420.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-6mCKdLAK0Wg/VmsupqfR10I/AAAAAAAAOME/ELEkiGsRxaI/s320/IMG_3420.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yep, she scaled the boulders!</td></tr>
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I'm still exhausted, and I still wish that we'd been able to sleep a little longer this morning, but know what?!? I've made the most of it. I didn't give into the temptation to throw in the towel when things didn't go my way, and we had a pretty great morning. <--Maybe writing that down will help me remember for next time! ;-)</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-38490224672934801682015-10-08T07:00:00.000-05:002015-10-08T07:00:01.621-05:00(Pumpkin) Patch WorkNormally, I wouldn't dedicate a whole post to the pumpkin patch. I mean, it's kind of cliche, and I would probably just throw it in some sort of update/photo dump kind of post at some point.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDNeMpwZBYaszPYWMecJVGzNwLg_Y7oKSgsZu0UEipf8GoLk-q5TeMPttgbsVOix9aXrFGyRZIgXCK8KiACjOcdTsl7G6T1r_P_MLWEERLJoIR2fXdxo-LGtMACxcgvbIy4JhDKi_nXG4/s1600/pumpkinpatchpatch.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDNeMpwZBYaszPYWMecJVGzNwLg_Y7oKSgsZu0UEipf8GoLk-q5TeMPttgbsVOix9aXrFGyRZIgXCK8KiACjOcdTsl7G6T1r_P_MLWEERLJoIR2fXdxo-LGtMACxcgvbIy4JhDKi_nXG4/s320/pumpkinpatchpatch.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My lil pumpkins with the pumpkins.</td></tr>
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BUT<br />
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It was such a great experience for one simple reason: Peter had a great experience.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Y_i9KUes0sCHInbUjdYDE45EmweUYaex5nLWWQCr2th-G6DbbCmo9yKjUj50QfN_3sGBBfeH6S08XM6TozOEBZ0nx0Q1aoEi6vZW0txj-ASVcdSlxmXzw8Gr4Ourf7B1yaK2SohnUT8/s1600/pumpkinpatchmeasure.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2Y_i9KUes0sCHInbUjdYDE45EmweUYaex5nLWWQCr2th-G6DbbCmo9yKjUj50QfN_3sGBBfeH6S08XM6TozOEBZ0nx0Q1aoEi6vZW0txj-ASVcdSlxmXzw8Gr4Ourf7B1yaK2SohnUT8/s320/pumpkinpatchmeasure.jpg" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Okay, they were both a bit unsure of this one.</td></tr>
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See, Peter can be Mr. Separation Anxiety. He just doesn't like it when his Mama leaves him. And that's very sweet and all. But I want him to run and explore and experience the world. He's (mostly) fine at home and a few other places, where he feels safe and knows his surroundings. He's reaaaaaaaaaally wary of people who aren't me (and sometimes Charles or Clare). When we're out and about, he tends to be very clingy, especially when we're with a group.<br />
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Not at the pumpkin patch. No sir-ee. I think he had the best day of his entire life. He had so much fun. He kept running off . . . and I'm so unused to having to keep track of him, that I kept "losing" him. I've never been so happy to <i>not</i> have a kid in sight range. At one point, he even decided he wanted to ride the train again, and did it . . . all by himself. #proudmama<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYDLsBmLsSdzeY0-Z-CtkzrjuhSQOn1ea2HskrYGY2CfPuZEAHdsCTBSJlmoXwZQ4UhfoIgiT_bfrazc3XXT0VXROn5ajX_4Hj61RMmDOaw8V4SYhT6PF4ZLzCABC8bhUBzFuuS8QFDEk/s1600/pumpkinpatchcollage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYDLsBmLsSdzeY0-Z-CtkzrjuhSQOn1ea2HskrYGY2CfPuZEAHdsCTBSJlmoXwZQ4UhfoIgiT_bfrazc3XXT0VXROn5ajX_4Hj61RMmDOaw8V4SYhT6PF4ZLzCABC8bhUBzFuuS8QFDEk/s320/pumpkinpatchcollage.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I think Clare had fun, too!</td></tr>
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And so, because Peter had so much fun, I had so much fun! I say it over and over and over again, but I love seeing my kids blossom and learn and really <i>live</i>. I love seeing joy on their little faces. Monday was all about joy for Peter. And me.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijVIicKRYYiSVGzodLZ5KkHXKbiFO-TefyMN9Lrpe5UOKIynaMvtqSceXz13rbo2sPimKRU7Bc_kJuBDKUfPQrAsfzrImkK8ajm-A7cBd_v_8rE8mTAKb90HK806SWErec7dPy3oYqa80/s1600/pumpkinpatchanimals.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijVIicKRYYiSVGzodLZ5KkHXKbiFO-TefyMN9Lrpe5UOKIynaMvtqSceXz13rbo2sPimKRU7Bc_kJuBDKUfPQrAsfzrImkK8ajm-A7cBd_v_8rE8mTAKb90HK806SWErec7dPy3oYqa80/s320/pumpkinpatchanimals.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I cannot get enough of this picture. I mean, look at Peter's smile! You can't fake that.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlPUouV0eQ9sN-vz6pU9hiFugAMtpDfjtch1bUsYIqy-BqtFASoYji4agO2zjr42k2AYMgko4twKOZBeP8qKkSORY5Doy5TykhYjqEQ5vJv7MaX8jgcni662eCiwWvcOcrLJknqxXjz0/s1600/Signature.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlPUouV0eQ9sN-vz6pU9hiFugAMtpDfjtch1bUsYIqy-BqtFASoYji4agO2zjr42k2AYMgko4twKOZBeP8qKkSORY5Doy5TykhYjqEQ5vJv7MaX8jgcni662eCiwWvcOcrLJknqxXjz0/s200/Signature.png" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6291403244211645080.post-44578361772131071612015-10-05T07:00:00.000-05:002015-10-05T07:00:02.832-05:00Accidentally Amazing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3FMMlh81565m7TTkNA9bqNsFAQ43Pfo2G0qaDy1acVaI2YhhrvcjANElIZH8UpxKNB7O7P7e0_GoKKI22GEZFTEQW-shTz6IXyLo9ro2ALZnzL6V8ud10FjGlYlBgX8E8El3WJASb5Ag/s1600/IMG_3239.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3FMMlh81565m7TTkNA9bqNsFAQ43Pfo2G0qaDy1acVaI2YhhrvcjANElIZH8UpxKNB7O7P7e0_GoKKI22GEZFTEQW-shTz6IXyLo9ro2ALZnzL6V8ud10FjGlYlBgX8E8El3WJASb5Ag/s320/IMG_3239.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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On Friday, we accidentally had an incredible afternoon.<br />
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Charles had to go to Salina at lunchtime to work in a clinic there for the afternoon. He called on his way out of town, and as we talked, one thing led to another, and we decided that the kids and I would drive up with him and kill time for a couple of hours while he was working. We had no real agenda, just a decision that a little adventure would be fun.</div>
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So, I grabbed a bunch of stuff (water, snacks, shoes for the kids) and we were off. An hour and a half after Charles' initial phone call, he was dropped off . . . and I decided that rather than randomly driving around, hoping to figure out a plan for our down time, I would use my resources and Google it up. So I typed in park, figuring that running around and burning some energy would help the littles with the drive home.</div>
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And so, I happened upon Oakdale Park, which was huge and wonderful. I mean, maybe if you live in Salina you don't agree, but we loved it. We ended up staying until Charles texted that he was ready to be picked up. The weather was perfect: the sun was warm, and the breeze was cool; I was neither hot nor cold. The kids played and played and there was barely a squabble or shriek between them. </div>
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Without plan or intention, it was the most perfect day. </div>
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We saw the train.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq2hV_G_eV57rrJo-H0ItPo0IVFkNHxK5pHxYMnY6qvICZOq_FAUq-KOmPTbDVL7yAYo39FjAPlMhLurK-lY-PQajeDTkpv4vWs6Q2DIU5DqXvdPff7PWe0sPw32_VeLklvOMwAZrTUa0/s1600/IMG_3235.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq2hV_G_eV57rrJo-H0ItPo0IVFkNHxK5pHxYMnY6qvICZOq_FAUq-KOmPTbDVL7yAYo39FjAPlMhLurK-lY-PQajeDTkpv4vWs6Q2DIU5DqXvdPff7PWe0sPw32_VeLklvOMwAZrTUa0/s320/IMG_3235.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8va8yEwNCUoO2z7PlAU9gsHXr1yM1FVcP1KbFCuM7nLdK9HFSg7ITAXv3of5PJmLn3FfCrx7MfYIZp8VfhNNbveWPmnHWgCAUkp8ZNZm2M-5t4q85tNXuJ2Mx1XQCiLF0aXwQ0vP03M4/s1600/IMG_3234.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8va8yEwNCUoO2z7PlAU9gsHXr1yM1FVcP1KbFCuM7nLdK9HFSg7ITAXv3of5PJmLn3FfCrx7MfYIZp8VfhNNbveWPmnHWgCAUkp8ZNZm2M-5t4q85tNXuJ2Mx1XQCiLF0aXwQ0vP03M4/s320/IMG_3234.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Can you guess which kid was more interested?</td></tr>
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We played. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjumI9TZInfCr1Mt4Gpi0HdVHkK38vQfeMb8zFzgkHVGhGVG8DuKacmy9hpPaXRrwgt4fU7vEwUvf6vag0tCdLM-tjqoWkSEWq_O_qeECycQuf2nxMUjQVU-zKtdWvI5IX0G4PFM_vb0r0/s1600/IMG_3236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjumI9TZInfCr1Mt4Gpi0HdVHkK38vQfeMb8zFzgkHVGhGVG8DuKacmy9hpPaXRrwgt4fU7vEwUvf6vag0tCdLM-tjqoWkSEWq_O_qeECycQuf2nxMUjQVU-zKtdWvI5IX0G4PFM_vb0r0/s320/IMG_3236.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Clare was the "captain."</td></tr>
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We made music.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOhNTDgU1runjSActnGJrtVb5lmy2Tg0eGPeURjHgSTVrYbiSiyGqYly4tPxXN57tu6GKV7w46AUcawjZmEu8_4hGuj88IWAkILZEc33sct8HPTIyDXAkPaEq8Nfrk2Xmz-RNSKhA4Oc/s1600/IMG_3238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyOhNTDgU1runjSActnGJrtVb5lmy2Tg0eGPeURjHgSTVrYbiSiyGqYly4tPxXN57tu6GKV7w46AUcawjZmEu8_4hGuj88IWAkILZEc33sct8HPTIyDXAkPaEq8Nfrk2Xmz-RNSKhA4Oc/s320/IMG_3238.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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We played some more. (And made a giant mess!)</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7NGOclOOMJWrlWNy0dqwCOOZ9Gmm9RdldO__yv5eTEMwjf5Cl-YOMAOptiEq6ZhTXRarJ-8gSR5Xv5OyYqJIG5XcURtUETyx012bFjtD7kuPyWuJSwDTa64G2NMVG74A0TIhtt3IGgmw/s1600/IMG_3237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7NGOclOOMJWrlWNy0dqwCOOZ9Gmm9RdldO__yv5eTEMwjf5Cl-YOMAOptiEq6ZhTXRarJ-8gSR5Xv5OyYqJIG5XcURtUETyx012bFjtD7kuPyWuJSwDTa64G2NMVG74A0TIhtt3IGgmw/s320/IMG_3237.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And yes, they are both laughing. </td></tr>
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I mean, I know I keep going on and on about how great it was, but I mean it. We had the most lovely afternoon on a day I had planned on folding laundry and making a casserole. </div>
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Isn't that how it goes oftentimes? We have these big, great plans that we are sure will bring us joy and wonder, and things go askew. For whatever reason, they just don't measure up.</div>
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Then, we let go and let God. We go with the flow. Grasp an opportunity. Do something that maybe even sounds a little crazy (e.g. drive two kids to Salina, KS, for an afternoon for no reason.) And it ends up being accidentally amazing. Totally amazing.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlPUouV0eQ9sN-vz6pU9hiFugAMtpDfjtch1bUsYIqy-BqtFASoYji4agO2zjr42k2AYMgko4twKOZBeP8qKkSORY5Doy5TykhYjqEQ5vJv7MaX8jgcni662eCiwWvcOcrLJknqxXjz0/s1600/Signature.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGlPUouV0eQ9sN-vz6pU9hiFugAMtpDfjtch1bUsYIqy-BqtFASoYji4agO2zjr42k2AYMgko4twKOZBeP8qKkSORY5Doy5TykhYjqEQ5vJv7MaX8jgcni662eCiwWvcOcrLJknqxXjz0/s200/Signature.png" width="200" /></a></div>
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Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07494147049080252359noreply@blogger.com0