tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-23615184072065586402024-02-20T18:48:57.193-08:00And so we goRebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-89190556351868446622013-11-26T10:58:00.001-08:002013-11-26T14:20:23.544-08:00Another Post for the Grandmas.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> Things to remember about Grace:</span></span></div>
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<ul>
<li>She uses the phrase “don’tcha fink” regularly. “Don’tcha fink I’m a princess right now?”</li>
<li>She is a remarkable snuggler.</li>
<li>When she’s in trouble and thinks you might raise your voice
she makes a nervous and barely audible, “Shh!”</li>
<li>She calls her plastic high heels "slippers."</li>
<li>She loves Life cereal.
This love has led to the following profound statements:</li>
<ul>
<li> “I love
Life.” </li>
<li>“I want
my Life to be dry.” </li>
<li>“Mom,
my Life is finished.”</li>
</ul>
<li>She helps me cook dinner just about every night.</li>
<li>She can buckle her own car seat.</li>
<li>90% of the time her shoes are on the wrong feet if her shoes
are on at all.</li>
<li>She believes strongly that shoes are for the walk to and
from the car and will promptly remove them as soon as she has reached her
destination whether it be home, church, nursery, the cart, the van, the park,
the play place, the library, a friend’s house, etc.</li>
<li>She doesn’t seem to prefer a coat either.</li>
<li>She will be offended if you go down to the basement without
her.</li>
<li>She knows all the lyrics to the song she calls “Wondrin’ ”
which is actually the opening song, “When Will My Life Begin?” in Tangled.</li>
<li>She also knows a majority of the lyrics to “Part of Your
World.”</li>
<li>She sings dozens of songs a day and a made-up lyric is a
good as the real thing.</li>
<li>She lives in an opera and sing-narrates her entire day.</li>
<li>She can turn anything into a person. For example, right now
she is playing with the felt cutouts of gifts of the three kings and the gifts
are introducing themselves to each other, discussing cows, exchanging pleasantries,
and inviting each other to play.</li>
<li>She asks to be referred to as a different princess each day. Today she is Aurora.</li>
<li>She calls me Your Majesty.</li>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><o:p> </o:p>Things to remember about Lillian:</span></div>
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<ul>
<li>She hugs and kisses my legs about 20 times a day.</li>
<li>If you are lucky, she’ll give you an open mouth kiss on the
lips.</li>
<li>She growls herself to sleep.</li>
<li>All heightened emotions are expressed with shrill screams.</li>
<li>I thus affectionately refer to her as my Banshee Baby.</li>
<li>She is a climber.</li>
<li>She is also a faller-off of that which she climbs.</li>
<li>She also screams after she falls.</li>
<li>She has a complete fascination with Grace’s belly button and
will tackle her in the bathtub to get a closer look.</li>
<li>She wants Paul to hold her the instant he comes in the door.</li>
<li>When she is sleepy, she is powerless to her Daddy’s warm hug
and falls asleep almost instantly in his arms.</li>
<li>She loves books but is anything but gentle with them.</li>
<li>She is the reason the bottom three shelves of our bookcase
are currently empty.</li>
<li>She empties the dishtowel drawer daily.</li>
<li>She will eat anything and everything.</li>
<li>She loves, loves, loves the contents of a trash can.</li>
<li>She initiated my third phone call to Poison Control last
week when she fished blobs of raw chicken fat from the trash can and chewed on them
a while. </li>
<li>She is the reason our trashcan lives on top of a chair these
days.</li>
<li>She exhibited zero signs of food poisoning.</li>
<li>She is thoroughly annoyed when you try to help her use sign
language. She seems to believe that
screaming is sufficient communication.</li>
<li>She already has 8 teeth.</li>
<li>She birthed each and every one of them.</li>
<li>Her teething and her mother are not on good terms.</li>
<li>A favorite pastime is chewing on the strings of a hoodie.</li>
<li>She has an excellent cheezer face.</li>
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<br />Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-12139363081998275202013-07-25T14:52:00.001-07:002013-07-26T07:00:06.600-07:00Body Image<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/AVvXsEgM5MSUIUy-qJG4V76ZvN-1XI-p7XTAN4csSFdkPwD3OKkk7OLGh-JQws9I4DiwUUFrFwAwkYmmr8r2a7n8WtuWJWKuudnxGBm5nlSZyX5dQullfMiAx88VQ-TTk7aZU8TIQMgesgAH2p8/s1600/file+i+025.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM5MSUIUy-qJG4V76ZvN-1XI-p7XTAN4csSFdkPwD3OKkk7OLGh-JQws9I4DiwUUFrFwAwkYmmr8r2a7n8WtuWJWKuudnxGBm5nlSZyX5dQullfMiAx88VQ-TTk7aZU8TIQMgesgAH2p8/s400/file+i+025.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A sleeping babe at the pool.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Last Saturday, we were getting ready to go swimming as a
family and I looked at myself in the mirror while wearing my swimming suit and shouted,
“Paul, I have a beautiful body.” And a
manly voice from the bathroom sink shouted, “Hell yeah, you do.” (You’ll please pardon his emphatic response,
he feels strongly about some things.) And
a little girl voice said from the living room, “And I have a beautiful body,
too! And Li-wian has a beautiful
body.” And that was a very proud
moment. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And for the record, I am not currently my most toned or
thin or fit, though I am unusually tan. I was
just having one of those moments where I was comfortable in my own skin; grateful
for its beauty and unapologetic of its scars. I didn't see them except
as puzzle pieces of a very beautiful and capable physical body. And my children saw the same beauty in me and
in themselves. And I saw it in everyone
else at the pool that day. And that is
good and that is right, I believe. <o:p></o:p></div>
Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-70954435295679955062013-07-05T20:38:00.002-07:002013-07-05T20:40:50.033-07:00When Change FEELS Like a Good Thing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_zVr5tAm2TO5qNnsKylAUKPiINp17MwqOQbOsJpItP6RiktU-4WCKhR7-i7XtN9cTBlnequtUv2JWAIIbYHbF2cSyRyaA4ZAFxIPJtqejpPkC3U4eCsyVs1-L-l7hCMhIj4EzLkvpjnY/s1600/file+h+095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_zVr5tAm2TO5qNnsKylAUKPiINp17MwqOQbOsJpItP6RiktU-4WCKhR7-i7XtN9cTBlnequtUv2JWAIIbYHbF2cSyRyaA4ZAFxIPJtqejpPkC3U4eCsyVs1-L-l7hCMhIj4EzLkvpjnY/s400/file+h+095.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Well, it’s
been a few days. We’ve had our daddy
home every night for dinner, and with us every minute of every weekend. Not literally but you get the point. I guess the best word to describe our new
life is relief. What a relief to battle
children at church with the help of my best friend. What a relief to know when I can plan certain
activities and when I can’t. What a relief
to have the hope of getting to bed a basically the same time every night (we’re
still working on getting Grace fully on board with that one.) What a relief to have a schedule. What a relief to have a dinner time where
manners can be reinforced by two parents instead of one. What a relief to know when I can have long
conversations with Paul so that we don’t feel the need to stay up all hours of
the night. What a relief for both of us
to be able to relax at the same time.
What a relief to know when Paul will get to sleep. What a relief to know I will not be the only
example of gospel living the girls will see on a regular basis. What a relief to be able to plan a day of
complete laziness or absolute productivity together. What a relief that there is so much growth
potential for Paul in this very position.
What a relief to know which skills I must learn to cultivate on my own
(like exercising with children under my feet) and which skills I can have help
with (like rounding up children at the end of the day.) It is a huge relief. <br />
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We spent the
first Fourth of July completely together for the first time in our dating and
married lives. That is 6 Fourth of July’s
spent somewhat, somehow, apart. But it
is different now. And I am so grateful that
it is. <o:p></o:p></div>
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And I guess
a lesson that I have learned from all of this uncertainty that we entertained
on a regular basis in this life so far is that, there is not much, if anything,
that is certain. For example, I am home
now, but I don’t know for how long I will be able to do that. Maybe I’ll never have to work outside my home
again. But in the meantime, because it’s
not certain, it gives the moment a reality and a presence that maybe otherwise
I would not have.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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And
everything, in everyone’s life is like that.
Uncertain, I mean. But our life
so far has taught me an awareness of that.<o:p></o:p></div>
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And that, is
probably a gift.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Also, I’m tough.
I learned that, too.<o:p></o:p></div>
Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-46498227278782402792013-07-01T06:58:00.005-07:002013-07-01T07:10:08.189-07:00For the Grandmas: An Update on the Littles<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/AVvXsEjtLYlBeIXdMitvkK_vsc8QqKNkoi10YRyFIkDH5aatnTgoUJVLGmEZ2GvTwFRen6CE98bZQ9Z8jxcgsnYE18Xg72hocYegcgia5zPYYhEuSBpq7L4hnMZKuS_pbeEXpfRaot-yWLJXc50/s1600/file+i+010.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtLYlBeIXdMitvkK_vsc8QqKNkoi10YRyFIkDH5aatnTgoUJVLGmEZ2GvTwFRen6CE98bZQ9Z8jxcgsnYE18Xg72hocYegcgia5zPYYhEuSBpq7L4hnMZKuS_pbeEXpfRaot-yWLJXc50/s400/file+i+010.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My babes</td></tr>
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They grow and change so fast. Here's my attempt to capture some of it before it's gone.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVNzyXyDDWp6OzYzFAyKla9vbJEayF5Zv2m4ycei-X1PZEJRZDaPLJsqpcLmaaHGie1vkD8rU4X-WPpXNKSrbNZmp2D-0NTP646EfFBvRdj45bERvdzrCAr3287KUy-M91qfRbjb7wCgM/s1600/file+i+033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVNzyXyDDWp6OzYzFAyKla9vbJEayF5Zv2m4ycei-X1PZEJRZDaPLJsqpcLmaaHGie1vkD8rU4X-WPpXNKSrbNZmp2D-0NTP646EfFBvRdj45bERvdzrCAr3287KUy-M91qfRbjb7wCgM/s400/file+i+033.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love with Mom</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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Grace:<br />
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<ul>
<li>At 1:30 in the morning when EVERYONE
ELSE WAS ASLEEP IN THE ENTIRE CAMP, and as we are lying in a tent on basically
the ground she yells, “This isn’t camping!
I didn’t ride a horse!” </li>
<li>We never mentioned one thing about
riding a horse while camping.</li>
<li>At a well-baby check for Lillian, we
pulled up to the doctor’s office and Grace says, “Oh! Are we going to see my baby dock-er" “ Yes, but it’s Lillian’s turn today.” “Oh.
Is she gonna borrow it?”</li>
<li>“Be nice to are-chudder!” = Be nice to
each other.</li>
<li>If she is allowed to stay in the bath
long enough, she will find a way to get to some out-of-reach hygiene product
(i.e. shampoo, conditioner, baby wash…) and she will empty the entire bottle
before you even know that she’s been too quiet for too long.</li>
<li>She loves her hair to be in one French
Braid. </li>
<li>If you use the wrong color of rubber
band, she WILL come unglued.</li>
<li>Absolutely refuses to wear pants. She is currently sleeping in a t-shirt and
undies because her one night gown was dirty.</li>
<li>When hurt will asks for a rubber band.</li>
<li>She means band-aide.</li>
<li>She loves “fork oranges” which is the
name she gave to mandarin oranges because she eats them with a fork.</li>
<li>She has gotten very good at asking for
things politely.</li>
<li>Is pretty good at sharing and is
working on Good Listening.</li>
<li>If the next door neighbor isn’t able
to play, that is grounds for a severe melt down on the neighbor’s porch. Every time.</li>
<li>Her idea of a hysterical joke is to
tell me that she is a Princess and I am a King.</li>
</ul>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2VmSvrzhOMbaCXBcP_wlQK_Jxw0ZOOB55rvF-KX9Pl5U2MJ2ZodgPu1Ffd1_8ruHGlXC92ykjGmAz_uBdzEidjh3KyEipTA1CuwyYF6eX1sHQUr6_BYLD3_IeIk21Dq0XZSTWlmQ-Cd4/s1600/file+i+035.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2VmSvrzhOMbaCXBcP_wlQK_Jxw0ZOOB55rvF-KX9Pl5U2MJ2ZodgPu1Ffd1_8ruHGlXC92ykjGmAz_uBdzEidjh3KyEipTA1CuwyYF6eX1sHQUr6_BYLD3_IeIk21Dq0XZSTWlmQ-Cd4/s400/file+i+035.JPG" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sleeping in a sling at the temple</td></tr>
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Lillian:<br />
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<ul>
<li>Is extremely opinionated.</li>
<li>Is fluent in growl and grunt and
scream.</li>
<li>Growl and grunting= super happy
Lillian. </li>
<li>Has had her eager grunting
conversation mistaken as a B.M.</li>
<li>Has two teeth.</li>
<li>Has an enormous open mouth smile.</li>
<li>Is super happy with other people until
her mom walks into the room.</li>
<li>Loves to try to touch whatever her big
sister is doing.</li>
<li>Pulls the blanket over her face to
sleep every night.</li>
<li>Will command the attention of an
entire Sunday School lesson with her grunting conversation.</li>
<li>Will command it again when she falls
asleep during Sunday School and then snores loudly.</li>
<li>Sleeps through the night.</li>
<li>LOVES to be strapped to her Mommy in a
sling.</li>
<li>Gets her legs caught between the slats
on the crib every day.</li>
<li>Pounds her feet on the crib mattress
for fun.</li>
<li>Is very excited by the plastic mat we
have under our computer chair and slaps it with glee regularly.</li>
<li>Can only crawl backwards and pivot in
circles.</li>
<li><span style="text-align: center;">Finds herself extremely frustrated
that she can’t seem to move her body forward yet.</span></li>
</ul>
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Growling at :43</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy8G6XfSHK2rzaf9aaZl84vFZI8hQQPBjJSxUyhDjhhq_S6uwh7vzQraVr9VBuYXMTmqZ77urGurXT9J8tF' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-25964999637755715322013-06-12T20:49:00.001-07:002013-06-13T13:13:59.189-07:00Too Much Information<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKbYYkTowXQhmAOgyV1rQphUM6h7aWFx7CB7wMTHs-DLn8jvpJZuxcXFk9bw5XQUjFYM2PzcPWmEg2b-OAHpRupI-z2J6l4GWnnq7LxKWQ687AEIOxJDi4N4i_ssrd8GIT72UwI_zCKA8/s1600/file+g+023.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKbYYkTowXQhmAOgyV1rQphUM6h7aWFx7CB7wMTHs-DLn8jvpJZuxcXFk9bw5XQUjFYM2PzcPWmEg2b-OAHpRupI-z2J6l4GWnnq7LxKWQ687AEIOxJDi4N4i_ssrd8GIT72UwI_zCKA8/s320/file+g+023.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Grace is complex. As
every child is. You see, I held off
potty training as long as I could but when the child woke up with dry diapers
every morning, practically took herself to the bathroom, and though she did not change her own pants she removed the the soiled ones from her bum (sick), I decided I
could put it off no longer. So we bought
a potty seat, a stool, a chart, some stickers, and some undies, and for two days she was
absolutely flawless. <i>She’s going to be an easy one!</i> I thought.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Dead wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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After proving that she was <i>capable</i>, it became a small war to convince her that she <i>should</i>. I tried everything: charts, treats, candy, stickers,
small prizes, big prizes, no prizes, celebration phone calls to uncles and
grandmas, praise, guilt, ignoring, undies, pull-ups, buck nekkid for DAYS,<i> putting her back in diapers</i>, consistency,
enthusiasm, nonchalance, rationalization, compassion, natural consequences (superior
diaper rash mixed with eczema) and then eventually—though I, too, have read all
those same websites as every other mother—anger, then LOTS of
anger, then tears <i>because</i> of the anger. All to no avail. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I believe I can say after 5 long, super-gross months, Grace
Sandra Grace Herrick(as she refers to herself) is officially potty trained. The final nail in the coffin after FIVE
MONTHS of civil war, you ask? Making her
clean up her own mess. (Thank you,
Mother.) Totally did the trick. It was
no longer interesting to see not only WHERE she could leave a mess, but what Mom’s
reaction was going to be THIS time. She found out how disgusting it was to clean up, how
complicated it was for her two-year old motor skills to do it without creating
more mess and getting on herself, and that no matter how long it took, or if
her sister was screaming, she was going to do every bit of it. And it was no longer worth it to continue to
ignore the fact that she was PERFECTLY capable of performing this grown-up function. Hallelujah.
Those were some of the grossest months of my life. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: In
my own parenting experience, nothing has been as disgusting as potty training.<o:p></o:p></div>
Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-72985871354955289542013-04-11T21:31:00.002-07:002013-04-11T21:50:59.412-07:00Life....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ2Topq_NrKpNlVEN2n4foJR8BjCGA2GtViJNJgKW-2pYdttemhaFiTP0zFsJUfqU4KnL1g5qSx1GVDuQklnAv96oFM9TGWjO3C2JOqXjhmF4kh30wQM5GqH5CfHlNQufBVc92EVexxTI/s1600/file+f+003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ2Topq_NrKpNlVEN2n4foJR8BjCGA2GtViJNJgKW-2pYdttemhaFiTP0zFsJUfqU4KnL1g5qSx1GVDuQklnAv96oFM9TGWjO3C2JOqXjhmF4kh30wQM5GqH5CfHlNQufBVc92EVexxTI/s320/file+f+003.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
Above: This is what I can make my life look like in pictures sometimes.<br />
Below: A story about what life is ACTUALLY like most times.<br />
<br />
<br />
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I was talking on the phone with Katie the other evening. I was explaining that Grace was going through
a challenging phase. Then I got off the phone, and a few minutes later had to
call Katie back to explain to her exactly what “challenging” had just looked like. This is basically what I told her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had taken Grace to the bathroom every 20 minutes for the
last hour. She did not once use the
toilet. We went outside. I was on the phone. A few minutes later, I see that while she is
sitting outside under the neighbors front steps, she has mud all over her upper
lip. How strange. Then I watched her pick up a plastic orange
cup filled with dirt, bring it to her mouth and back down to her lap, and then
begin chewing on something. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“Grace! Are you eating dirt?!?!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, I’m drinking it.
And watching TV. It’s my water.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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And sure enough, she was ingesting soil. I grabbed her out of the dirt because what is
cute at 9 months is not cute at 32. On
the way out of the dirt, I noticed she was also sitting in mud and had a bum
covered in mud, but only in the spot where she would have just wet her pants.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Pee mud. </div>
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Awesome.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So, Katie, that’s what I mean when I say challenging.<o:p></o:p></div>
Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-53167739817704258292013-04-05T20:36:00.000-07:002013-04-05T20:38:12.177-07:00The Littlest of My Littles<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWj4ll6ysmFwvumO1h0RjtMaRnDGDZBR9v0Bp9gjQroeep9aAmAMgoc7YNuUS8PXulbHYbFWHxTjtu9VFDUHQ4-szC6rKdX_ZPkHziKpXJcxQgvGBYv2T-gojTO7y643kTbJCcBFQy-_A/s1600/c+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWj4ll6ysmFwvumO1h0RjtMaRnDGDZBR9v0Bp9gjQroeep9aAmAMgoc7YNuUS8PXulbHYbFWHxTjtu9VFDUHQ4-szC6rKdX_ZPkHziKpXJcxQgvGBYv2T-gojTO7y643kTbJCcBFQy-_A/s320/c+002.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Lillian<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span></span><!--[endif]-->Lillian is a chatty little thing<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span></span><!--[endif]-->Lillian will share a huge, open-mouth smile with
just about anyone who pays her attention<o:p></o:p></div>
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</span></span><!--[endif]-->Nap<o:p></o:p></div>
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<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";">o<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Pacifier<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";">o<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Swaddle<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";">o<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Cuddle<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Quickest way to dry Lil’s tears is to swaddle
her and pop in her bink<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Lillian has a flat spot on the back-left side of
her head<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->I can finally get her to sleep on other parts of
her head so that maybe it’s not quite so flat forever<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Her hair is straight, brown, and two inches long
on the top of her head<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->It’s only ½ long on the sides<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--> Her eyes
are dark blue<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She has deliciously chunky rolls all over her
legs and arms<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Lillian likes to sing<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Lillian likes to be read to<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She found her fists this week<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She learned how to play with toys this week<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Her favorite way to fall asleep is swaddled,
bink-ied, and laying on the floor watching mom and Grace play<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Lil likes raspberries and tickles on her neck<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She is 25 inches long<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Lillian is absolutely the most happy when she is
in the bath<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Lillian has already had 3 colds<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Her preferred nick names are Lil (mom), Lil-lil(Grace),
Lilly(Dad), and Chunka-Monka Bay-bey (Mom)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->When Lil is sad, she rubs her feet together<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Mostly, Lil is happy<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<br /></div>
Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-88423041173837033812013-04-03T21:22:00.001-07:002013-04-03T21:22:09.626-07:00Remember...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWv_rPSTaJAUeJgbLgynwXSjkyL80nnc2op_OlSW9C-5YqWwBMmdJhdoSAYhYoRHZFbJGB280gzjRPCrPCKuDLG-x1eHLvAQEtat_xFUwM_zn2nYjqE1MuvfXHsGe_VTJAHzdj6og3RXU/s1600/file+e+006.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWv_rPSTaJAUeJgbLgynwXSjkyL80nnc2op_OlSW9C-5YqWwBMmdJhdoSAYhYoRHZFbJGB280gzjRPCrPCKuDLG-x1eHLvAQEtat_xFUwM_zn2nYjqE1MuvfXHsGe_VTJAHzdj6og3RXU/s320/file+e+006.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
My Gracie-girl</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Life only looks picturesque</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Know how I know that?</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Cuz in that precious picture up there, I know that Grace has completely soiled undies.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
But I wanted that picture anyway, cuz I love my girl</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Accidents and all</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Things I love—or at the very least should remember—about
Grace:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->When she feels a little self-conscious or silly,
she talks with her bottom lip pulled over her bottom teeth<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She likes to read the picture version of the
Book of Mormon<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Her prayers are NEVER more than four sentences
long<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";">o<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Dear Heavenly Father<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";">o<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Thank you for the day<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";">o<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Thank you for Jesus (or everybody or Lillian or
Addy)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 1.0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level2 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: "Courier New"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Courier New";">o<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She’s figured out that if she tells you that you
skipped a part of her lullaby, you’ll re-sing that part<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Bribing only works sometimes<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She loves Lillian<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She falls off of furniture all the time<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->If that child does not get an afternoon snack,
her sugar drops and she is a MESS<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She’ll only try new food if a Disney princess
also eats it<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She always wants to know who gave her each of
her things<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She snuck into the fridge and ate about 30
olives yesterday<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She calls bobby pins “barbie pins”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She gets a dinosaur vitamin every morning as
long as she lets me do her hair<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She loves Dora toothpaste<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She loves when I have “Someping Fecial” (Something
Special) to tell her or show her<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She wears shoes as infrequently as possible<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She puts on tutus and costume jewelry every
single day<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She is a sucker for a Princess Crown<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Her favorite movie is “Punchback” (Hunchback of Notre Dame)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She likes to put stickers on paper and then
promptly rip them all back off<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She loves to paint but only if it’s
acrylic—crayola watercolor is cheap<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She loves hamburgers and French fries and could
eat them till she keeled over <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Friends/cousins are her favorite part of
life—and her uncles<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She loves nursery and wears a “Princess Dress”
every single week<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She likes to put on makeup in the morning with
Mom<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Anytime she’s into something she shouldn’t be,
she’ll explain that she was “Helping You” (i.e. cut her hair, pick up Lillian,
open bottles at the store, put battery operated toys in the bath)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->If it is “Far-ka-ly” (sparkly) she is probably
going to love it<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->If it has a butterfly, she’s probably going to
love it<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She loves to do dishes<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She always has to touch the food on other
people’s plates<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->Telling her you want to hold her is the quickest
way to stop her crying<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She loves riding on your back like a horse<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She wants to get married in the temple<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She wants to marry Repunzel<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She doesn’t really like to exercise with mom,
but she’ll do it every time if it means she can have a sip of hot chocolate
(protein drink)<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She can’t keep hot chocolate and chocolate milk
straight to save her life<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She spends all her time climbing up and down the
stuff at the park but avoids all the slides<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="font-family: Symbol; mso-bidi-font-family: Symbol; mso-fareast-font-family: Symbol;">·<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 7pt;">
</span></span><!--[endif]-->She loves, loves, loves playing in dirt—in her
tutu<o:p></o:p></div>
Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-57051583690758524652013-03-28T21:40:00.001-07:002013-03-28T21:40:06.410-07:00Just a Thought<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhULmgWob51i818aFQenejmo-8N9hh0Rd9rrnzEKXZMsbSSH2pNeH50trX57-Zemz0hl8fOqv9F07rGtrQ-dwz5LcxCCZYvXuu6FlFOic57s3co8H83s9Jp6H9UK6DNQCwOPuDW7NzYjgI/s1600/c+004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhULmgWob51i818aFQenejmo-8N9hh0Rd9rrnzEKXZMsbSSH2pNeH50trX57-Zemz0hl8fOqv9F07rGtrQ-dwz5LcxCCZYvXuu6FlFOic57s3co8H83s9Jp6H9UK6DNQCwOPuDW7NzYjgI/s320/c+004.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Sometimes this happens. </div>
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Yes, that is the mattress and those are the couch cushions on top of every single toy we've ever owned on the floor.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday my mind was a torrential downpour of stuff: Things to do, worries, stresses, expectations,
new goals, plan changes, some gratitude, disappointments, befuddlements, and so
on—though I am not sure about the “and so on” part. I think that list caught everything. So add the “and” before befuddlements and
cross out the “and so ons.” No need to
be mellow-dramatic.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And as Paul and I kneeled to say our evening prayer, I could
feel the insomnia setting in. It’s a
curse I share with lots of worriers and over-thinkers out there. And it all just tumbled around in my brain,
but not with the grace of damp clothes in a dryer, or even the jittery
movements of ping-pong balls in a lottery game thingy, but with the frantic
desperation of a kid in a money machine trying desperately to grasp at bills
that have no sort of predictable movement.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So after we finished our couple prayer, I prayed my own
prayer on paper. “Dear Heavenly Father,” I wrote.
“There’s a lot of stuff in here right now that I need to talk to you
about.” And then I made eight categories
on my paper and every time a thought blew around in there I caught a glimpse of
it, wrote some short hand version of it under its appropriate category, hoping
that God would know the whole story behind the three word condensed version,
and moved on to the next frantically flying dollar bill.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Can we just say that by the time I was done, if my thoughts
really had been money, I’d be rich?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But the point is, I got it all out. In my very own version of praying that I made
up by my own self.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then I slept like a rock.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Till the kids woke up.<o:p></o:p></div>
Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-37594492819117738312013-03-20T20:00:00.002-07:002013-03-20T20:01:09.014-07:00We're bringing Tufty back...Okay, a dear friend requested a special post on today's events...<br />
<br />
So Jess, this is for you.<br />
<br />
All others are welcome to read it but if you dare judge me for one second, my only response is that your time will come.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtsR_JlJOWYBdF7iWjBjc79786QNXXlLgSSV__EDMytx6eyTmz1uR25E07uLEU6Wi0pciWrN65NbvS6YpWLgjhaRM_cBD5nuvnXbzcan5K83Kw5vD9jGfdEIekibVUPzADdSe0AxdVgA/s1600/c+013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFtsR_JlJOWYBdF7iWjBjc79786QNXXlLgSSV__EDMytx6eyTmz1uR25E07uLEU6Wi0pciWrN65NbvS6YpWLgjhaRM_cBD5nuvnXbzcan5K83Kw5vD9jGfdEIekibVUPzADdSe0AxdVgA/s320/c+013.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
See these bangs? 12 hours ago they were a perfectly shaped little line just above her eyebrows.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhef3DBvoAnutSP8IehLMNVYnX8ogDK2BpK0sXC0ZymC87idd9TRUvtUZsPjzm0mCW_YuM3xTtmYr1JiQJ-_4_L80hbYLSPdrp3hoDqNxqFKrCnwSmcN3KlWR0lZ1mSY5u0uFd_BQry1js/s1600/c+016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhef3DBvoAnutSP8IehLMNVYnX8ogDK2BpK0sXC0ZymC87idd9TRUvtUZsPjzm0mCW_YuM3xTtmYr1JiQJ-_4_L80hbYLSPdrp3hoDqNxqFKrCnwSmcN3KlWR0lZ1mSY5u0uFd_BQry1js/s320/c+016.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
See those sprouts? There are 5 other patches across the front of her head to match. All in all, not the worst case, but I'm telling you, it still hurts a mother's heart.<br />
<br />
So, here's my journal entry from today.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
What a day… at least Paul is home for it all.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Grace cut her own bangs this morning.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then while I was in the shower, she ate 1/3 of a bottle of
chewable vitamins. I still am not quite
sure how she got past the child proof lid.
We might have a genius on our hands.
Or, at the very least, a wildly determined child. I might add here that the only reason we had
these particular vitamins is because she opened the bottle WHILE WE WERE IN THE
STORE. They are the Disney ones that are
double the price of the generic.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She slapped me.
Yep. I was already raving mad
about the hair. And then she slapped
me. Mad you ask? At this picturesque / right of passage moment? Yep.
Fuming. Her hair was SO FREAKING
CUTE. And now… It was all I could do not to slap her back.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then, we barely caught her as she was inches from shoving a
key into the electrical outlet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then she whipped said keys hanging from a lanyard at me
like she was David-slaying-Goliath-with-a-sling-and-a-rock. Again, I did not hit her, though the
temptation was considerably stronger.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Then she colored all over her book with a pen. 10 minutes after apologizing to the librarian
for ripping a book ON PURPOSE last week.
Will I ever learn?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She’s napping now.
We’ll see how this evening goes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we took her to the store this afternoon, we cinched her so tightly into the cart; there was no telling what she might have done otherwise.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She still got out.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So that was my day. Nope. No pearls of wisdom or perky conclusions. Just a plain old rundown of some of the more colorful events of the day.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-41066846447570112782012-11-21T07:53:00.000-08:002012-11-21T07:53:22.896-08:00In all Seriousness...Does life get better?<br />
I submit that it does not.<br />
Because this is what 8:45 looked like at our house today.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQW8TlVwWUmFf-tOTz50TFxoQK4WCrsfCfXJudMUI9XnxWqolOHhwC8WqDHU2LMLxri4KECic6W3OijvkzFsVbwXOsvrI93zF1i_qBVR_3MyQjwznuHoWJB8jaHpKReyzubOG4_VAXT5w/s1600/file+017.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQW8TlVwWUmFf-tOTz50TFxoQK4WCrsfCfXJudMUI9XnxWqolOHhwC8WqDHU2LMLxri4KECic6W3OijvkzFsVbwXOsvrI93zF1i_qBVR_3MyQjwznuHoWJB8jaHpKReyzubOG4_VAXT5w/s320/file+017.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-457813563634248452012-08-20T18:50:00.001-07:002012-08-20T18:55:02.500-07:00Just an Update of Sorts<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: start;">I'm good. I'm happy. I'm also really tired and so I have nothing particularly clever to write, so I'm just posting some pics of our recent happiness. And that's all. And that's enough. </span>
</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8uvpLt5t4hWyb2onj-wTxozYdjEA2XYxtm8ExIMpGk-DZQ_xKSPqyP5U8OHZM2OBNwuFDfHa6NaDh1RhgIXQo-rB-2vDN8yVR673Ct90ApAkx6Pu5hN9BWZSnWgN7kuVo9MD4dDclb1s/s1600/file+174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8uvpLt5t4hWyb2onj-wTxozYdjEA2XYxtm8ExIMpGk-DZQ_xKSPqyP5U8OHZM2OBNwuFDfHa6NaDh1RhgIXQo-rB-2vDN8yVR673Ct90ApAkx6Pu5hN9BWZSnWgN7kuVo9MD4dDclb1s/s320/file+174.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Mom's 50th Birthday Party. It was my labor of love with help from lots of others. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The banner says "Time to Start That Bucket List" which was our theme instead of "Over the Hill" or something like that.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKyREV55ZQ7k5YpsNO5cQDv4XcnfC9pcZA_HcPpf2_r5SOLwAYiVzf8PBk0_J6vDgffzmMzuC3diuC918wjMkro4b2UDYx9WWTtn_iYRmfKDqWJYd-YNbL3y2O2dIvi4kt5Ub48M_81C0/s1600/file+175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKyREV55ZQ7k5YpsNO5cQDv4XcnfC9pcZA_HcPpf2_r5SOLwAYiVzf8PBk0_J6vDgffzmMzuC3diuC918wjMkro4b2UDYx9WWTtn_iYRmfKDqWJYd-YNbL3y2O2dIvi4kt5Ub48M_81C0/s320/file+175.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
120 cupcakes. Caramel Banana for the surf and Chocolate Peanut Butter for the sand. Get it? Buckets... sand? Oh, you do get it. Good. Dad engineered the stand. He's the bomb.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtAfeqlqjgr1fejzxP9TUasvNN9VhHmN-mWi1sWFy9_UWTheu9869x3fkRWL6-7dhW_yAwyMUT_Y-9SSpcRZuDaVWZ6m-n6olX6IY3uQpVsvZ4fUrMvKLy486iS4-LZRyCnzZaZqBM-OY/s1600/file+176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtAfeqlqjgr1fejzxP9TUasvNN9VhHmN-mWi1sWFy9_UWTheu9869x3fkRWL6-7dhW_yAwyMUT_Y-9SSpcRZuDaVWZ6m-n6olX6IY3uQpVsvZ4fUrMvKLy486iS4-LZRyCnzZaZqBM-OY/s320/file+176.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Mom and Alli made the 7-layer cookies, my personal favorite (I ate 12...or more.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieufqgBiX_DZC2axpOBJTeMX3SQjuwzhYfEI6rub2Ym-ePdEax-6bAg0PXvd-rvOhPAbrTGBUoQovKg_d_fj08gaUjNqF3p8SmXJ5ZbvBL8d0K_MYnhXEZKoiOaaf5UinlpgxUg-zzYU8/s1600/file+177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieufqgBiX_DZC2axpOBJTeMX3SQjuwzhYfEI6rub2Ym-ePdEax-6bAg0PXvd-rvOhPAbrTGBUoQovKg_d_fj08gaUjNqF3p8SmXJ5ZbvBL8d0K_MYnhXEZKoiOaaf5UinlpgxUg-zzYU8/s320/file+177.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The "display." Mom helped cut the vinyl and I put it all together...I love how it turned out.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkF-Sk2eRcsLrQNQaABdvZ6RL5Y_TicDV3_KLwKzh636R82wG3Q-M-g6K0GpA54K3T13Clyy3dF7KG8KUi5PVpichifCqqOrNeJZil-a1RnvaZFHDUUhkRH2qMpWJsOCKiQtIwzhT_Oo/s1600/file+178.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUkF-Sk2eRcsLrQNQaABdvZ6RL5Y_TicDV3_KLwKzh636R82wG3Q-M-g6K0GpA54K3T13Clyy3dF7KG8KUi5PVpichifCqqOrNeJZil-a1RnvaZFHDUUhkRH2qMpWJsOCKiQtIwzhT_Oo/s320/file+178.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And there's the wonderful birthday lady and her handsome husband.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
So that was one weekend, and this was the next...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxSBhLRyIuVMaDTIgKLW_kVadZWeuyG2O34-kgvEcPiTu5P6g1WVbwmsvRCtBEfcHPgjN3AOmKrZ9GTmsRfyRYQKBakoZZavM8WvYtnlTWdNTcIGZAzkXYK0YD-SIHuYEIH09QGGp5gGc/s1600/file+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxSBhLRyIuVMaDTIgKLW_kVadZWeuyG2O34-kgvEcPiTu5P6g1WVbwmsvRCtBEfcHPgjN3AOmKrZ9GTmsRfyRYQKBakoZZavM8WvYtnlTWdNTcIGZAzkXYK0YD-SIHuYEIH09QGGp5gGc/s320/file+002.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Happy 2nd Birthday, Love Girl!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
You'll note the carryover from last weekend...we're on a budget here. </div>
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Sea turtles swim on a Caramel Chocolate cupcake. Super-easy...if you can find all the right candy. If you improvise on the fins, you might end up wanting to curse because this was supposed to be the EASY party.</div>
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Left-over buckets make awesome party favors and candy collectors. </div>
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Thanks mom for making them all personalized. </div>
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I work REALLY hard to not lose sight of the KID while I'm preping the KID'S party. So all the baking was done one morning while Grace slept in, and the lobster banner was a super-fun project for me and Grace on the morning of party. She kept saying, "It's so silly, Mommy! So silly!" while I painted her hands and feet. And yes, the Love Angel speaks in complete sentences. It still catches me off guard some days. But there are DEFINITELY perks anytime communication is enhanced.</div>
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The adorable little "fish!" Thank you neighbors for use of your bomb pool stuff!</div>
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That's me and my hott lover. He looks awesome. I look...tired. It's like 90 degrees and not pictured is a 51/2 month pregnant belly. I make no apologies for my tiredness.</div>
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Wonderful family.</div>
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Sweet cousins.</div>
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Birthday wishes. She has that candle thing down pat.</div>
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And Paul and my favorite part...the pinata. We made an octopus this year.</div>
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Grace calls it an "Ah-pah-tus." That is THE reason we chose to make an octopus...just to here her say it 500 times.</div>
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Candy grabbin'.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Present Opening </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Happiness.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
And for the record, this is not the precedence for all future birthday parties. Mom was worth EVERY SINGLE hour of labor for her 50th birthday and Grace was a lucky recipient of left-overs. The rule for Grace's party was that I could do it if it was fun for me, meaningful to Grace, and with-in the budget. The only thing that got out of hand were those silly turtle fins. For my momma this year, the rule was Nothing is too much as long as daddy was willing to pay for it and absolutely no procrastination; I will sleep EVERY SINGLE NIGHT. And I did...but I am still so very tired.</div>
Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-68703048115798627112012-06-10T08:09:00.000-07:002012-06-10T08:18:58.099-07:00My Journal Entry<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I haven't written much this last year. It's been a hard year and I have a tendency to either tell you everything that's in my head or, out of protection of my heart, tell you nothing. I shared nothing. But I'm excited right now, to show you a little peek of my heart if you're interested. So here's my journal entry from April 3, 2012. It wasn't written with an audience in mind, so hopefully it still comes across alright...</span><br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">March 30, 2012</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">April 3, 2012<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">March was a good month.
Especially the second half. You
see, Paul had this interview that we were feeling really confident about. They didn’t let us know for WEEKS that he
didn’t get the job. I know, we should
have seen that as a sign, but when you REALLY want something, you’re willing to
look right past the red flags, or at least, in this case, remain blind to the
thought that no green flag also means no job—and I don’t know what color flag
that would be. But it was okay. Because happy things just kept
happening. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">We were enjoying all these
mini-family outings to free places around town.
We were hiking to the tops of local islands—and when you are SO far away
(literally and figuratively) from the exotic ones, the desert island in the
middle of the Salt Lake DOES count. We
had birthday parties and early Easter celebrations and warm weather. And everything was still okay. In fact, on March 29<sup>th</sup>, I told my
mother in-law, “We have no plans.
None. There is absolutely NOTHING
that I can plan past tonight’s dinner.
And you know what? I’m okay. I think I am actually being patient to a
degree and at a level that I never have been before.” She knows me very well. She was proud.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">And then came Friday, March 30th. We had another job interview which was good,
but we were not feeling nearly as confident about this one as the last (and
remember how the last one didn’t work out so well?) But Paul gave it his all, and called and
reported that he had done his best, and he’d be home in an hour or so. When he got home, he kissed my face and I
washed my dinner-prepping hands and folded them across my chest to chat with my
mom and Paul. Paul handed me a paper,
and all I could see on it was a dollar amount.
And then, it clicked. He had the
job. And holy cow, they weren’t going to
be stingy about the compensation either.
I sobbed. And sobbed. And sobbed some more. And little by little, the weight of a
thousand worries both spoken and too dark to be spoken, were lifted. We celebrated that night. We went out to dinner and saw a movie at the
expensive theater. Then we went to buy a
pregnancy test which I took the next morning.
And guess what?<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">We have another one on the way.<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;">Seven months of self-doubt, dissolving plans, and bitter
disappointments just turned a page for us.</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br />
Update: I am now 15 weeks along, with baby due on December 2. Paul and I have rented a great little apartment in Clearfield, Utah and life is moving along beautifully again. Finally. And about my Grace? Well, frankly, I think she's stunning. OH! And I started sewing.</div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-28247407055876343782012-03-02T22:55:00.012-08:002012-03-03T00:33:59.829-08:00Why I'm Going to Take up Sewing<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><u><br /></u></span></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig2Mxvzl6wnBwWkYXaC56zOI53Wqn5ggvxnaZyY8nqmWTQhqbsIqlGr_b3YErF6SVnhxXqHrsAgVnhOCPzsu6Qu0HZfs95FHbiIpww52FgrGEGdaJDAXcPHMj96MgIeZLQn2K1kBKOT6o/s1600/file+348.JPG" style="font-size: 16px; text-align: left; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715564462439464914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjT4qoPKyNQ-p2j9k-cYO231LslB1clFXMXKpOvDIfxIajdsa5LZ_dTv0UXxXKx3UL5zPWBLCBXh58RcUNv9CjZsk40qD_gpOI-zMMKyPa0AYJ5Psrb_aCUtIU6mmLfclr_HDj9kv0PcmI/s400/file+067.JPG" style="margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; width: 300px; height: 400px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer; " /></a></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span><u><br /></u></span></div><div style="text-align: center;font-size: 16px; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig2Mxvzl6wnBwWkYXaC56zOI53Wqn5ggvxnaZyY8nqmWTQhqbsIqlGr_b3YErF6SVnhxXqHrsAgVnhOCPzsu6Qu0HZfs95FHbiIpww52FgrGEGdaJDAXcPHMj96MgIeZLQn2K1kBKOT6o/s1600/file+348.JPG" style="font-size: 16px; text-align: left; font-family: Georgia, serif; "><br /></a></div><br /></div><div><br /></div><p style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; " class="MsoNormal">Life doesn’t go as planned. I know. I know. I shou<span style="font-size: 100%; ">ld have learned that by now, but I mean, it REALLY doesn’t go as planned. In fact, it SO doesn’t go as planned that when I went to the quilt shop (shoppe?) with my mom last weekend and I saw a trite little phrase stitched on a pillow that normally would have made me roll my eyes (behind my eyelids because eye-rolling is super rude in my book) or shudder somewhere in my guts (because I got this idea somewhere—Blake—that I am too sophisticated for trite phrases)…instead, my eyes watered and my heart dropped to my guts and in that sickening moment I felt a connection with a Higher Being. I connected, and not just connected, I’m talking SPOKE-TO-MY-SOUL, did t</span><span style="font-size: 100%; ">his trite little phrase. See? I didn’t plan that reaction, and I didn’t plan for what’s on my plate right now. My whole life is full of watery eyes and anxious tummies these days.</span></p><p style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; " class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div> <p style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; " class="MsoNormal">And it’s not bad, it just mostly is. And that’s the hard part! Because I had this great plan! Essentially, the plan was to do everything right and avoid pretty much all the hard stuff. I'm serious. The only trials that were acceptable were the ones that obviously couldn't be planned for, but all the others weren't going to happen to me. My foresight was simply going to be a good as my hindsight. Because I decided. I PLANNED it.</p><p style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; " class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; " class="MsoNormal">It didn't work. </p><p style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; " class="MsoNormal">My foresight is not as good as my hindsight. </p><p style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; " class="MsoNormal">In fact, I am beginning to wonder if MY sight had anything to do with it at all--except that it might have been the crux of the problem.</p><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; " class="MsoNormal">But I’ll let you in on a secret. The mere fact that I can even mention this to you at all is because I am coming to terms with things. I am starting to accept the new path. I’m not as afraid. And probably that’s why the trite little phrase caught me so off-guard. It mocked my self-induced pain; reducing it to its true and pitiful form. And not wanting to be the fool who couldn’t take a hint, I let it heal me.<o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; " class="MsoNormal">So…the moral is…<o:p></o:p></p> <p style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; " class="MsoNormal">If you want to make God laugh, tell him you<span style="font-size: 100%; ">r plans.</span></p><p style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; " class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p style="text-align: center;font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; " class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; font-style: normal; " class="MsoNormal"><br /></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><i>P.S. I am tormented by the irony that I am exasperated by trite phrases, and yet this post is littered with clichés. Sigh. So much more for me to learn. Perhaps my next life lesson on humility will be skillfully tole-painted on a piece of wood.</i><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><i>P.P.S. Plus, this is better than anything I could have EVER planned. Ever.</i></p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig2Mxvzl6wnBwWkYXaC56zOI53Wqn5ggvxnaZyY8nqmWTQhqbsIqlGr_b3YErF6SVnhxXqHrsAgVnhOCPzsu6Qu0HZfs95FHbiIpww52FgrGEGdaJDAXcPHMj96MgIeZLQn2K1kBKOT6o/s400/file+348.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715575201722851090" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /><div></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><i>She put that hat on herself.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFdRD1QrWi_lon0IrPIgI7KU7-J_Tm7Cekiaw7DS_aYziZc5a_xjOvH7Kv0p0rDRAP91DQCxJw3OqEIRutULX_6BdStn329hL5C_ZxR7hoYDwhd0-eLTRP7durcsNAADFlKgEoooJDQmc/s400/file+360.JPG" /> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><i>But I was the one to color on her face.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><i>No. Not really.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><i>But clearly, there's nothing to REALLY worry about here. You might say, "It's all under control." Just not mine.</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><i><br /></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 100%; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal; "><o:p></o:p> </p></div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-54808107793328806292011-08-14T22:52:00.000-07:002011-08-17T17:44:00.392-07:00A Birthday<div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin; color:#444444"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbnHAoVfM60CH8Xy1LxNuvNMxg6NorVYJSW9pGqBsglklB586y5fACbwfN6sScB0NcTSvaKHXvpaRfHdbO5-0nqY9bU3ZMiCRjQaCfQEhusgDwaHNbpC3XFPH-_yAw-6TSiUFaeVB8sd4/s400/file+013.JPG" /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin; color:#444444"><span class="Apple-style-span">In the world of blogging, blogging mothers seem to always write a birthday tribute to their children on their blogs that is very sentimental and touching.<span> </span>I had no desire to do this this year.<span> </span>Even my journal entry on her birthday was very lack luster.<span> </span>Probably because I have spent the last 8 days preparing her the greatest little one-year old party I could ever think of (on a very small budget.)<span> </span>It was magical.<span> </span>I spent last Saturday at my mom’s house with just a vague idea of what I wanted to do floating around in my head; <span> </span>Ladybugs.<span> </span>So mom and I spent the day planning and practicing cakes.<span> </span>It took hours.<span> </span>There were parts that were not even fun anymore.<span> </span>They even, I think, stressed me out.<span> </span>That is, until I had a talk with myself.<span> </span>“Self,” says I, “This is a party.<span> </span>Parties are fun.<span> </span>If you are not having fun, and you spend this next week blowing your kid off because you’re trying to throw her a party, you are doing something wrong.”<span> </span>SO.<span> </span>I made a list of everything that needed to be done and when it needed to be done, and I stuck to it, and pretty much, I had an entire week of ladybugs and lots and lots of fun loving up the tiny party girl.<span> </span>Hopefully similar feats can be managed with later parties.<span> Though </span>I suppose there will be some of both: stress and no stress parties.<span> </span>I commented to a friend that I couldn’t believe how much time I had spent on these assorted lady bugs and she reminded me to think of what I would have been doing if I were still working and then I remembered, I am a mom.<span> </span>Just a mom now.<span> </span>And this is what I do, I celebrate life with my children.<span> </span>And celebrate we did.</span><o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">Everything was ready by 6:00 when the guests started arriving.</span></span><span style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); line-height: 115%; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">I handed Grace off to her willing aunt from Tennessee, and painted lots and lots of little faces (and my brother’s shaved head) while Paul </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">barbecued</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;"> hot dogs.</span></span><span style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); line-height: 115%; "> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin; color:#444444"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOo7ERssqanFsNKdL-nz7econWwwoZIdgmUrrY_FtEEq3H1OLFq6BmKTALBUAM6sSgZueu5Tzfvvt5OxLBFF6ay7AMJEPQ_Qgl63Feboz0g4sjngvGjbH4gA5msue1fYgWYAEzFSSg5-4/s400/file+004.JPG" /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin; color:#444444"><span></span>Then we ate the hot dogs with lots of salad and chips and drinks.<span> </span>Then, it was time for the piñata. <span> </span>The incredibly crafted and ingeniously engineered ladybug piñata.<span> </span>The design was mine, but Paul master-minded the bug's aviation.<span> </span>And that Ladybug sure did fly.<span> </span>We started with the littlest kids first and they all took swings until the biggest (Alex--age 13) punched—with his manly fist—the tar out of that bug and sent the candy and cookies and marshmallows flying (marshmallows and cookies had been wrapped in baggies days before.)<span> </span>The children, who had been standing in a PERFECTLY straight line behind the appointed blanket, eyes bulging with anticipation, squealed as they collected loot in everything from their shirts to their broken arm slings.<span> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin; color:#444444"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr9uXP2t-FAnTDQ2E44b-CMXNINqXUB9kj8CkrRk4AkmY94KyqUdXbywYnfwy_1GByevvA1fjnkvfEPGZVcU6Nd0-iG1RsQxYgwFd3xbw9D6sYdEeOP8VAeqpgtiwQ_XizMLzYzBMbI3M/s400/file+036.JPG" /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin; color:#444444"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzO_poRI3UF8bD5O4ZUIiR77jKYspprmhXK_4tfHJdMOap83tGFdR3moroEbTK-ClQF8Ohz5JBG7ON8V1pGt0XUrgcZSkC3yaBUErn3LDYlKnQQNjY_yMPtXCrwlpot7YFwJCP6hCtSK4/s400/file+042.JPG" /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin; color:#444444"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid8Jm7YULnzcnap1L5fYz74WlbFB-M4l22wuoK3lKpAOKOUlYGLhh5vXsnSjF2st1WhHlgPkje_kcfkCtr028suHCAf4EskYJNSQHkThedhEQk8nGK-GfkzXKbrzQcHitEMzuYpAr_adM/s400/file+054.JPG" /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin; color:#444444">And on to presents. Grace never quite caught on to the unwrapping, but she had the playing down perfectly.<span> </span></span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin; color:#444444">And so did her cousins and friends.</span></span><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin; color:#444444"><span> </span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin; color:#444444"><span><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbmgu5g2gqo0GJGXXDMys-pw5otyXvl5vzgZYZ3Uj1yKMgXywkr7_PV8GQpoqP0JxzQF2XdotZBelGaNlEaFBEW0hjAWyRWOvEf2ECqGbzChUOT8rmknkyBea6hrmwOPAlbNAIwO0ekbs/s400/file+106.JPG" /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 10.0pt;line-height:115%;mso-bidi-font-family:Calibri;mso-bidi-theme-font:minor-latin; color:#444444">Then came the cake. A four-plate, tiered, culinary feat. Gracie had a plate sized little lady bug cake complete with 3D chocolate feelers, and descending in tiered steps were three plates of 59 little lady bug cupcakes.<span> </span>Complete with their own coconut grass lawn; cake ball, pink-frosted, polka-dotted bodies; and of course, own little chocolate feelers.</span></span><span> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKwcUarrdz5ctjRqvMA0QBDbSm4qEeNCn95Dga_uRRxk2HMq7CwdmuyPqwbuQWvHGbvBZ3HIxNZA0JEbi-_JZ-Dl7JHB4zfQF-ePwIHlJTFe9_ABUIQ9d0QF1HXWZM5mV6o1i-1iTp0LY/s400/file+001.JPG" /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Gracie enjoyed eating her cake one finger lick at a time, until her mom, at the suggestion of her aunt, shoved her entire hand into the ladybug’s back.<span> </span>Well, that was one too many party games for her and the wee girl cried because she wanted to.<span> </span>At which point she was wiped clean (another reason to cry) and then cuddled with her new toys as dusk fell.<span> </span>Like I said, we had a celebration.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">
<br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">And I must say thank you to everyone who came out to love my little lady, give gifts, and pitch in on food.</span></span><span style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); line-height: 115%; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">Grandma and Papa, Blaine, Katie, Hailey, Jamie, Blake, Alli, Josh, Grandma and Grandpa, Rob, Tim, Kate, Scott, Chelsea, Addy, Crystal, Clark, October, Alfred, Jen, Karlene, Tanna, Trenton, Jim, Amy, Morgana, Sam, John-David, Julian, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px;">Tennyson</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">, Amelia, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 18px; ">Eleanor</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">, Jen, Bismark, John, Lisa, Alex, Courtney, Zach, McKenna, and Jordan,</span></span><span style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); line-height: 115%; "> </span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 115%;">Thank you. We love you.</span></span></span></p></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCmiP15FxGy2fjpEDK9o0oF2Ar78R8D8IAO4-WoRn1xBPjiqmA_0rE05u6f5mNaFu5zERZuK-g8XJzCymjUrBXvVYSOtZUs3I1n2q0XAEryxjJBKQEWBfu64UcLFvYfNxzX2syTeZ3jE8/s1600/file+115.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCmiP15FxGy2fjpEDK9o0oF2Ar78R8D8IAO4-WoRn1xBPjiqmA_0rE05u6f5mNaFu5zERZuK-g8XJzCymjUrBXvVYSOtZUs3I1n2q0XAEryxjJBKQEWBfu64UcLFvYfNxzX2syTeZ3jE8/s400/file+115.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5640957970679171906" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(68, 68, 68); line-height: 18px; ">And to you, my Little Love Bug, Happy Birthday.<span> </span>I love you with all of my heart.</span></div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-73969186485293698352011-07-22T21:37:00.000-07:002011-07-22T22:13:39.710-07:00Do Over<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhghmao08y5UrpXp-14MzDYaD7-tsBI1D8H7GVI0MiWc1fQzTBfmfaOGLmmFWHnAABkJQG5irxM2rmzSurX-6EmqsWOZ7pJftiJexHD17rmSHXniu-i85eTYRvUnFaw4gEj3yoziGSSaYI/s400/DSCN0749.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632402738523608130" /><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I made a dent in the project on Wednesday.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The dent consisted mostly of saying my goodbyes to anyone who was left to say goodbye to, and then giving away what little of my enormous effort could be taken.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I spent years in that room, thinking and creating and teaching, and on Wednesday, I began to put it away. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>On Thursday Paul and I went back to tackle the grunt work. I condensed 4 years of grinding, molding, and polishing into 5 file boxes and one poster box.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The rest I gave away, left behind, or threw away.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Some things couldn’t be given away and I think that was the hardest part.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>The really valuable stuff—the stuff that makes a difference—couldn’t be given away.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Its acquisition is trapped somewhere in the universe of personal experience.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Sure, some of it can be imitated, but the rest can only be seared in the soul through one’s personal effort.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>So I was left with this beautiful, painstakingly and lovingly created masterpiece—this teacher—and nowhere to put her.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She’s to be thrown into the fire, melted and crafted into something else, and for a little while the thought of it hurt.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I doubted about whether or not it was worth it to have worked so hard just to walk away. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>So for a second I searched frantically for somewhere to put that teacher, or some way to infuse everything that she was into someone else, but it was impossible.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>She’s simply got to be remolded.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Sure, some parts of the new work will look familiar, maybe even identical, but I didn’t think about that.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>For a few minutes, I just let myself feel all the pain of leaving.</div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And then I went home—to grace.</p><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqPBQbXIAmF-LdC_1mrzJgJF8ufgviyT5NHHOK8quRVetFCWFodnSCWn1YHV9wzJ2DzW_VWtLCPy5aOoOuLUq7o2S4LgIbbqf_GqD9ZqgsficWtF0j7h3rPVpW9HHS-TxwxBGe2B_TdhE/s400/file+037.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632407362369473586" /><p class="MsoNormal">And I was ready to start the next piece.</p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih5zPqVb0Bupvnip3XU58ZPJ7FFIiXVJVpxloq6XpDXw0r8I8S1HqEBM0UFUA8WiL0836ar356_K6yLmVfuV2t7vMzzZsoOe74ZnrHJcR_em5mVZdAVYLcNeoxbTmDh8d626jR1n2UBhI/s400/DSCN0679.JPG" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632409042023840754" /></p><p class="MsoNormal">But for the record, you will be missed Professor Paula and Miss Jensen. Especially you Miss Jensen aka "The Bomb A." Thanks for infusing so much of you into me. Love, "The Bomb B"</p><p class="MsoNormal">And for the record, I did make normal faces at my students, just not very often.</p><p></p>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-46446148286362674792011-06-20T09:33:00.000-07:002011-06-20T09:54:29.459-07:00Father's Day<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTlhx34I_EaBUrKXoC6tJiolstBFXRpuVAdPtHwj3eZ4U7vcFHUJiWKj5NEkci2lJosLZ7vY40XlnO5x9VQrBsqRXs9U2-HiXvUCsuMqTQTZmq94uvdThgYFpvyEUb1t2jUEvyaBhiECU/s1600/File+177.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTlhx34I_EaBUrKXoC6tJiolstBFXRpuVAdPtHwj3eZ4U7vcFHUJiWKj5NEkci2lJosLZ7vY40XlnO5x9VQrBsqRXs9U2-HiXvUCsuMqTQTZmq94uvdThgYFpvyEUb1t2jUEvyaBhiECU/s400/File+177.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620342984036251090" /></a><br /><p class="MsoNormal">Me and the Grace-face have a nasty cold but I woke up to tape little paper Gracie-handprints <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>all over the house to tell Daddy everything that we love, love, love about him.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>There were 24 hands (which was not nearly enough to include all the reasons, but at 10:00 last night when I finally was able to sit down and finish them, it was enough for my brain and energy to create.)<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>So at 7:00 this morning (which obscene around here in the summer) I taped little hand-y-love-notes all over the house with my eyes about to burst under an enormous balloon of increasing sinus pressure and went back to bed with a happy little smile (and two tablets of Aleve) about the treat Daddy would wake up to.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Some time later, I made breakfast, and the decision to skip church after the Grace-face sneezed and two enormous strands of green fluid draped from her nose to her chin; I thought it best not to share such amazing feats with others.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>After Daddy found all the little handprints, we hugged and kissed him till I am sure that it is just a matter of time before he finds himself needing to be very careful when he sneezes too.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">The rest of the morning was spent getting my very own Daddy’s present ready.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It came in three parts.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>A box of ammo from Gracie.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>A big-ol’ box of clay pigeons from the Josh-man. And a clay-pigeon thrower assembled and mounted to a tire from the kids.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We we’re as excited as the proverbial kids on Christmas to give our Daddy this loot.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We even broke years of Bockholt family tradition this time and opened presents first, before dinner and cake and all that.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Because you see, I probably have the best dad ever.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He’s been faced with a mountain of hard things in his life and has come out on top, with a wife, kids, and grandbabies that love him to pieces and take pride in the fact that we share his best quirk:<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> w</span>e start conversations in the middle of a long train of thought and leave everyone else in the room wondering where in the heck the comment came from.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">So to all of our Daddies and Papas out there (Daddy Bockholt, Dad Herrick, Grandpa Riggs, Grandpa Harley, Grandpa Ron, Granddad, Gramps, and ALL the Brothers –Blaine, Blake, Rob, Tim, Scott, Christian, Mike, Matt and Brian) Happy Father’s Day.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>We love you.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>A lot.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">And ESPECIALLY you, Paul.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlhlvWFyoILTawiCjpwHik0LKVfq5hKWk2MyAHhTcqZita7DH_V9uCPRqpY7rZT_QdaaZ6nmF9ud-kA_NKz71c8tfs0DxhGAeoHiIPKZm6ZIZU-oqiDI5Wmda8aMGeo-Od5D0GTOnLfYs/s400/File+164.JPG" /></p>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-3938081898231341892011-06-10T22:22:00.000-07:002011-06-11T22:06:45.868-07:00Bug Quota<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyGwkXztgpgNU6CoMyYgbp_iMcE_49iaCBDklTpj4YGnCSkL0kA82Lz-ao7Pu03fyeIo4maLTnSESiCAp5UtiW_NnZCDsKsymFn4fV583xjOfDeolj9pHiI-3RGeVqkHsn_O6y5cGsq0Y/s1600/DSCN0675.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 400px; height: 300px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5616828708423584722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyGwkXztgpgNU6CoMyYgbp_iMcE_49iaCBDklTpj4YGnCSkL0kA82Lz-ao7Pu03fyeIo4maLTnSESiCAp5UtiW_NnZCDsKsymFn4fV583xjOfDeolj9pHiI-3RGeVqkHsn_O6y5cGsq0Y/s400/DSCN0675.JPG" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span">Tonight was a good night, if you disregard the part where Grace and I were pretty frustrated with each other. The part where she was bored out of her mind and I was trying very hard, without the help of a Daddy who was at work, to get us ready to go somewhere interesting. Because that part was pretty bad. She insisted on being held and I insisted on not holding her and she SCREAMED and SCREAMED and I was <i>this </i>close to joining her. But then I realized that with 27 years of life experience compared to her short 10 months, that me screaming would be wrong while her screaming was justified. Either way, it's hard to think rationally when so much screaming is to be had. Just saying.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">BUT!!!!</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">We made it. We got out of the house with cheese and ham and juice and graham crackers and sweaters and sunblock and a baby WITH a cute bow dang-it and went to a great little concert in a beautiful little community garden (and I ACTUALLY used all the stuff that I brought which is great because you hate to think that you spent a bunch of time packing stuff while your kid was screaming that you didn't actually need anyway...)</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">And Grace loved watching the singer (who reminded me what I want to name the next tiny girl one day, by the way...) and then she enjoyed crawling around, and then she would have enjoyed eating the bark-chips that lined the flowerbeds, but I decided she had consumed enough bark-chips last Tuesday at Gramma's house and licked enough dirt off rocks last night in the garden that her clay-dirt-vitamin-mineral-germ-bacteria-iron-bug quota had been met this week. Plus people were watching---which is the real reason I made her stop.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">And then we went to In-n-Out, bought a strawberry shake which we shared with Daddy at work while he watered plants, and then, because no one was watching this time, we let Gracie play in the water and I took a sopping wet, very happy baby home to take a bath. And when she cuddled me with her wet hair and towel draped body, I knew that in spite of its very loud beginning, the night was, well,</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Perfect.</span><br /></div><div></div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-10055241417382669122011-05-06T22:19:00.001-07:002011-05-06T23:38:29.795-07:00Collections<div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Last Friday was probably the best day ever, huh? Except that's not really fair, because then where do we rank our wedding day? Or Engagement? Or Grace's birth-day? Or that one day when we laughed really hard?</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></div><div> </div><div> </div><div><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 417px; height: 308px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603841205561431666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgOGg7lq-MXbyXuE4LBHPio8ibueWj4fqOYP3qVPuZAUs6rvgxHwBxs3xqIzKSB6a84KGlQbYY7c2pggmsgUPdHiFgl0B7ZqgaX-Rx2zL2zHr_BaoAMFRakP-VNvzuP6zf5gQti-xyK0Y/s400/Needs+to+be+Filed+195.JPG" /></div><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">So I guess that means that life's favorite moments can't really be ranked can they?</span></div><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Hmm</span>. But do you think that maybe we could collect enough favorite memories that when it's time to go home, I mean HOME-home, that we could hold hands, and be REALLY sad, but happy at the same time, you know, because of the collection?</span></div><div> </div><div><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 404px; height: 280px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603842989725175330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9pz_dEpKIPQwim1E5EOMZQLr2-Ea-7Meuhk85COQs88WiNQak4sl7blTdBlPw9f2FW5pSlpH0wrA_bMnBH8y-O7v8oSpc89-pryjMi7CSEa5rAKLITK7WdPTwAVfW0hG4EynitIlZ_FQ/s400/DSC_0160.jpg" /></div><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Me too.</span></div><div> <img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 406px; height: 307px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603845622430266834" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoeRMdIyqYjTFDIJHGfhnfsKPhakcs9hHE9ZonwOf1X9jX2k5-UhKAM13y6coMDYQUT8hyphenhyphen8j5VlU2j9-UwdxVUZzsR1w_6BO6SbM29tUuSAwXlZyOqIUmahJWhmPmPAiKXOxtw_WOY5_I/s400/DSCF1680.JPG" /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">But, Paul, it's gonna take me a super long, long, long, long, long time to make a collection big enough. So you can't leave me here early. I need you till the very, very end. And then I get to go first, okay?</span><br /></span><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; width: 397px; height: 271px; text-align: center; display: block; cursor: pointer;" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603843385295008226" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcZCCpmf-GS7GI4weDEDHFZuuhGcvVLik-ho6fFNmP6lXc0V24unSltX0ACRbijO-8MEbNSvdZOdS8ewawY-llQNUSpA2UUTocbs4G_lwstXLJ0XSmM0xKd65wWULmns4HWdDq5IQs5jk/s400/DSC_0166.jpg" /></div><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Oh, Lover, do you really think we'll get to go Home at the same time? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Cuz</span>, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">that'd</span> be great. But let's not talk about that any more. Let's just talk about that sweet little face, and how there will be a couple more to go along with it one day.</span></div><div> </div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">A collection of little faces to help create a collection of perfect memories. We have the best ideas.</span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-68851891736766998862011-03-29T20:23:00.000-07:002011-03-29T20:33:49.728-07:00A Day of Firsts<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589710381726977090" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbA1cHkAf0q8td_djVxB-zGYc3iBjsC6UPOI36zZAFi1mdzTuTijQNVO5ThQc8hs0BOPYVCfZeQm6yOQqmSS1qo2DnkXt4Vbl9dvbaVqGTx_gE-c1p9dbYBwBV0MSjGTkz01ywEaJCaSs/s400/More+Grace+030.JPG" /> <br /><div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">It was a day of firsts.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">The first day I ditched work just to be with Grace. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">The first day I vacuumed my car since the child came along.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">The first day I baked cookies since the little one arrived.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">The first day I made ALL of dinner, ALL alone since Grace.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">The first day the little girl played with a pot and a wooden spoon on the kitchen floor while I cooked.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">The first day I was slow. Really slow, and still happy all day long.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">But it was NOT the first day that I wish I could have reruns of the rest of my life, because it was really that good. No, not the first of those. There have been many of those days since the tiny girl was mine.</span></div><br /><div></div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589710388311329458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2jYk07MRG6aWBh6CbAohocwRGDr3G03sMLfR0HfYJU4MCIg4QK1JBqrEq7JwKobATCiB0l01dUoDO6YG3-jrLqO8trJP6WhIaWFTkk6kSLN18USZJpyCqmBB1ciK6Ze4fb3G_EHEjiPU/s400/More+Grace+027.JPG" /></div></div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-51471924775933937012011-02-22T19:53:00.000-08:002011-02-22T20:19:34.841-08:00All This Spare Time<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin2YjM7wrw4LzM-QcFxPPM17l7yRCV-OKlC_VOYtBAV4zgIWOHg1OwsvCqNrX1Y5M_8FE-PPE9KC2SYRiBARjchbXFUoZ5fPUGISEkGoN8Fv_eont-pR_mFrgcnmZj3qVesg6R1FPx82A/s1600/Mostly+Grace+075.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5576734171548661666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin2YjM7wrw4LzM-QcFxPPM17l7yRCV-OKlC_VOYtBAV4zgIWOHg1OwsvCqNrX1Y5M_8FE-PPE9KC2SYRiBARjchbXFUoZ5fPUGISEkGoN8Fv_eont-pR_mFrgcnmZj3qVesg6R1FPx82A/s400/Mostly+Grace+075.JPG" /></a> <span style="font-size:78%;">Some of the ones I love most. </span><br /><p><span style="font-size:78%;"></p></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Teaching takes up a whole lot of time, but frankly, for the first time since I started teaching AT ALL whether it was in my major or in my career, I have time to do things BESIDES write lesson plans or panic because the lesson plans still aren't written.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">It's glorious. </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">GLORIOUS.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">So what do I do with all this ample spare time? Well the first thing I do is let you know that "ample" is a gross exaggeration, but let's think of the glass as half full. We'll say ample.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">The other thing I do is love people.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I love Paul. We go on walks and talk about the future and our game plan and instill in each other the confidence necessary to move the mountains in front of us. And we admire, without ANY reservation, how dang cute our Lovey-girl is.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I love Grace. We go on walks too, and freeze our cheeks and look at the sky. Then we dance to some more Broadway tunes and she doesn't mind that my voice isn't quite as good as the one on the radio. But by golly, I sing my heart out for that kid. And we try more new foods. Like green beans. Grace has a low tolerance for green beans. The first 6 bites were good. Then she did this shuttery gag thing which I interpreted as meaning that she was done. In short. She liked them for 6 bites and then she hated them. And that seems like a normal way to handle a new food, even for a grown-up.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I love my mom. I call her. A lot. For like 12 minute intervals. And we talk about her and we talk about me and we talk about being moms and being teachers and being friends. And then we tell each other that we better go because it's time to go love someone else. 12 minutes seems to be the perfect amount of time. As long as there are TONS of 12 minute chunks.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">I love my sisters. I call them, or visit. And we laugh. And we cry. And we talk about how to be better moms and better wives and why we love our children and our husbands. And we confess our mistakes and our fears and take solace in the fact that we aren't the only ones making those same mistakes or battling those same fears. We take care of each other. And that's really saying something because technically, my sisters are sisters-in-law with their very own "real" sisters but they claim me anyway and it means the world to me.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">And I love my friends. My other sisters. The giants of women in my life. Who I will sit next to on rocking chairs one day, and we'll laugh, and we'll cry, and we'll remember, and we'll glory in the gift that we are to each other.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">And somehow the lesson plans get done, too.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">But only AFTER I flirt with Paul.</span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;">Shamelessly.</span>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-58686756030149450202011-02-18T20:40:00.000-08:002011-02-18T21:30:48.932-08:00A Candid Look at the Last 20 Minutes<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5262hZBN6s_qjohskjBXBu5qzPYiYxKqbN-H2yTPJEwKuVvJlx27-q5fmuGyNxQfcvBorf82P3zhDftMDGepCjYVCIVdFOQIRCVz1KI5eJpU6FpnPzTqrIMkIB2b8-lgfaHjvs9GBpds/s1600/Mostly+Grace+112.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575260446705748322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5262hZBN6s_qjohskjBXBu5qzPYiYxKqbN-H2yTPJEwKuVvJlx27-q5fmuGyNxQfcvBorf82P3zhDftMDGepCjYVCIVdFOQIRCVz1KI5eJpU6FpnPzTqrIMkIB2b8-lgfaHjvs9GBpds/s400/Mostly+Grace+112.JPG" /></a><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">8:56 Grace was pretty mad a second ago. Not sure if that little lovey is going to sleep yet. I think she may be hungry still. That or her teeth hurt. Teething is the pits.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Tangent: So in spite of Wednesday night---you know the one where Paul found me in the fetal postion on an unmade bed with tears running down my cheeks and a baby yelling from her crib, you know, THAT Wednesday night, so inspite of THAT---Thursday night was perfect. The house was picked up, my classroom was put back together, I was a loving wife, a playful mom, Paul was home, and Grace slept all night. It was SO nice after Wednesday's fiasco.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">8:57 She's still not sleeping. I think she wants more food. And maybe some Tylenol. It could be a long evening. Hang on.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">9:04 I am back. She ate more and had some Ora-gel. She's still fussing. Sad face.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Tangent: I swear, when I put her down and she has her little fusses, my ears go on super-human decibel detection. I can hear the beginning of a fuss before she's even convinced herself that she wants to fuss. I am not sure what's wrong tonight (teeth?), but nights like this where I put her to bed multiple times are frustrating. And to be honest, I think her ears go on super human decibel detection too. And she picks up on EVERY sound that might indicate that SOMEONE SOMEWHERE is going to get her up. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">9:05 Wait. Hold it. She stopped fussing. </span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">9:06 This very moment I am pushing off hope that she is down for the night because---I have learned the hard way---Hope wakes her up too.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Tangent: She did however, love sweet potatoes, gnawing on celery sticks, and painting with apple sauce earlier this evening. I entertained us both by singing random Broadway Hits that played on Pandora. I think she likes it when I sing. That's the stuff that made tonight (Friday) perfect. That and how she smiles SUPER huge in the bathtub. And how there's nothing more precious than a tiny naked baby splashing in the tub. Really. There isn't.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">9:08 It's getting harder to push off the hope that she is down for the night.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Tangent: It's not that I don't want her awake to play with, it's just that when she is supposed to go to bed and she doesn't, I know it's the beginning of a long night. And truthfully, some of those nights have some very wonderful memories attached to them (like a baby coping with her cold by licking her Mama's chin and her mama laughing so hard that tears fall) but really, the mama finds herself getting more and more desperate for sleep and the next day, it's the daddy who seems to hear the most about the lack of sleep. Ummm...Sorry about that Lover.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">9:10 She's out. Let's see how long this lasts.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">Tangent: Lately, I have become and expert at the art of being REALLY QUIET. So that the sleeping baby stays asleep. I swore I would raise babies who slept in spite of noise. I read all those books. Well. I lied. Some battles, at the end of the day, aren't worth fighting. Mainly because it's the end of the day. And I am WAY too tired. Plus, with Super Human Noise Hearing Girl just two walls away, I am bound to lose anyway.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">So I am just quiet.</span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><br /><div><span style="font-size:130%;">9:16 Good night Tiny Girl.</span></div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-67292656574827679022011-01-03T21:19:00.000-08:002011-01-03T22:07:35.747-08:00Not to the swift<div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNl-p7WxGfpfCK8zZJazt0NhphARlDRXkEFfgm77naRzXGAxXHrHZ5FZRZYV5AJ1Y6JTnsqIUgKSOCUrjDOP1OYdB8S6XmVl6C6T9AmoO5mYfP5sN-W2Ar-zdrvHwnYpHJzsLK0Cg8brw/s1600/DSC03061.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5558206862878855778" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNl-p7WxGfpfCK8zZJazt0NhphARlDRXkEFfgm77naRzXGAxXHrHZ5FZRZYV5AJ1Y6JTnsqIUgKSOCUrjDOP1OYdB8S6XmVl6C6T9AmoO5mYfP5sN-W2Ar-zdrvHwnYpHJzsLK0Cg8brw/s400/DSC03061.JPG" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;"> Me and Him. June 2008<br /></span><div align="left"><span style="font-size:130%;"></span></div><span style="font-size:130%;"></span><br />College for him has been rough.<br />Like a race that everyone said he had to run.<br />They said it was really important.<br />So he agreed to run.<br /><br />But he only knew some of the rules.<br />And even the rules he knew, he didn't understand.<br />But he ran.<br />And, inevitably, he fell.<br />Because he still didn't know the rules.<br /><br />He ran again.<br />And, again, he fell.<br />Because the rules still didn't make sense.<br />But all the coaches kept saying it was really important to run this race.<br />So off he ran.<br />Just to fall.<br />Again.<br /><br /><br />So instead of finishing that lap, he stumbled off to the bleachers to have himself a good think.<br />He thought about why he was running.<br />He thought about whether or not it really was as important as they all said it was.<br />He thought about the rules<br />The mental ones, and the social ones, and the emotional ones, and the physical ones.<br />The ones he kept breaking,<br />The ones that kept him falling.<br />And he thought and he thought and he thought.<br /><br /><br />And then he prayed.<br /><br /><br />And then he ran again.<br />And the rules were making more sense.<br />And he ran because HE knew it was an important race.<br />And he may have tripped a time or two more, but he was done falling.<br /><br /><br />And now he's got one more lap.<br />And he knows the track.<br />And he knows the rules.<br />And he knows his Coach.<br />And he knows his two greatest fans.<br />And he runs for them.<br />And for himself.<br /><br /><br />And in April,<br />He'll break that final ribbon.<br />And the victory will be sweet.<br />For all of us.<br /><br /><br />And know what?<br />He's signing up for the next race.<br />And me and her are going to watch him run<br />And cheer for him till our lungs break. </div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-62973028299687752382010-12-07T17:18:00.000-08:002010-12-07T21:50:04.519-08:00I'm a BelieverMe = urgert, passionate, busy<br /><br />Him = meticulous, controlled, calm<br /><br /><br /><br />North and South<br /><br /><br /><br />When we first got married I would tease him that it took him forever to wash the dishes...Gently tease because a girl would be a fool to critize a willing helper.<br /><br />He, in turn, would tease me that I always missed stuff on the plates. The jest was only fair at that point...and true.<br /><br /><br /><br />So we comprimised:<br />I wash the dishes quickly, and when he rises them, he'll send them back through if they don't pass the sanitation test.<br />Final Product:<br />Clean dishes real fast.<br /><br /><br /><br />But I'm always getting things done fast. (Not always well, but fast)<br />And when yesterday came around, I was tired down to my soul<br />and it was only Monday.<br /><br />I was sure that I had hours of work to do.<br />But I went to bed anyway.<br />Appartently my soul is a stronger force to be reckoned with than just my body.<br />My soul demands sleep while my body just suffers (that is until my soul pipes up.)<br /><br /><br /><br />When I woke up this morning, I told myself NO MATTER WHAT<br />I will not be frantic today.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />"Like Paul," I said.<br />"Try to be like Paul today.<br />See if it really works."<br />Because I've had my doubts...<br /><br /><br /><br />10 minutes before school started:<br />"Hey, Rebekah, how are you?"<br />"Fine, you see, I am exerting every possible ounce of self-control I possess because I promised myself I would not be frantic today. How are you?"<br />Everything that HAD to be done before school started, got done.<br /><br /><br /><br />A parent came in unexpectedly to observe.<br />No stress.<br />Okay, fine, that was a lie.<br />There WAS stress.<br />A lot.<br />But not as much.<br />Not as much stress (Brain Reagan voice again)<br /><br /><br /><br />Couldn't find something for a lesson<br />(organized people shouldn't RE-organize too much.<br />It gets confusing.<br />I couldn't remember WHICH logical thought I used when I last made the decision about where to put that one thing away.)<br />But I stayed calm.<br />With the help of a minor Godly intervention,<br />I found it,<br />because I was still enough to hear the revelation.<br /><br /><br /><br />And that belt/ girrdle/ stirrup/ tourniquet/ thing that makes the car keep working...<br />It broke.<br />Enter obscene amount of money here ---> $______.__<br />And it's okay.<br />Not peachy.<br />DEFINITELY not peachy.<br />But okay.<br /><br /><br /><br />Because I hadn't been frantic so far.<br />Why start now?<br /><br /><br /><br />And I have this feeling,<br /><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">inspite</span> of previous doubt,<br />That Paul's right on this one.<br />But the question remains,<br />Am I tough enough to try it again tomorrow?<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />And this has nothing to do, whatsoever, with my thoughts today except that Grandma B is the bomb.com.<br /><br />I never saw a cuter witch. Though little Cousin Hailey was tough competition. Mother's bias, you understand.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 240px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5548130759498135634" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvbKFLAABmfn2MFx8sm6E644XKgywd91fb0B41KsQSAe4ke1gH14WzS5j7MQGMdpenEgaDM6scPI1r5fvbtMiCJrtvaRTtZAaGrHDSvFC5y0W-mrP0QCZuajunHRm12vFrKNTh1bry7Og/s320/365.JPG" />Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2361518407206558640.post-63295112810284643802010-11-30T20:49:00.000-08:002010-11-30T21:33:57.701-08:00I just really wanted to show you these...<div align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJmb4y9_TDNxP9GztGGgFi1vj6QzZh0RJ9nkjWZukZ8tV1t121B4e4FyOBbt6vCRBejra1SnefZQlD0JWlZqGsIzJT087Sgx-pU2wmleNfCTyvymHV1VRT7rMGDS9ch_Dv-JiCATPhPiE/s1600/_MG_4273.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545579142314714226" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJmb4y9_TDNxP9GztGGgFi1vj6QzZh0RJ9nkjWZukZ8tV1t121B4e4FyOBbt6vCRBejra1SnefZQlD0JWlZqGsIzJT087Sgx-pU2wmleNfCTyvymHV1VRT7rMGDS9ch_Dv-JiCATPhPiE/s320/_MG_4273.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size:78%;">See my tiny girl right there?<br /></span><br /><br />Some people have a gift.<br /><br /><br />My friend, Kristine (<a href="http://luckylimephotography.com/blog/"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">LuckyLimePhotography</span></a>), shared hers with me, and now we have this beautiful part of our lives captured forever.<br /><br /><br /><p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545573813684636098" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzGWHHfWcgsdPWG2RIFgjxYpoLCJdhLhdNjDjR24ZEEFBfOnwx6x9P1NpVFwZX3QoSy7G6RD9xebG16b0BD3ZF-Q2aoIOpDypSouGmuM4MLzAx9IgTCL_aL7ZoXPmLmu_ENhPxfTOz80c/s320/_MG_4153.jpg" /></p><br /><p>It still amazes me that my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">body</span> did that. </p><br /><p>And I can't wait/could wait forever/but mostly can't wait to do it again. </p><br /><p>But I'm still pretty okay with waiting.</p><br /><p>Maybe you know what I mean.</p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 214px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545572557234234882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD80WkuIRZ2VHhJDdbT7ZBKtJtmrPwbY5_LbvRF6LlP2cpTwWyH4mdEbQbmKKr0a0loOYSYF5PXY399RY1kb39UWY-r5AWY5NKdNc6rtWJ9wZ8O2YjheO79SzKtNYWYSFC1_NuBGa4SIM/s320/_MG_4090.jpg" /><br /><br />No, that's not just the photography.<br /><br />He really is that good looking.<br /><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545572559418060018" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-FtirHAiv_ZgwTAm1Vp3VaphDacsvXS4sUOLyToQgnPGo3CQdn98zgAe2WgrVcz6llSUNLJBILEvBvXu0zhN3_90G8QCeNNkehkQsuMMy12qopTCG854hae36aQe9-vdjMlUXtgoBXoQ/s320/_MG_4333bw.jpg" /><br />And, I'm still okay with waiting...for now. </div>Rebekahhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07838056913419830957noreply@blogger.com