tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43036609691808819252024-03-14T01:45:19.938-07:00Life as a CherryAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.comBlogger227125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-30804527323649163962016-03-27T21:46:00.001-07:002016-04-07T05:21:23.923-07:00Thinking of My Grandma Tonight<div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="d722k" data-offset-key="cprbl-0-0" style="color: #373e4d; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;">
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<span data-offset-key="cprbl-0-0">On Good Friday, I got the call from my mom that my grandma was in the hospital after having had a massive stroke. A few hours later we learned she was not expected to make it. She is currently on life support, and I’m still reeling from the news. Over the past few days, there are quite a few things that have come to mind. I wanted to share a few...</span><br />
My grandma says she first knew she wanted to be with my grandfather at 9 years old. 10 years later, they were married. They raised 4 beautiful babies together, and buried a fifth who died at birth. My grandma had 10 grandchildren living in every part of the United States. And yet she and my grandpa didn’t miss a single graduation, a single wedding, a single baby born. It seemed they spent all of their money (and spare time, too) on traveling to see family- and they were proud that they’d raised kids independent enough to make homes and lives for themselves all over the country.<br />
My grandma taught me how to apply nail polish, how to chat up a stranger (she was a master at this), and not to take crap from anyone. I inherited my love of music from her (she played the piano), and my love for children, too. In fact, I even look more like her than any other person in my family. I always imagined that because of that, I had a special connection with her. And yet, we probably all felt that way, because my grandma didn’t play favorites but she DID have a way of making each of us feel special.<br />
My grandma was embarrassingly proud of each of us- once pulling a mail man into her house to listen to me sing while she accompanied me on her piano. Another time raising my hand for me when someone at her church opened the floor to anyone who felt moved to sing for the congregation. She’d slide her freshly done acrylic nails (usually a no-no for a pianist but she didn’t care) up and down the scale before settling into the right key, and I’d stand in front of her small church congregation, and sing.</div>
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<span data-offset-key="en00p-0-0">This is the first song I ever remember her teaching me for us to play together. It was at a pastor’s conference my grandparents attended while we were staying with them for a few weeks over the summer when I was 12. She gathered a group of other kids at the church to sing in a little back up choir, and she accompanied me, as always. Our version was just a tad bit simpler than this Aretha version- but I can still remember her humming harmonies as she played in the background. And, to me, it was perfect. </span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="739iq-0-0">Thinking of my grandma tonight.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="9uk76-0-0">Listen to Surely God Is Able (Live) by Aretha Franklin & The Franklin Sisters on @AppleMusic.</span></div>
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<span data-offset-key="fbkt6-0-0">https://itun.es/us/Hx4F3?i=931104254</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-78458995990383193062014-12-02T21:51:00.000-08:002014-12-02T21:51:09.843-08:00Coppa Wayu!Each day before we head out the door to pick up the big girls at school, I go quietly into Grant's room and wake him up. Then, put on his socks, shoes, and a jacket before waking up Harper, who likes to nap until the last possible second before heading out the door.<br />
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This agitates Grant, and he doesn't hesitate to let me know. For weeks now, he'll cry and moan, saying the same thing over and over. Something I have not been able to figure out, which only infuriates him more. "Coppa Wayu!!!!!" he howls over and over again, growing more frustrated each time he says it and I don't understand.<br />
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But, today was different.<br />
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"Coppa Wayuuuuuu!" he called out, and just as he did a little voice called out from upstairs, "I'll be right there, Grant."<br />
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Harper had understood him, though I could not. What he'd been wanting, what he'd been crying all this time is,<br />
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"Harper, where are you?"<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-84973730195849692372014-09-04T23:47:00.001-07:002014-12-02T21:39:03.307-08:00These Are the Days<h1 class="quoteText" style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: georgia, serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 18px; margin: 0px 0px 15px; padding: 0px;">
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“Happiness, not in another place but this place...not for another hour, but this hour.” - Walt Whitman<br />
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There is no happier time of year than back to school season. The smell of old books, freshly sharpened pencils, the huge crowds of excited kids. It's a time of beginning again, and I just love it!</div>
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It was back to school this week for my 2 big girls. It was, in fact, a very special first day of school this year. A day of seeing our life with a fresh perspective when, after a big move to a new neighborhood this spring, we were zoned into a different school. It wasn't what we wanted; and it would have meant big adjustments for the girls, for ALL of us, really. But at the last minute, and through a modern-day-miracle, we ended up back at our beloved school, where the girls are rooted, familiar, and happy.<br />
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That first day of school this week, the play yard looked greener than ever, the teachers' faces warmer and lighter, our community- so, so beautiful, perfect, and joy-filled. We were more grateful than ever before for what we very well thought we had lost...and then found.</div>
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But it isn't just that, it's this:</div>
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<i>These are the days.</i></div>
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My two beautiful little plump faced babies have turned into gorgeous, thoughtful, fun-to-be-with big girls. And I still have two (relatively) little ones to squeeze, and hold, and relish when nostalgia has me weepy. </div>
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We spent our summer basically chasing rainbows and pixies (it felt just about that magical.) Losing teeth, riding bikes, going for hikes, watching movies, staying up late, eating popsicles and popcorn, giggling in the dark at bedtime, reading Harry Potter, swimming in the ocean and in grandma and grandpa's pool after dark, just being with cherished loved ones...everything good, and right with the world- we did.</div>
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And it was over so fast. It was over SO fast.</div>
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Now, we're back to the season of packed lunches, shoes by the door, 'brush-your-teeth, brush-your-hair, get-in-the-car, go-go-go.' And, I LOVE this season. But, I can see the changes in their faces. They are growing. They are older. This is the marker of another year beginning.</div>
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Norah was calmer, more resolute as she walked through her class door to third grade. Her confidence growing with each passing year.</div>
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Avery's two front teeth are starting to grow in, and her tall, lanky frame looks older than her age.</div>
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I have covered Grant's fatty cheeks in a flurry of kisses about a thousand times in the last few days. I have held him in my lap for as long as he'll sit there. I have curled up next to Harper's little bean shaped body and lingered longer than usual in her bed each night for cuddles. I have stared wide-eyed at her eating her lunch. Big, messy chomps of peanut butter and jelly. Fluffy, messy curls covering her eyes.</div>
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And, I have listened to my two big girls, too, at the end of each school day. Trying to take it all in with them. This brave new world; another school year beginning because...</div>
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<i>These are the days.</i><br />
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These ARE (do you hear me?) the days.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-10616273602175601132014-08-22T21:09:00.002-07:002014-08-22T21:09:21.608-07:00The Last 24 Hours With My Kids<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">The last 24 hours with my kids: </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">1) Last night, encouraging Avery to pull a very loose tooth, Lucas started a 'pull it' chant at the dinner table. Grant (who is not all that verbal) joined in, fists pounding against the table and all. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">2) Avery DID pull her tooth last night, and the other is hanging by just one last thread. As a result, she's talking with an extremely adorable lisp right now. </span><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;" /><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;">3) When we parked at a McDonald's downtown this morning to head to John Stanford, Harper said, 'look, there's Old McDonald.'<br /><br />4) In the parking lot of that McDonald's there was a homeless man sitting outside. Norah was holding Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (something to occupy her as we were waiting in the enrollment line.) And- I kid you not- she and the homeless man got into a discussion about how much they both love the series!<br /><br />Oh man, I love this crew.</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-87096427460969856412014-03-17T00:02:00.004-07:002014-03-17T00:02:48.186-07:00Bedtime BooksI have to tell you a story about when I walked in tonight to cuddle with my 3 girls. When I looked over at Harper's bed I noticed a little light shining right in the center of her covers. As I walked over to cuddle with her, I noticed she was hunched over a book, with a battery powered night light, trying to steal a few last moments of 'reading' to herself. She looked so young and so innocent- but also totally like a little old lady. <br />
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And I thought to myself, as I often do, I am in <b>serious trouble</b>. How? (HOW?) Can you take a night light away from a tiny little pixie child? Her untamable mane of hair. Her little cherubic face. So matter-of-factly holding the light to her book. Reading peacefully to herself in the dark. Eager, determined, and content in the dark.<br />
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But, I <i>did</i> take the night light away. Because that is my job as the mean old, no fun mama that I am. That is all of our jobs as mamas. To take away magical middle of the night night lights from our dreamy-eyed babies- when they steal away to read one last story to themselves in the dark. 'Bedtime," I said to her, as I pried the nightlight from her little fingers. "Bedtime," I said, as I folded closed the pages of the book and kissed her little fuzzy forehead. And, she rolled over, and rolled her eyes, too, and nestled her tiny body into her big, warm, bed. Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-539090928253681982014-02-17T09:55:00.001-08:002014-02-17T09:59:08.383-08:00Pay BackWe have a very serious problem, you guys. Last night Lucas and I dared to go out, sans kids. <div><br></div><div>Grant made sure to make the babysitter pay. And he's going to make sure this never EVER happens again by attaching himself to me permanently.</div><div><br></div><div>Drink coffee? How dare I. Go to the bathroom alone? Not a chance.</div><div><br></div><div>This kid has it all figured out. Cling desperately to mama and never let go and I will never leave again. </div><div><br></div><div>That's how it works, <i>right</i>?</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiCS4JRuPe3XbqBaMKqGte5NWY0nUrEU5IArkMMGUQTo4EGGUky1_Rbxp24ga1q6dZVX6lKni6eTRcp71Lv2LjwMXWzizhE-JDlo1ePzWvgz0yBFHmwi7sWLG0O86ut45kcvpYj5LE718/s640/blogger-image-710354310.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiCS4JRuPe3XbqBaMKqGte5NWY0nUrEU5IArkMMGUQTo4EGGUky1_Rbxp24ga1q6dZVX6lKni6eTRcp71Lv2LjwMXWzizhE-JDlo1ePzWvgz0yBFHmwi7sWLG0O86ut45kcvpYj5LE718/s640/blogger-image-710354310.jpg"></a></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-32576165221609137642014-02-15T13:47:00.001-08:002014-02-15T13:59:37.931-08:00The Loves of My LifeI wish I could take a picture of Harper's star-crossed, innocent eyes, right before she lays a big slobbery kiss on my lips.<br />
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I wish I could keep Grant's feet all big and Hobbit-like. Chubby, squishy, smooth, and creamy white.<br />
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I wish I could bottle up my little Avery bounding through the door each day- with what seems like energy for days. Jumping, running, and yelling at the top of her lungs right until the moment when her head hits the pillow. Her face so peaceful, so captured by a dream, an earthquake wouldn't wake her.<br />
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I wish I could turn to look at Norah's face and always see the hollowed out places where teeth have fallen out. The gap-ey toothed grin of a little girl coming into her own. Half grown-up-looking in her determined stare; half little girl, with a ragged, worn, blanket, still dragging behind her lanky, growing frame.<br />
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Time is getting away from me. I feel it in my own body: the beginnings of wrinkles and little aches and pains. The passing of years harder and harder to distinguish from one another.<br />
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But, most of all, I see it in them. And I want every good thing for them. A full, long, happy, healthy life. Including growing up-even if it means moving away from me. Knowing freedom, and challenge, and the truest of loves. I want it all for them...<br />
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But I also want NOW to last forever. Because I see it, moving faster and faster away from me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeES1lAc7wOa0kvnXwuRvi4DhDGcNA9nOUp90VHLcpvDrnZbaf0N0YxA8fCG4nyHfRg7d7g61nqwhAImXMw9tBBrPeuWpvbRR0ignL04PxajAMP_LBgthA2Iq360GsJGTOt5B2IOb9j6Y/s1600/1392065_10152583813395110_1116121595_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeES1lAc7wOa0kvnXwuRvi4DhDGcNA9nOUp90VHLcpvDrnZbaf0N0YxA8fCG4nyHfRg7d7g61nqwhAImXMw9tBBrPeuWpvbRR0ignL04PxajAMP_LBgthA2Iq360GsJGTOt5B2IOb9j6Y/s1600/1392065_10152583813395110_1116121595_n.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Add caption</td></tr>
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Their childhood, our family, our life. Under one roof. Huddled around one table. Cuddled onto the couch. Crammed into one car. The loves of my life. Here. With me. Each day. Now.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3OE-9xzs1cos6nCmLbaJaPD4BO5VWO9p-dByFkeQ7kDhnu_GuTef6Iy0OvJokMgQJw0B0kQ5KKTsP0c-GHdILc2zP4WC9uD6id1L-VsmTgnw2_4jj7ZgDfXvbKAGikY23bR2tvH03al4/s640/blogger-image-1336049085.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3OE-9xzs1cos6nCmLbaJaPD4BO5VWO9p-dByFkeQ7kDhnu_GuTef6Iy0OvJokMgQJw0B0kQ5KKTsP0c-GHdILc2zP4WC9uD6id1L-VsmTgnw2_4jj7ZgDfXvbKAGikY23bR2tvH03al4/s640/blogger-image-1336049085.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Norah chose me as the guest of honor for her special Valentine's lunch at school. I brought a vase of flowers, champagne flutes with sparking lemonade and a table cloth. She and her bestie were thrilled.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_jAjWwDs7y2Abp3LsTcssmttMJVmDu94as-vlN8GBOLRyZXARiS7RhW1LdLpYUQrhx6g9fuek_K7Nc-VbYL9S1WUpUhfXmO9Jy9v2FZ0Wq3Dem_AllrSG6mCIRyN2W75trbIwS8wHUfs/s640/blogger-image-644147629.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_jAjWwDs7y2Abp3LsTcssmttMJVmDu94as-vlN8GBOLRyZXARiS7RhW1LdLpYUQrhx6g9fuek_K7Nc-VbYL9S1WUpUhfXmO9Jy9v2FZ0Wq3Dem_AllrSG6mCIRyN2W75trbIwS8wHUfs/s640/blogger-image-644147629.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These shoes unexplainably almost always make me want to sob. G is growing so fast.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR7wiRxdNcvCEU6-sd6ZkwJyk9hH43ac4noaqxr3A3WA34y24lDFTZ9SVqaMzfkfQkSM1h6nwBLn-ROll_bJqXkBwvLTmq1rxj6-kvqp6lwQcJnyPICTtz36soYaNCd2uJ-OWLiPPi9Rk/s640/blogger-image--716970695.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR7wiRxdNcvCEU6-sd6ZkwJyk9hH43ac4noaqxr3A3WA34y24lDFTZ9SVqaMzfkfQkSM1h6nwBLn-ROll_bJqXkBwvLTmq1rxj6-kvqp6lwQcJnyPICTtz36soYaNCd2uJ-OWLiPPi9Rk/s640/blogger-image--716970695.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love him.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigLVlweLza8ldHcy_P1nD6znWJhCANmRGnxmMJ811QIH0PwF_PoJTqK39kF5OJIbXYWbCLGOolZUGR7lNHGaomGDnGfTothI7Y_Sq5bb3Ho_YO2HQOVDp4Ifbm093nwaH3yqxuXzpRbio/s640/blogger-image--525443590.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigLVlweLza8ldHcy_P1nD6znWJhCANmRGnxmMJ811QIH0PwF_PoJTqK39kF5OJIbXYWbCLGOolZUGR7lNHGaomGDnGfTothI7Y_Sq5bb3Ho_YO2HQOVDp4Ifbm093nwaH3yqxuXzpRbio/s640/blogger-image--525443590.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harper pretending to be asleep when I went to unbuckle her from her carseat the other day. I love that she knew this was joke.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjepCEe8GBzH2Dj0jEX5kSMUJh9HLEFIC4JFz0-3TQj6jI9770EscNxsWQfWPbIBFExB5DVKt9Lcb1_GieH_ILhsGiJ6BgDhp7XYDqxRbwn8UIRnZOyJwGJdufsV9k4HCJ3OYqfZCYV9lM/s640/blogger-image-2009893370.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjepCEe8GBzH2Dj0jEX5kSMUJh9HLEFIC4JFz0-3TQj6jI9770EscNxsWQfWPbIBFExB5DVKt9Lcb1_GieH_ILhsGiJ6BgDhp7XYDqxRbwn8UIRnZOyJwGJdufsV9k4HCJ3OYqfZCYV9lM/s640/blogger-image-2009893370.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Avery wrote us this sweet Thank You note all on her own. This is the good life, folks.</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-72307872366468904312014-02-07T13:31:00.000-08:002014-02-15T13:54:30.266-08:00'I Smell Cars' and Other PoetryI just had the funniest lunch with Harper. She had so much to say that she talked with a full mouth through her entire meal. I did not understand one word. Well, except when she accidentally spit some food in my face while talking and giggled, embarrassed, wiping my face with her hand and saying, "Oops, sorry, Mom" before endless chitter chatter resumed.<br />
<br />
We went for a playdate today at the downtown REI. After parking in the garage there, we started to head into the elevator up to REI. "I smell all the cars," Harper said, as we walked through the exhaust heavy air of the garage.<br />
<br />
And, just a few weeks ago, the girls had their winter concert. As the music director stepped onto the stage to announce Avery's class' selection he said, "and now, 'All I Really Need' by Raffi." It was as if we were at some crazy rock show, where the crowd goes wild upon hearing there's a guest star coming onto stage. And now...Ben Harper. And now...Feist. And now...Fergie. And now...Raffi!!!!!<br />
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Harper looked over at us with delight and gasped, "YAAAAY," clapping. "Raffi!!!!" Then looked around like, "are you people hearing what I'm hearing? Raffi!!!"<br />
<br />
2 is really such a delight. The world is so new, and the ability to ACTUALLY express WITH WORDS how you feel is such a precious, precious gift that the toddlers among us rarely take for granted. I love to watch the world from her perspective, I love to hear her say what's on her mind and in her heart. A little poet with play-dough covered hands and greasy, peanut butter cheeks- from a day well loved and fully lived.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-24607265413668423112014-01-22T12:29:00.003-08:002014-01-22T12:29:36.784-08:00The Best of Times...It is the best of times. It is the worst of times.<br />
<br />
Or as some like to call it: parenting a toddler.<br />
<br />
Harper refers to her sisters as, "<i>girls</i>." <br />
<br />
"You wanna go upstairs and play, <i>girls</i>?"<br />
"<i>Girls</i>, let's build a fort."<br />
"I want peanut butter and jelly, what about <i>the girls</i>?"<br />
<br />
She insists on being called "baby tiger" and the only person she allows to help her with just about anything is Norah (her idol.)<br />
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All of these things make me want to scoop her tiny little frame up into my arms and kiss her little tiny, sweet cheeks all day! Which, I do, frequently.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, potty training is a total nightmare. Our floors are constantly getting peed on. Underwear are being washed several times a day. Harper, with an expression of total pride will announce, "I pooped" right after we've changed her from her pull up to her underwear. It's just... ugh.<br />
<br />
You want to know the best way to potty train a toddler? Day care. Yes, that's right. Where there are dozens of toddler whisperers on hand and lots of other little <strike>trained monkeys</strike> kids there peeing and pooping on queue to peer pressure your kid into doing the same. Oh, how I miss it on days when we're going through the fourth pair of pants and undies for the day.<br />
<br />
Yes, here at home, it's a different story. Harper is perfectly happy being the baby girl of the family. Which means, among other things: diapers. <br />
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But how long, O Lord? How long?<br />
<br />
The short answer?<br />
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What, right now, feels like FOR-EV-ER but will one day seem like it passed in the blink of the eye.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-62200705142912281832013-12-06T13:21:00.003-08:002013-12-06T13:21:51.359-08:00Grant<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">When Harper was a baby, I could distract her from pulling ornaments off the tree by picking her up and bringing her over to the window where we'd talk about all the things we saw outside. We'd cuddle for a while & she'd forget all about the tree. I tried that with Grant today and he literally turned his head to look out the window for one second (shot me a look like 'are you kidding me?') then shimmied his way out of my arms, off the couch, and back to the ornaments.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #37404e; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">Every chance he gets, he high tails it for our stairs and swiftly makes his way up. Often, I let him climb all the way up, following close behind to be sure he doesn't slip. He never does. Yesterday, I sat with him at the entrance to the girls' room, where, a light switch is reachable for Grant when he is in my lap. He took such pleasure in turning the switch off and and on, off and on over and over and over again. </span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #37404e; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #37404e; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">His two favorite pastimes are pulling leftover portions of the girls' meals from the table to finish off and playing chase with me (which involves stealing a flirty glance and then running as fast as he can away from me while I follow, eventually scooping him up and kissing him allover.)</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #37404e; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #37404e; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">He is a joy.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #37404e; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">As I watch this boy with so much personality running, playing and exploring- I am filled with wonder. Just one year ago he was a babe in arms, able to do little more than scream, suckle, and sleep. Now, he is wide-eyed, curious, and growing everyday. A</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #37404e; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">The questions have started to come about Harper and Grant. </span><i style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: small; line-height: 18px;">Are they twins? </i><span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #37404e; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">People ask. </span></span><i style="color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">No. </i><span style="color: #37404e; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">I'm quick to answer. </span></span><i style="color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">He is just HUGE. </i><span style="color: #37404e; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">And he is. Big feet, big hands, massive, head, and belly, and thighs. A</span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;">nd it's all going far, far too fast. He is my littlest and my last- and already, he is so big, so bright. A little person all his own.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #37404e; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #37404e; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: #37404e; font-family: lucida grande, tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-52966908600499110922013-12-04T15:19:00.002-08:002013-12-04T15:19:15.999-08:00It's the Most Wonderful Time of the YearIt's been a while since I've posted here. With 4 kids, it's easy to see how life can get away from you! Heck, with one kid it's easy to see how life can get away from you...<br />
<br />
But, it's my intention that this space be a place where I can record whatever comes to mind, whenever it comes to mind. A little working log of life in our household that hopefully our kids can look back on someday and say, "remember when...?."<br />
<br />
So, with the holiday season upon us, I thought it was time to get serious about updates again. I love recording all the little special moments. And, I love that we (the adults in this household) are responsible for the memory making happening right before our eyes.<br />
<br />
It's advent, and in our house that means we've set up our tree and our Advent Calendar. We've planned our little list of Christmas Tradition activities to get us into the spirit. The weather forecast says its going to be a white Christmas and that would just make the season all the more miraculous to us, the California transplants that we are!<br />
<br />
But, what's been really wonderful this year is that our big girls have started saying things like, 'we always do...' and 'when are we going to...' and 'where's MY ornament, stocking," etc. from last year. The memories we made in the past and the traditions we've started are in full motion! There's no turning back now and we love it.<br />
<br />
I'll post here about all that we're doing and learning, which will hopefully set me up to start the New Year off back in the habit of being our family's personal historian.<br />
<br />
Love to you this season, and I hope you'll enjoy recapping all of our experiences with us here on the blog.<br />
<br />
XO,<br />
<br />
Diana<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-72751744250167752702013-09-10T14:04:00.001-07:002013-09-10T14:04:51.399-07:00School TimeIt is the first full week of school and yesterday was the first full day of school.<div>
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<div>
I've been able to breathe a sigh of relief long enough now to actually take it in: my second baby girl is now in elementary school.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
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The tears and fears that accompanied Norah to school were only a momentary lump in my throat for Avery as she walked confidently with her class into her new classroom on the first day. She is so thrilled to head off to big girl school.</div>
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So much so, that when she boarded the bus earlier this week, she hopped right up and on- Norah following in <i>her </i>fearless footsteps. So much so that she shouted emphatically last night, " I have homework!" and then gleefully pulled the big white packet out to start working on, tracing big letter A's with precision and ease. So much so that, without ever being asked, she carefully unzipped her new backpack to pull her lunchbox from it and set it right on the kitchen counter after school; a routine she has silently, longingly watched Norah do for 2 whole years now.</div>
<div>
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<div>
She is soaking so much in. She's come home each day armed with the facts she so loves to recite to us all. She told me on the first day, "I have a new bestest friend in the whole world." But, when I asked her her new friend's name, she giggled, "I guess I don't remember," shrugging it off with a smile. </div>
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<div>
As for Norah, 2nd grade is off to a slow and serious start. She seems more pensive and grown up, focused and determined, self-conscious and self aware. 2nd grade feels more like middle school than I was expecting. </div>
<div>
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<div>
And the babies and I have been adjusting to a new routine at home, too. Grant scooting and stepping all over the clear, calm space. Curious and wide eyed. Wondering, I'm sure, why it suddenly got so quiet in our house. Harper, newly potty training, marching through the house with her butt cheeks exposed and a little bag around her shoulder she proudly calls her, "person." This morning, she climbed up onto the sofa, bare bunned to wave goodbye to her sisters as they walked to the bus stop with friends, and I had to giggle knowing that from her top half (what could be seen from out the window) it looked to be a normal scene- but from my view (behind her) her little butt cheeks could be seen just under the window frame.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We are settling down around here and settling in. School, home, friends, Fall: the bus stop, lunch boxes, the playground, the warmth of home and dinner on the stove, bubbly baths, and chapter books. The solid-lights-out-deep-sleep-of-exhaustion-from-the-day season. This is my favorite time of year, and I can feel it, this is going to be a good one.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-18427325007770709672013-07-29T11:48:00.002-07:002013-07-29T12:35:05.958-07:00This is What Life as a Cherry Looks LikeThis is what trying to get 4 kids under 7 to pose looks like.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAJ0o_KkJufM3aiGZk0Gg1sIb9zA64rVm6REk4880LMkHGSga_ZQZeuztzjp0WcVCgDsY_kjFuXpFm4J893Fu8yNLCIVWUlSNp7fXybh-u1dG5MXGN89d44hKOohRFs3NWzmZXva9hL2I/s1600/the+fab+4+at+greenlake.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAJ0o_KkJufM3aiGZk0Gg1sIb9zA64rVm6REk4880LMkHGSga_ZQZeuztzjp0WcVCgDsY_kjFuXpFm4J893Fu8yNLCIVWUlSNp7fXybh-u1dG5MXGN89d44hKOohRFs3NWzmZXva9hL2I/s640/the+fab+4+at+greenlake.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
This is what take-a-lesson-from-your-little-brother-on-how-to-pose looks like. Okay, girls? Next time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifxeOpnS9feS4hWxQWAcKseMcQnedOEj1YaQC0utQFcGZ6SExsTBoFRPj4i8AOo0rihR6NIaYPgxz9jRxNC8IJNSehUgmQ9BDT_ti6ZaMmwOiAI30CHyhzHesUCcBY4wwTfpZBLg7-Jls/s1600/grant+sitting+up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifxeOpnS9feS4hWxQWAcKseMcQnedOEj1YaQC0utQFcGZ6SExsTBoFRPj4i8AOo0rihR6NIaYPgxz9jRxNC8IJNSehUgmQ9BDT_ti6ZaMmwOiAI30CHyhzHesUCcBY4wwTfpZBLg7-Jls/s640/grant+sitting+up.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
<br />
This is what step-up-your-game-on-keeping-the-house-clean-mom-because-I'm-on-the-move looks like.<br />
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This is what being related looks like. Is that baby on the left Norah or Grant? Oh wait, there's Norah holding Grant. Insert double take here.<br />
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This is what a jungle gym looks like...at least in Grant's world view.<br />
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Yes, this is what life as a Cherry looks like these days.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-77442435573369991672013-06-17T10:38:00.000-07:002013-06-17T11:09:30.841-07:00Keep Calm and Eat a CupcakeOn Norah's first birthday, we fed her an organic mini bran muffin with honey yogurt "frosting" and it was still so sweet to her (she had never had refined sugar before) that she cringed and cried from the high when she bit into it.<br />
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Her first 2 years of life, when we visited friends and family's homes, I dutifully asked our hosts to turn off all screens in Norah's presence because the APA recommends no TV before 2, and I was concerned about what second hand tv exposure could do to her little growing brain.<br />
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Nap time was sacred. Never pushed back or forward to accommodate a change in schedule. And, Norah was bathed daily. By both Lucas and I! Both. Of. Us. Every. Day.<br />
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With Norah, I always imagined things would get easier when she could crawl, walk, talk, read, write. I would dream of her growing older and long to know what she would be like at the next stage, sometimes missing the one right in front me. When we had errands to run or things to do, I was on a mission. Sometimes impatient about the ways that having a little one in tow could make simple chores or every day tasks that much more challenging.<br />
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But Harper, our baby girl, has a very different life. Sometimes, I feel a little guilty about the ways that things have changed like:<br />
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This is a perfectly acceptable form of entertainment. In fact, it is one of the most benign forms of silence we can come by in this house.<br />
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This counts as a nap.<br />
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And we got through the entire week this week before we realized we hadn't bathed the kids once. Not once!<br />
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But, I'm sure in many ways it's MORE fun for Harper that we've lightened up a little bit, like when:<br />
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Harper had a full sized Trophy's cupcake for her first birthday. And a full crowd of family right in her very own household (no party required) to sing to her as she stared in delight at her cake and at us.<br />
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Or when I searched the entire 2 stories of our grocery store to find her this, "caw" just because she wanted it. Yes, it took us half an hour longer to get through the store but it was worth it.<br />
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We can't be as dedicated to every little detail of each day for our kids, that's just the nature of having a larger family. Things fall through the cracks, chaos is the order of the day, and we have had to let a lot of things go. But these days, I'm not so sure that's always a bad thing. Because, as it turns out, the devil IS in the details, but God can be found even amid the craziness of everyday living in our house.<br />
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So, we have learned to <a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/409686897322707303/">keep calm and eat a cupcake</a>- with a messy table and a cluttered, noisy home filled to the brim with love; in spite of or perhaps even because of, the imperfections.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-12812124500260438632013-06-11T22:58:00.003-07:002013-06-11T22:58:58.717-07:00Pajama DayToday was a rainy day. So, I thought it was a freebie day. A you-don't-have-to-get-dressed-because-it's-raining-and-there's-no-where-to-go-today day. <br />
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I am in my pajamas.<br />
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And now, with no time left for a shower before heading out to get Norah, it's sunny.<br />
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And I'm going to have to get out of the car now to pick up Norah from school. And my children are going to want to play at the park.<br />
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And I want to say to everyone I pass, "Hey! I did things today." Of the make-a-roast, and make- some-cookies, and do-a little-cleaning variety. But still. Good things for a rainy day.<br />
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I was not expecting the sun to make an appearance at 2:45pm. Even as a June gloom veteran, I was not. And now, will they (my hooligans) even want roast for dinner? Will the cookies even feel as good, warm in their bellies on a warm summery end to the day?<br />
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I don't know. But I still feel like it was a day well spent. Kids napping in the cool of the rain. Baked goods in the oven. Pajamas all glorious day.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-88900406000037995442013-06-11T12:26:00.002-07:002013-06-11T15:10:17.984-07:00Thank God <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGEbMXozYbqOtL9b0nrBWZXZW_WpxWp7Dumy2TyS0Kp-hdwppVqsdlJu9OMZlmS5CFA_r2GSOnCRD0eREPbILKsXmc8EEREBYkK4T7eWgutMbWa290sOmwSbf2WCt8booTajda1H_m_c/s640/blogger-image--1513402594.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiGEbMXozYbqOtL9b0nrBWZXZW_WpxWp7Dumy2TyS0Kp-hdwppVqsdlJu9OMZlmS5CFA_r2GSOnCRD0eREPbILKsXmc8EEREBYkK4T7eWgutMbWa290sOmwSbf2WCt8booTajda1H_m_c/s640/blogger-image--1513402594.jpg" /></a><br />
This week is the last week of school. Norah and Avery have no motivation to get ready to get out the door in the morning anymore. I don’t want to nag or yell, but I’m losing my ever-loving mind with their piddling. So, I did what all good mothers do: I bribed them. Oh, and I threw in a little competition for good measure saying, "whoever gets ready first gets something special." Whatever works. Don’t judge. Home stretch. A few minutes later, I heard them scheming. They ended up working TOGETHER to get done faster, so they could both get the prize. <br />
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This afternoon, when we got back from running errands, Harper asked for “runch” and I started to make grilled cheese and soup. She was so hungry she just stood next to me at the stove, watching me cook. Pointing at the griddle, she chanted over and over again, “This is my runch! This is my runch!” She danced her little toddler-stepped happy dance, her butt waddled out like a little duck’s, and she sang “yum, yum, yum.” How can you even imagine how cute it was? You can’t. But, I’ll tell you, it was the cutest thing in the whole world. <br />
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Last night, in the middle of a long night, awake off and on with Grant, I pulled him out of the crib to rock him. He held his head back in the dark, squinted up at me, and smiled. He placed his pudgy little hands on each cheek and pulled my face in for a big, slobbery, kiss on the mouth. And just like that, I felt needed and thanked and thankful.<br />
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“This is life,” I say to myself when I’m feeling frustrated, or stressed, or constrained by the demands of four littles. But these moments, where my kids make me smile, make me proud, make me feel more alive, THIS is life, too. And thank God. <br />
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Norah is about to lose her two front teeth. Avery is graduating from pre-school. Harper is potty training. And Grant is pushing up to crawl. Life moves so incredibly fast. Summer is almost here. I love it because we can sleep in and lounge around in our pajamas, and chart out our own adventures with no schedule to adhere to. I love it because for a few short months, I don’t have to worry about homework, or bullies, or suicidal shooters in the halls of a school where my children have no mama to protect them. <br />
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But, I dread it too, because I’m in charge. Whatever IT is, it’s up to me to make IT happen. Everyday. Entertaining the masses can get difficult, especially when what entertains the masses is "99 Ways to Make Your Sister Cry" for the entire 90 days of summer. Yet, it is, it is, IT IS worth it. And I do, I do, I DO love it so much. Because I get so many amazing moments through out my day (and night, too! haha! I am a blessed girl...be jealous!) Moments that make me feel deeply in love, and extraordinarily grateful for my life. And thank God, no really, THANK GOD (every. single. chance. you. get.) for that.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-42858104617533282062013-05-31T14:42:00.004-07:002013-05-31T14:53:33.134-07:00STEM GirlRunning my morning errands with Harper and Grant, I saw a woman working on a construction site today. I found myself wishing that Avery was with me. She loves seeing a girl in a hard hat.<br />
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When Avery's in the backseat of the car, or by my side for a walk, you'd be amazed at how different the world looks.<br />
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At the park yesterday, we could hear the faint cries
of marching band horns and the pounding of drums in the distance as we played. We
decided to try and track the band down <a href="http://lifeasacherry.blogspot.com/2012/05/perfectly-unplanned-day.html">(they march through our neighborhoods every Thursday in the springtime.)</a><br />
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We listened as hard as we could, then raced in the direction we thought
we heard them coming from. Avery said, "if we were snakes we could track
them down by their scent. If we smelled them going left , we'd go
left. If we smelled them coming right, we'd go right."<br />
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Then she wondered, "why don't worms have eyes ?"<br />
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"Maybe because they find things by scent, too, like snakes..." I suggested.<br />
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"Well," she said, "then why do snakes HAVE eyes?" Hmmm, I thought. Stumped.<br />
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At the zoo a few weeks ago, Avery stood in front of the crowds of kids at each exhibit, reciting facts from memory about each animal. Children listening eagerly, as she excitedly shared. She could have been reading from one of the placards, she was so spot on. How snakes shed their skin. The wing span of an eagle. The lifespan of each bug.<br />
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She's been sharing with me facts about the geography of Hawaii. And, on a recent car ride home, she gave her carpool buddies a lesson on fractions, explaining that when Siri directed them to turn left in a quarter of a mile, they should imagine a pie cut in four equal pieces. The quarter of a mile, then, was one of those four pieces.<br />
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<a href="http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/politics/2009/03/hillary-clinton-7/">She says she wants to be an astronaut. </a> And, I believe she will be, if she wants to be.<br />
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Future STEM girl on our hands? I think so.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-8663199395568373832013-05-27T15:05:00.001-07:002013-05-27T15:05:17.303-07:00Growing Cherry Family<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sweet, sweet, beautiful, beautiful family. Grant growing into his own. Playing, cooing, grabbing, rolling and pushing up on all 4's. Harper talking up a little storm. I love when she calls out, "Daddy, daddy, daddy! Look! Look! Look!" Before hamming it up in some way or another for him. Norah has been wanting to be a mature, grown, big girl these days. She picked out the dress in the picture above when shopping with her grammy (my mom) and called it her "mom" dress. "Look," she said, "I look like Mom." Stripes and maxi dresses are both favs of mine, so we all had a good laugh at that one. And last, our sweet girls are wrapped up in their fuzzy robes after a nice, hot bath in the evening. Pure love. It might appear that Avery does not have as many photo ops, but she does. She just seems to instinctively run when my big, clunky, huge lensed camera is out. I take more phone snapshots of her for that reason, I have to sneak up on her ever so subtly to capture images of her sweet face.<br /><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-21746511991085054782013-05-16T15:11:00.001-07:002013-05-17T12:14:30.634-07:00Puppy Dog GrantGrant is six months old. He is our baby, and he is six months old! How it happened, I'm not sure I can say.<br />
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He's a big guy, born at 9lbs 6oz. and 21 inches and at his 6 month check up the other day, he weighed in at 20lbs and 28 inches! He is solid all over, a little chunker through and through.</div>
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It is this fact that caused his grandpa, Lucas' dad, to compare his oversized hands and feet to a Great Dane's paws. Larger than what proportions would seem to dictate; an image of a clumsy dog, tripping over his foundation-and a glimpse of the overpoweringly large frame to come.</div>
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I don't know what Grant's eventual size will be and I don't care. But the image of the puppy has stuck, and now at six months it seems to fit in other ways, too.</div>
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In this uncharacteristically hot spring, I've left our doors wide open most days. Grant chases flies with his eyes. In my arms, he nibbles at my shoulders, my chin, my nose. You can always expect a wet, slobbery kiss as a welcome when you're near him. And at his doctor's appointment a few days ago, he ripped the thin paper liner on the exam table to shreds in seconds flat. For now, he is my constant companion. Right by my side-experiencing life on our walks or sitting at the window. </div>
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I know he will not always resemble a puppy. He will grow into his "paws" and into himself. But I do hope that as he grows he always maintains his puppy like sense of wonder, his quiet contentedness, his joy in simply being together-even if it is only to watch passerbys from the window.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-24685969777128407662013-05-05T22:06:00.002-07:002013-05-05T22:25:46.075-07:00Life According to My iPhone<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/AVvXsEiEuqcyCHiQ2R5iz0Nqi3lk3BBDyZGuqfmWnULGMBpDlbu9HsUxmKHswRV5RtYMK74yqDZeNaa9W9WvJewQ-PGfY47lHbHdCqp6CZMyyursfCzpk6BlDFvMn0yXjfViHv3nQNb6JmHnZso/s640/blogger-image-846597655.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEuqcyCHiQ2R5iz0Nqi3lk3BBDyZGuqfmWnULGMBpDlbu9HsUxmKHswRV5RtYMK74yqDZeNaa9W9WvJewQ-PGfY47lHbHdCqp6CZMyyursfCzpk6BlDFvMn0yXjfViHv3nQNb6JmHnZso/s640/blogger-image-846597655.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My prayer and my theme for the year for our family.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxHQ9FQUqbyaXI9F6eAzArGmU-F36n9uD8Kv9FuwjJEWCxapQBCEVDdBbDraWl00Nfqg-pnUcCQhJMZ-9i4pRk5z-URkv5sWtO9vaTh-JlPKfixWUwtoyNMq-ddIsZA84djhypEQodSyY/s640/blogger-image-710192510.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxHQ9FQUqbyaXI9F6eAzArGmU-F36n9uD8Kv9FuwjJEWCxapQBCEVDdBbDraWl00Nfqg-pnUcCQhJMZ-9i4pRk5z-URkv5sWtO9vaTh-JlPKfixWUwtoyNMq-ddIsZA84djhypEQodSyY/s640/blogger-image-710192510.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Norah went to a pool party, but popped up on the side to chat with me every so often.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh36CgJmgA7W63RcWhPZM6DUVv5FACHAzaNja7zxyYFAnY_DK1VunK8mR2HtgUZCWSgxMjvHq0VpP0r5aRLXj-gnM1bcAZbd44lFpY8KrkYD0S_3HjcE0txYcNyWXorwTk_DWHsDcAcy2I/s640/blogger-image--1900313461.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh36CgJmgA7W63RcWhPZM6DUVv5FACHAzaNja7zxyYFAnY_DK1VunK8mR2HtgUZCWSgxMjvHq0VpP0r5aRLXj-gnM1bcAZbd44lFpY8KrkYD0S_3HjcE0txYcNyWXorwTk_DWHsDcAcy2I/s640/blogger-image--1900313461.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">G never sleeps. So, I took this photo of us getting in some quality cuddles.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQQ0vJba5hQ9DOUmlEI3FLjoGXDUv6uvLF3Lik5maWWt5vxdArRuKNiE806BBYv8C0R_sPWyIX1RMCWkVFVPbtnpr2GXlV5gy5PYDcxciIahNOXQ3D-lllnkwkWS4tovNLATBC9ASRcw/s640/blogger-image--2019065233.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQQ0vJba5hQ9DOUmlEI3FLjoGXDUv6uvLF3Lik5maWWt5vxdArRuKNiE806BBYv8C0R_sPWyIX1RMCWkVFVPbtnpr2GXlV5gy5PYDcxciIahNOXQ3D-lllnkwkWS4tovNLATBC9ASRcw/s640/blogger-image--2019065233.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Avery's little mind never stops working. She built this bridge between two trees. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girls are so good to Harper. Norah is reading to her here.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGYkMeXvIjbbgZb0pgJmhj06m7J6uxpK5foju4KiAQuP86AlwhRgyuscQNNf4vZfCAUIN31OVbUyjTRVj8BWBV738ECTOztycy30KRaEsugGugw9-LpEmyHl2Fb2YAlROoGtZiOifFPPw/s640/blogger-image-1459786686.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGYkMeXvIjbbgZb0pgJmhj06m7J6uxpK5foju4KiAQuP86AlwhRgyuscQNNf4vZfCAUIN31OVbUyjTRVj8BWBV738ECTOztycy30KRaEsugGugw9-LpEmyHl2Fb2YAlROoGtZiOifFPPw/s640/blogger-image-1459786686.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">G's new exersaucer. He's in love.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioyxOqqGWH6HPHM9QxnMMxYTSN8ZnzBwGpOTB7_UL-MQcWlavwTeBMF9wo_-lRB987p0V238uTo5aRBLLhR9RFlV7P7RmOaB-oS_bi2XA9uO3AI5YxdTpG7Zf-AdhaKHFkipqegWK3YMk/s640/blogger-image-356434166.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioyxOqqGWH6HPHM9QxnMMxYTSN8ZnzBwGpOTB7_UL-MQcWlavwTeBMF9wo_-lRB987p0V238uTo5aRBLLhR9RFlV7P7RmOaB-oS_bi2XA9uO3AI5YxdTpG7Zf-AdhaKHFkipqegWK3YMk/s640/blogger-image-356434166.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My lunch date most days.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmBQGcb2E1JTING7L1XB0R5eU6Pl_OdQ8HlMKNJps5kbZfCrBu3cWlTO4FxfW0fk2cJva5T_Gi7wIa-mvdRQDF9uAc_-wC_JAQwNgkg2zwtKbeP77XNanRjRRcdm_w8wlXvqitBmJcBPw/s640/blogger-image-814639729.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmBQGcb2E1JTING7L1XB0R5eU6Pl_OdQ8HlMKNJps5kbZfCrBu3cWlTO4FxfW0fk2cJva5T_Gi7wIa-mvdRQDF9uAc_-wC_JAQwNgkg2zwtKbeP77XNanRjRRcdm_w8wlXvqitBmJcBPw/s640/blogger-image-814639729.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Norah is the spitting image of me when she is angry.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1n2liytzS8lUhvPkg7EM5UU8pFu2mLxyumZqqoMwPaGetUTi4REc9UcrPpfqaw3sAkDupzrN_pitIZ6W-HZ3BTfzs6y-QrAGgVpY7ykOjIxUpjq_RdALcXp4pLTZtS-YNtcL1ZGM4IYw/s640/blogger-image-1471271242.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1n2liytzS8lUhvPkg7EM5UU8pFu2mLxyumZqqoMwPaGetUTi4REc9UcrPpfqaw3sAkDupzrN_pitIZ6W-HZ3BTfzs6y-QrAGgVpY7ykOjIxUpjq_RdALcXp4pLTZtS-YNtcL1ZGM4IYw/s640/blogger-image-1471271242.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playdate with our dear friends Lacey and Laine.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_1Hgbqil2lJgxY0PHghyb5aIBgaUJ63qcbYnW5WJ2pxfogouJzP7SmDDBQtiKTFVU_qvszNISp5CGo4iQFBv9Ol_mtuqyBPDNbQCBpeH6V4OG6VFV3HXvu1jvkmqYXXZNE3an1eDkaUU/s1600/c3321490b60c11e2af0122000a1fbc9e_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_1Hgbqil2lJgxY0PHghyb5aIBgaUJ63qcbYnW5WJ2pxfogouJzP7SmDDBQtiKTFVU_qvszNISp5CGo4iQFBv9Ol_mtuqyBPDNbQCBpeH6V4OG6VFV3HXvu1jvkmqYXXZNE3an1eDkaUU/s400/c3321490b60c11e2af0122000a1fbc9e_7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The girls like to take pictures with my phone. They took this one of their outdoor tea table. I love it.</td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-14070889764114890722013-05-05T21:59:00.001-07:002013-05-05T22:05:19.791-07:00Our Littlest Girl<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This is our littlest girl. When I look at her and the complete miracle that she is, I am overcome with gratitude for my life; for hers.<br />
<br />
I am thankful for this big family that has allowed me to pause. Be grateful. Be calm. Live more fully. See things more clearly. Her wide eyes bring me (all of us, really) so much JOY. And the smallest things feel so, so big. I am so much more aware of our abundance when I watch her happily explore our tiny background, dance in water from the sprinklers, taste the smallest square of chocolate, play the same key (over and over) on the piano.<br />
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I love her. This. Us. Always. <br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-65071146411501699742013-04-07T16:14:00.003-07:002013-04-07T16:14:40.591-07:00Normal Day<h5>
<span><span><span>"Normal
day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you,
love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest
of some rare and perfect tomorrow" ----Mary Jean Iron</span></span></span></h5>
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</span></span></span></h5>
<h5 style="text-align: center;">
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</span></span></span></h5>
<h5>
<span><span><span>"Every good and perfect gift is from above." - James 1:17</span></span></span></h5>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-75844233993346615172013-03-30T22:21:00.002-07:002013-03-30T22:27:09.831-07:00My 15 Minutes of FameThis week was a crazy week for me! Last Sunday night, I started a <a href="http://www.change.org/petitions/victoria-s-secret-pull-bright-young-things-campaign">petition </a>on <a href="http://www.change.org/">change.org</a> after reading about Victoria's Secret's new spring marketing campaign for their college brand PINK. The image I first saw was of a girl who looked very young next to the words "Bright Young Things" in bold letters. The more I looked into the marketing campaign, and some of the underwear in the spring line, <a href="http://www.frontyardfrontier.com/2013/03/im-not-buying-em-and-neither-should-you.html">the more angry I became</a>.<br />
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If you know me, then you know that one of my passions is speaking out about inappropriate marketing to children, in particular, young girls. So, after reading a lot about the campaign and some recent remarks by an exec at VS, I decided I would start a petition and a Facebook page to rally support to tell Victoria's Secret to pull their campaign as well as some of the most offensive undies from their shelves. <br />
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The petition to date has over 15,000 signatures and the Facebook page has over 600 followers! I could have never imagined things would go this far. I was quoted in <a href="http://healthland.time.com/2013/03/29/bright-young-things-victorias-secrets-line-under-fire/">TIME</a> magazine, was interviewed by CNN, and even Dr. Laura mentioned my petition online (I never thought THAT day would come!)<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9CXwX-SThNwAIlpYs6z3b4jdWAb3Mov9rDhUom78t7S2vMsy-OJydzUwwP2QGLxsoTetVcTwDF8qIneuoGdIScpRTaAEmnLKrGRauDge3wB30jQ0K_FycG_wvJorKsqG1pXQ_3FSleaU/s1600/734380_10152158682280110_946621430_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9CXwX-SThNwAIlpYs6z3b4jdWAb3Mov9rDhUom78t7S2vMsy-OJydzUwwP2QGLxsoTetVcTwDF8qIneuoGdIScpRTaAEmnLKrGRauDge3wB30jQ0K_FycG_wvJorKsqG1pXQ_3FSleaU/s640/734380_10152158682280110_946621430_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A friend watched it live and texted me this photo!</td></tr>
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<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">CNN has promised me a link to the live interview I did with them on Friday, and I will post it when I have it. But, if you're wanting to see more information about where I've been quoted check out the following:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://money.cnn.com/2013/03/27/news/companies/victorias-secret-underwear-ad/index.html">CNN</a> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.blogger.com/:%20http://abcnews.go.com/blogs/business/2013/03/victorias-secret-draws-parental-ire-over-bright-young-things/"><span style="color: #222222;">ABC News</span></a><br clear="all" style="color: #222222;" />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://finance.yahoo.com/blogs/daily-ticker/victoria-secret-under-fire-racy-panties-142552749.html">Yahoo </a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/03/26/does-victorias-secret-care-that-parents-hate-pink/">NY Times</a> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.nydailynews.com/life-style/fashion/moms-mad-victoria-secret-tween-ads-article-1.1300282">NY Daily News </a> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9CXwX-SThNwAIlpYs6z3b4jdWAb3Mov9rDhUom78t7S2vMsy-OJydzUwwP2QGLxsoTetVcTwDF8qIneuoGdIScpRTaAEmnLKrGRauDge3wB30jQ0K_FycG_wvJorKsqG1pXQ_3FSleaU/s1600/734380_10152158682280110_946621430_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.salon.com/2013/03/27/is_victorias_secret_targeting_teens/">Salon</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/carrie-goldman/victorias-secret-my-daughter_b_2957348.html">Huffington Post</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.policymic.com/articles/31082/victoria-s-secret-ads-targeting-tweens-prompt-parental-backlash">Policy Mic</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.styleite.com/media/victorias-secret-bright-young-things-controversy/">Styleite</a></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://racked.com/archives/2013/03/26/victorias-secret-spring-break-ads-have-angered-parents-on-the-internet.php">Racked</a> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://consumerist.com/2013/03/26/has-victorias-secret-already-pulled-controversial-teen-targeted-collection/">The Consumerist</a> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's been an incredible experience getting to speak out about a topic that matters so much to me. AND now I've officially had my 15 minutes of fame<span style="font-size: small;">. As m<span style="font-size: small;">y mom so eloquently put it, "I knew that smart<span style="font-size: small;"> mouth of yours would come in handy some day!"<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">It has indeed, and <span style="font-size: small;">I feel <span style="font-size: small;">so blessed!</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<a href="http://consumerist.com/2013/03/26/has-victorias-secret-already-pulled-controversial-teen-targeted-collection/" style="color: #1155cc;" target="_blank"></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-35228459429346160492013-03-28T19:37:00.001-07:002013-03-28T19:37:21.180-07:00The Bluebird of HappinessThe terrific twos have hit hard around here.<br />
<br />
We had the house cleaned on Monday, but you'd never know it. In a five minute window where I attempted to get dressed this morning Harper emptied the contents of a bottle of hair detangler, a travel sized conditioner, a bottle full of rubbing alcohol (hey at least everything is sanitized now) a sippy cup of milk, and a bottle full of baby vitamins all onto our wood floors in the dining room.<br />
<br />
Yeah.<br />
<br />
I have a glass figurine of a bluebird on my dresser. I usually keep it up high enough that Harper can't reach it, but the older girls love to take it off the dresser and play with it. Each time, asking me to tell them the legend behind it: little children who traveled the world over in search of the "bluebird of happiness" only to discover it perched on their front porch when they returned home from their journey. It is very special to me. It remind me of my grandmother, who gave it to me. And, it reminds me that happiness is right here in my home, just where
I am.<br />
<br />
After playing with it just a few days ago, the girls propped it right on the corner of the dresser- where that evening Harper discovered it and threw it, with all her might, onto our wooden floors...just to see what would happen.<br />
<br />
It shattered.<br />
<br />
"My bluebird of happiness!" I cried. <br />
<br />
Lucas said, "Your whaaaaaa? I never even knew what that thing was!"<br />
<br />
"Does this mean there isn't going to be any more happiness in our house?" Norah wondered.<br />
<br />
Avery, much more practical, countered, "well, I always wondered why it was blue anyway. I think it would make<i> you</i> more happy if it were green, Mom."<br />
<br />
And Harper just looked up innocently, in wonder and in awe of the blue specks of glass shattered across the floor.<br />
<br />
I haven't had it in me to throw what remains of the figurine in the trash. It sits, in pieces, on a bookcase out of reach. But, deep down I know, the bluebird of happiness really can't be broken. Deep down, I know, it sits perched on my porch too, waiting for me.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4303660969180881925.post-40572133236837613742013-03-09T21:41:00.001-08:002013-03-09T21:42:11.360-08:00Harper Turns 2When I was in labor with Harper, I was in the hospital for four long days. When family mentioned she might share a birthday with her aunt Erin, I scoffed at the idea. I definitely didn't think Harper would be born on the 9th! It was days away from when I started having contractions. I thought we'd be done and out of there by then for sure. But, she took her time, waiting for the perfect moment to arrive. Screaming even as I birthed her, plump and pouty lipped.<br />
<br />
Today she is two.<br />
<br />
And two years later, she still takes her time. Wandering everywhere she goes, humming and singing and stopping to look at everything that interests her. My little free spirit.<br />
<br />
I love her. I love her so, so much.<br />
<br />
When she wakes up in the morning she calls out from her bed, "Mommy! Mommy!" And, it is one of the best parts of my day to go in, pull her from her crib, and cuddle her close to me. Her head hanging heavy on my shoulder, her smile brimming coyly as she looks away when I kiss her.<br />
<br />
<br />
She is still so little that I carry her almost everywhere; I take her wherever I go. And I want to always.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmJsnuocwZstocwOzXitsVPvCxYFJn6XpqhmqoEScOHVUFwXESq5qH-LOTWmK3VksFb8wpBMc-vCtkLMd674R6-pl8fn3XXAjJmrvF4P1CpzO-MXwvGYsFkHqd2kJgJ8WBnNuejrMkorc/s1600/harper's+birthday+turning+2_3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIGWZBSUrnMmI9KCr84n1veqOq24sYHOUOFcw7D55EuEFtBXu8NxKqz8V0K_7FzNxDiS9MWEpOOnLITizOru58JDNE71MxOFrtQynnqSW2RtSNVTnqHQPhFB252CC3O338RRXcIfNtY9s/s1600/harper's+birthday+turning+2_2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIGWZBSUrnMmI9KCr84n1veqOq24sYHOUOFcw7D55EuEFtBXu8NxKqz8V0K_7FzNxDiS9MWEpOOnLITizOru58JDNE71MxOFrtQynnqSW2RtSNVTnqHQPhFB252CC3O338RRXcIfNtY9s/s320/harper's+birthday+turning+2_2.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd1NRsXhSDBM5e53ReEn5Grdz9tyPpaZthhvMKybffaWA9JbPpshjiSfmvu0Dcq0i1-u3TKlcRsZcBBiPjBOBOk7nCTjNfcE5JrrHytTu29SjwPItQxBUj3MHupLVM7_hS7Gag3eEhW6Y/s1600/harper's+birthday+turning+2_1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd1NRsXhSDBM5e53ReEn5Grdz9tyPpaZthhvMKybffaWA9JbPpshjiSfmvu0Dcq0i1-u3TKlcRsZcBBiPjBOBOk7nCTjNfcE5JrrHytTu29SjwPItQxBUj3MHupLVM7_hS7Gag3eEhW6Y/s320/harper's+birthday+turning+2_1.jpg" width="213" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmJsnuocwZstocwOzXitsVPvCxYFJn6XpqhmqoEScOHVUFwXESq5qH-LOTWmK3VksFb8wpBMc-vCtkLMd674R6-pl8fn3XXAjJmrvF4P1CpzO-MXwvGYsFkHqd2kJgJ8WBnNuejrMkorc/s1600/harper's+birthday+turning+2_3.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmJsnuocwZstocwOzXitsVPvCxYFJn6XpqhmqoEScOHVUFwXESq5qH-LOTWmK3VksFb8wpBMc-vCtkLMd674R6-pl8fn3XXAjJmrvF4P1CpzO-MXwvGYsFkHqd2kJgJ8WBnNuejrMkorc/s320/harper's+birthday+turning+2_3.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Happy, happy birthday, beautiful little girl! You are a joy and blessing everyday. You are right where you are meant to be: at the center of this crazy, loud, chaotic, happy family. We love you, Harper Lily.<br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10430429105254006885noreply@blogger.com0