tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36981731257860501722024-03-06T01:28:12.957-05:00What's Just One More?Life with a decade and a half between children, pregnancy after loss, and whatever else happens to come up.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger100125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-91813478788500597532015-11-15T15:05:00.002-05:002015-11-15T15:07:05.050-05:002015 Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade BINGO!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMrG4aTIipCD2qQGXQW0khp3QC6q_NouhCQU6nA5x3jRnddeENdf6GbJO3CjOC53PjRkFQH2iXoHNRuKvWcHonqextFf-N76zCeCULcRU4gOvAFq-SqPBvp_vBJFr_pTte4lUj2xZyC5xt/s1600/604164_4195278915020_217949923_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMrG4aTIipCD2qQGXQW0khp3QC6q_NouhCQU6nA5x3jRnddeENdf6GbJO3CjOC53PjRkFQH2iXoHNRuKvWcHonqextFf-N76zCeCULcRU4gOvAFq-SqPBvp_vBJFr_pTte4lUj2xZyC5xt/s320/604164_4195278915020_217949923_n.jpg" width="238" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Thanksgiving 2012</td></tr>
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Several years ago my then 9 year old son had some pretty uncomfortable ear surgery the day before Thanksgiving. In an attempt to keep him occupied and distracted, we started a new family tradition. Thanksgiving Bingo! The first set of cards were made quickly without graphics. Graham pulled out all of his fuzzy friends and we spent Thanksgiving morning with our Bingo cards.<br />
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<a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B1W7I6UHRvcXVnRuS1UxVmNfRnM/view" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">Card 1</a><br />
<a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B1W7I6UHRvcXczBndFRGRmtQRkE/view" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">Card 2</a><br />
<a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B1W7I6UHRvcXdGNKWmZxNDZCRDQ/view" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">Card 3</a><br />
<a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B1W7I6UHRvcXX3oyWUhfQ045WXM/view" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">Card 4</a><br />
<a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B1W7I6UHRvcXNGxDTlNpa1dzLTA/view" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">Card 5</a><br />
<a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/0B1W7I6UHRvcXRC1yd2NxNVpLbEE/view" style="text-align: center;" target="_blank">Card 6</a><br />
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Since then, our cards have gotten a bit more involved. I thought I'd share the 2015 version of the cards. They're easy to make. I simply used the <a href="http://social.macys.com/parade/?&cm_mmc=Google_Seasonal-_-Seasonal+-+Branding+Events_Thanksgiving+Day+Parade-_-83589822275_Broad-_-%2Bmacys%20%2Bthanksgiving%20%2Bday%20%2Bparade_mkwid_s5RZomzmi|dc_83589822275%7C-%7C5RZomzmi&gclid=Cj0KEQiA96CyBRDk5qOtp5vz8LkBEiQA6wx8MPv7Ga0T7urIGxpg5etcTVCOw6JL6OMqR81DO8N7JdUaArjP8P8HAQ" target="_blank">Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade official website</a> and a bit of Googling to fill in pretty basic table. I'd suggest making your own using the floats and balloons and performers your kids like best. Or feel free to use mine and save yourself the trouble.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi84lQ67v_GKM7Uh-PzWSbalLZ4S6LW8PptHUEKRWNeqEF2xCF1ooJfIgx62gyvyL4ScNake66neIqvPgRDKej78mvBWtVDLZYuBp022OD4LyUBw3Sn7sXLpsAa_Ajy7voBsuyzF8KSz2tt/s1600/Screen+Shot+2015-11-15+at+3.02.40+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi84lQ67v_GKM7Uh-PzWSbalLZ4S6LW8PptHUEKRWNeqEF2xCF1ooJfIgx62gyvyL4ScNake66neIqvPgRDKej78mvBWtVDLZYuBp022OD4LyUBw3Sn7sXLpsAa_Ajy7voBsuyzF8KSz2tt/s320/Screen+Shot+2015-11-15+at+3.02.40+PM.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bingo card preview</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-79671548915497614352014-05-09T12:37:00.000-04:002014-06-04T15:28:31.792-04:00Do You Wanna Get a Frosty?My 17 year old is on a bus returning from New York City where she saw Of Mice and Men on Broadway with her Honors English class. She got Chris O'Dowd's autograph and James Franco was in the play, so it's been a memorable experience. We've been texting during her long drive home and ended up writing a parody of Do You Want to Build a Snowman based on our trip to Wendy's last night. She told me the last part made her sad... which wasn't my intention. I just kind of changed the words from the original. So anyway... this is how I entertained my kid on the ride back from NYC this afternoon (and a pretty good indication that I need to do something more productive during nap time):<br />
<br />
Do you wanna get a Frosty?<br />
C'mon, what do you say?.<br />
You know it really could be fries<br />
With real cute guys<br />
...oh darn he's gay.<br />
<br />
You know that they're so yummy<br />
In a cup or cone<br />
I wish you would share that fry.<br />
Do you want to get a Frosty?<br />
It doesn't have to be a Frosty.<br />
<br />
(Get a life, Mom)<br />
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Okay... bye...<br />
<br />
(Knock knock knock...)<br />
<br />
Do you wanna get a Frosty?<br />
Or drive my car down to the mall?<br />
I think some conversations over due<br />
I've started talking to<br />
Your old discarded dolls.<br />
(Eat a burger, Barbie)<br />
It gets a little lonely<br />
All these empty hours<br />
Just watching your years fly by...<br />
<br />
Do you wanna get a Frosty?<br />
And a side of fries....?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-63136759465191638262014-05-09T12:36:00.000-04:002014-05-12T22:13:44.235-04:00Why I Didn't Buy Into Teacher Appreciate Week... again.Dear Teachers: <br />
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Please don't think that you're not appreciated. I show my appreciation by sending you a kid with his <br />
<span style="text-align: center;">homework done and spelling words studied. I show you my appreciation by teaching him manners and setting the bar high when it comes to respecting you, the school, and the rules. I show you my respect when I try, time and again, to make sure you're getting the best kid I can assemble for you. </span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGhitfLFhSA5tkPpnMp-zLj_-grUEqOwv6e0u0wehI9_3fz9-T7tlcjxcsDvajspC_fEb-Y7dwpLwoEqVU9qYobqGR7JSCHViYXdfn_mMNBycOZ0hYPmSRtpjd2NIQznJsYBRIo44yd5D1/s1600/appreciation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGhitfLFhSA5tkPpnMp-zLj_-grUEqOwv6e0u0wehI9_3fz9-T7tlcjxcsDvajspC_fEb-Y7dwpLwoEqVU9qYobqGR7JSCHViYXdfn_mMNBycOZ0hYPmSRtpjd2NIQznJsYBRIo44yd5D1/s1600/appreciation.jpg" height="178" width="320" /></a><br />
The lack flowers/candy/mugs/hand stamped greeting cards isn't a sign that I don't appreciate you. It's a sign that I'm doing my best to make sure my kids are an asset to your classroom. And I would hope that's more important than all the Hallmark gifts combined.<br />
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With Highest Regards,<br />
<br />
Mama Jacques<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-59437894342932355922014-04-11T11:31:00.000-04:002014-04-11T11:31:37.132-04:00DIY Alphabet BookIt's been a busy six weeks since I've found time to write anything worthwhile. My big project has been this:<br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmN0dNsxr-OnxxiCaKR5FjFVB7RsqJX9-Q1b046r6zjBhnY_a_DgvkZphVgGMqOJON3tQlRX3lqaZ5G7U0lnZT-2DNA_6TChzlcWykcCYDqRNC_8W_T_mKnNrl4kdHDzKbcx1DtnI7LSJn/s1600/alpha1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmN0dNsxr-OnxxiCaKR5FjFVB7RsqJX9-Q1b046r6zjBhnY_a_DgvkZphVgGMqOJON3tQlRX3lqaZ5G7U0lnZT-2DNA_6TChzlcWykcCYDqRNC_8W_T_mKnNrl4kdHDzKbcx1DtnI7LSJn/s1600/alpha1.jpg" height="225" width="400" /></a></div>
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Using the Memory Mixer program and a great coupon from Walgreens, I was able to make Connell a hard bound, personalized alphabet book for $18. It wasn't nearly as hard as it sounds, but it does take a little time. I found that by working on it slowly made it a very relaxing way to have a little "me" time.<br />
<br /><u>Step One.</u><br />
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<b>Organize your photos.</b> I created a new folder and went through all the photos I've taken since Connell was born. Luckily, I was able to find the difficult letters. (V - volleyball, U - Ukelele, X - X-ray, Z - Father Zenon, one of our favorite priests.) Had I not had those, I would have had to add a step and fill in the blanks. I ended up slightly less organized than I would have liked, but this is how my folder looks:<br /><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg05D4OI57RbHkjne1SmI6SRWxx4wWGhjkpmPEt5iNja0gM6v7p6VXo7M-Ovmt5VTR4cK7lDX3-pRxau9Y_gFPmDMKC0v3es8aUColKSZwMM461Ha3z3A3k9cbta-TA5YWRJoVxFjPI5b90/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-04-11+at+8.21.28+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg05D4OI57RbHkjne1SmI6SRWxx4wWGhjkpmPEt5iNja0gM6v7p6VXo7M-Ovmt5VTR4cK7lDX3-pRxau9Y_gFPmDMKC0v3es8aUColKSZwMM461Ha3z3A3k9cbta-TA5YWRJoVxFjPI5b90/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-04-11+at+8.21.28+AM.png" height="256" width="320" /></a></div>
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I found some great additions while looking through my husband's Facebook photos. I didn't save them as intentionally as I had planned, but you get the idea. Rename the pictures with the letter you plan to use them for.<br /><br /><u>Step Two</u></div>
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<b>Find a photo program you like</b>. Shutterfly, Walgreen's, and other online photo sites have albums you can create online. I didn't care of those because they didn't allow for must flexibility. I purchased the <a href="http://www.memorymixer.com/" target="_blank">Memory Mixer</a> program. (Please note, Memory Mixer has an affiliate program. I am <i>not</i> part of that and I am not advertising for compensation.) It took me about an hour of fiddling and futzing to learn the basics. They offer great tutorials on Facebook and YouTube. It's fairly straight forward and I can definitely see myself using this program for many projects in the future. I accidentally deleted the first book I made, so I ended up recreating it. (Completely user error. Memory Mixer is great at saving things logically.) I like my second attempt much more. </div>
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The first two screen shots are from the first book I created. The templates in Memory Mixer come pre-made, but are entirely customizable. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2IFUXRpNaR6k4dtr6VdcdDN-HSWNNrO3UgkKv3l1w6zATjyG-l9Q4sZr9kpFpp2sfa0E2IJX-cxATc3u33yLBZZMo7e_4M1bYFveuxmVJqCJAM_BnA-OIM_nbMlnSeSJcL2IuyeGKAC1/s1600/memorymixerC.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje2IFUXRpNaR6k4dtr6VdcdDN-HSWNNrO3UgkKv3l1w6zATjyG-l9Q4sZr9kpFpp2sfa0E2IJX-cxATc3u33yLBZZMo7e_4M1bYFveuxmVJqCJAM_BnA-OIM_nbMlnSeSJcL2IuyeGKAC1/s1600/memorymixerC.png" height="205" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4UuWghoanM_DgPlsVoKfVMEY8k4WagliNTjk5Z_Nu4AEc27YZ-QF2s8EsK74xuUstAnq8yoQKp51LD-qwDKxfIIZx6thmL058hU-AiLnb2kdaJLzbWjAQrsHUjlvvIAp4gTIGf3xHdCo/s1600/Alpha4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ4UuWghoanM_DgPlsVoKfVMEY8k4WagliNTjk5Z_Nu4AEc27YZ-QF2s8EsK74xuUstAnq8yoQKp51LD-qwDKxfIIZx6thmL058hU-AiLnb2kdaJLzbWjAQrsHUjlvvIAp4gTIGf3xHdCo/s1600/Alpha4.jpg" height="247" width="320" /></a></div>
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When I made the second book, I decided to tweak the layout so each page had letters in the same place. Memory Mixer allows you to add a ton of layered embellishments, but for this book I was more interested in simple pages with the focus being the photographs and easily identifiable letters. I chose the Chalkdust font because the "a" looks more like a traditional hand drawn letter that Connell will learn to write.<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
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<u>Step Three<br /></u></div>
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<b>Build your book.</b> I try as hard as possible to be thrifty, so when Walgreen's sent out a 50% off coupon for their photo books, I jumped. I was able to export each Memory Mixer page as a .jpg. You can do this by selecting the "Share on Facebook" option. Each page will be saved to your hard drive. Then you can upload them to Walgreen's.com. <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLYFe5Fij2KUZ86zsYyGddkTilawxglKEsYXbNW1O_STbP4QHStAiUsr5Z4uTy9UD7zlyx4iYRcIsX3lwI5yuD_muvqhKp_qA_DijAFBylPY0lINsnx643DJuLJNsSRC1CjScOhg0xFZUO/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-04-08+at+1.38.23+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLYFe5Fij2KUZ86zsYyGddkTilawxglKEsYXbNW1O_STbP4QHStAiUsr5Z4uTy9UD7zlyx4iYRcIsX3lwI5yuD_muvqhKp_qA_DijAFBylPY0lINsnx643DJuLJNsSRC1CjScOhg0xFZUO/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-04-08+at+1.38.23+PM.png" height="356" width="640" /></a><br /><br />The tricky part at this point is making each photo page span the entire page rather than fit into their pre-sized template. To do that, drag the photo into the template and then select it. A menu will pop up and will have the option to span the left, right, or entire layout. Choose accordingly.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAu3aYiOei3ISQuBQCXL1X19zLIRV2tLXqO-WAbvfgeY-L1mvmkzIZhE_M5cnWNrvoCfrd_eFVfeVFxJ9FJptqdGb6qiD3s5GPOqNuPNmLhZkY1O5kGvCHaa9suJEx8szI0Z47nbU1e5J5/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-04-11+at+10.43.09+AM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAu3aYiOei3ISQuBQCXL1X19zLIRV2tLXqO-WAbvfgeY-L1mvmkzIZhE_M5cnWNrvoCfrd_eFVfeVFxJ9FJptqdGb6qiD3s5GPOqNuPNmLhZkY1O5kGvCHaa9suJEx8szI0Z47nbU1e5J5/s1600/Screen+Shot+2014-04-11+at+10.43.09+AM.png" height="313" width="320" /></a></div>
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I chose to use one of the "same day delivery" books. I sent it to them, feeling very nervous, at 1:30. By 2:15, I had email confirmation that it was finished. I am thrilled with the results and very impressed with how well Memory Mixer and Walgreen's worked together so seamlessly. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT1Gs83oxKnKb6kxhdqUlK4-bIg4UnXuArFjnvLbOt3FQalPzDHqk7q7QGSTHnXQDFTuFdIWiDnCej5JUBIUJufVkO5np0r16X3nyYsW-jbnDZLlI8QzAhSHQXX_hMQxKiZtKvUNavocOD/s1600/Alpha2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT1Gs83oxKnKb6kxhdqUlK4-bIg4UnXuArFjnvLbOt3FQalPzDHqk7q7QGSTHnXQDFTuFdIWiDnCej5JUBIUJufVkO5np0r16X3nyYsW-jbnDZLlI8QzAhSHQXX_hMQxKiZtKvUNavocOD/s1600/Alpha2.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl0n_bIfgTwgRLR2G0ykUVu5wE6vlfzfh8YiU_TuYtrwEVn-hyK7XDuxe65h7SLctcgiDmhSofZyg40vZ9kafLLSj2YMzSE5jWslxe7sPiM_nCT29kNXt-elGvUkuZAlWNWASA60aesyg9/s1600/Alpha3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl0n_bIfgTwgRLR2G0ykUVu5wE6vlfzfh8YiU_TuYtrwEVn-hyK7XDuxe65h7SLctcgiDmhSofZyg40vZ9kafLLSj2YMzSE5jWslxe7sPiM_nCT29kNXt-elGvUkuZAlWNWASA60aesyg9/s1600/Alpha3.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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Connell and I read the book several times a day. He recognizes the people and places in it and I'd like to think he's beginning to recognize the letters, too. My next project is going to be a counting book, but that is going to take some very intentional photography!</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-47701221760504007932014-02-22T08:47:00.000-05:002014-02-22T09:16:54.621-05:00Dr. Seuss Party<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I'm a terrible blogger. We had a great toddler party and I didn't take nearly enough photos. I will share the few I did take and resolved to do better next time.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Qw4-1iNsvEsfOqrO5wyqYbMf57ESuz9w1rSy40ilQL3s1KFu4UuAHasWDaB4EMobkuiYvutDIQqJQngLDFz1T6nBsqMKwJjegVHicDMVahJ68hul2j9r4KHJVCLNfzUBEa_jTZkuJWSy/s1600/abc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Qw4-1iNsvEsfOqrO5wyqYbMf57ESuz9w1rSy40ilQL3s1KFu4UuAHasWDaB4EMobkuiYvutDIQqJQngLDFz1T6nBsqMKwJjegVHicDMVahJ68hul2j9r4KHJVCLNfzUBEa_jTZkuJWSy/s1600/abc.jpg" height="320" width="179" /></a>So first, let me explain my party philosophy: Don't hide in the kitchen. Don't have an agenda. Don't spend a ton of money. And most importantly, <i>have fun! </i>So with that in mind, I set up some play centers around the house using our Seuss theme. </div>
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My grandfather retired from Random House, so I have quite a collection of Seuss books. I gathered them together and put them with some of the alphabet toys we've collected over the years. Another area I set up (and didn't photograph) was based on "Mr. Brown Can Moo". I had my older kids bring the Little People barn out of storage and set it up with all of the farm animals I could find.<br />
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You can't have a Seuss party and not include a One Fish, Two Fish activity. (Shouldn't that be "an One Fish, Two Fish"? Grammar police, please help!) Using a tri-fold board (Dollar Tree - $1), a yard of flannel (Jo-Ann Fabrics - $3), and 4 sheets of felt ($1 for all 4 - Jo-Ann), I made a quick felt board. Most of the kiddos at the party were around 2 years old, so generally they pulled the fish off the board and giggled, but they had fun. If we hadn't had such awful weather for the weeks leading up to the party, I would have picked up a plastic fish bowl to keep the pieces in, but Mother Nature had other plans.<br />
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A Cat in the Hat bulletin board set worked as the backdrop for a table of yummy food that I forgot to photograph. (<a href="http://www.pinterest.com/bejacques/seuss-party/" target="_blank">Pinterest has oodles of ideas.</a> I went with quiche and small sandwiches since it was bunch and other kid-friendly snacks.)</div>
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Brown paper protected the train table nicely as it became the craft station. Since they were mostly toddlers, we did simple crafts. They put animal stickers on a zoo print out ("If I Ran the Zoo"), stars stickers on Sneeches, apples on a tree (apples = pom poms, "Ten Apples Up On Top"), and they made a cute Cat in the Hat craft.</div>
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Party favors are always fun, but of course I didn't take a picture. I was able to have a friend order a copy of <a href="http://www.audreywood.com/books-written-by-audrey-wood/the-napping-house/the-napping-house" target="_blank">The Napping House</a> through Scholastic for a dollar a piece. I would have preferred a Seuss book, but that would have completely ruined my budget. I added Dr. Seuss pencils, crayons, erasers, and bookmarks all found in the dollar section of Target last fall. Wrapped them in striped tissue paper and voila - fun favors.</div>
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I hung streamers for Valentine's Day and left them up for the party. They initially looked something like this, but without the polka dots. (Check out this adorable <a href="http://bobbleheadbaby.com/?p=1396" target="_blank">birthday party theme</a>):<br />
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After about 45 minutes, the kids discovered them and they very quickly became the best dollar I've ever spent on an unintentional party game. </div>
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Once they'd finally pulled them all down, they spent 15 minutes giggling and shouting "Hooray!" It was a wonderful end to a very fun party.</div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-51738340238983326292014-02-09T14:56:00.001-05:002014-02-10T21:41:51.404-05:00What to do with a Wonderful One Year Old (Finger painting... again.)<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKuF7YyumNYxMDEB8STNiimOJPjhHdgBRQ2LBqWoq-B925dDzEnKpiWc56-rJuNzVC0QNBRYpS7UtKS_vBMNqQaLyRgUEGoTNRhWGjh68Fp_mnBU4QsOIlNrGXsJGRToZ2mXCBBthVRRzD/s1600/fingerpaintb5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKuF7YyumNYxMDEB8STNiimOJPjhHdgBRQ2LBqWoq-B925dDzEnKpiWc56-rJuNzVC0QNBRYpS7UtKS_vBMNqQaLyRgUEGoTNRhWGjh68Fp_mnBU4QsOIlNrGXsJGRToZ2mXCBBthVRRzD/s1600/fingerpaintb5.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a>Before I share a wicked cute series of finger painting photos, let me first tell you I fail more often than I succeed. My initial attempt at the famous <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/search/pins/?q=finger%20paint%20tape" target="_blank">Pinterest finger paint project</a> is proof of that. This is true of my attempts at not only toddler crafts, but at many things in life: housekeeping, baking, sticking to my grocery list, making it to the gym often enough, walking up stairs without falling. But sooner or later I manage to figure most things out or come to the realization that it wasn't that important in the first place.</div>
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For our second attempt and this project, I used some heavy drawing paper <strike>stolen</strike> borrowed from my oldest daughter's art supplies. I decided to shed my slightly obsessive need for things to be straight and symmetrical and went with a funky off kilter design. (Cutting myself some slack is on my list of 'ways to be a better person'. 'Mastering stairs' is on that list, too.)</div>
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Popped a diapered baby in the tub and let him have at it. Finger painting in the bathtub works well. It limits the mess and results in a clean tub, clean baby, and cute art. The finger paints were purchased at the Dollar Tree. I couldn't find my homemade, cotton candy scented, organic finger paints. The potentially poisonous, made in China out of Lord only knows what, cheap paints worked just fine. He didn't put them in his mouth.</div>
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As you can see, Connell doesn't limit his artistic efforts to just his canvas. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip7oKm0hfzmClaJTXRkJXrpkYC9eqvZ1ZVhTAiOwnKZGUGMFJCE7zw96QXDpKy7n0CbNC0zrkgQ-StEBqN3Bxwl-NAV5a-6IMEA3Pf5TTCNFYiM-M7pqeQSk_z2Pr-KWQhs7D-o4JnwPRI/s1600/fingerpaintb4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip7oKm0hfzmClaJTXRkJXrpkYC9eqvZ1ZVhTAiOwnKZGUGMFJCE7zw96QXDpKy7n0CbNC0zrkgQ-StEBqN3Bxwl-NAV5a-6IMEA3Pf5TTCNFYiM-M7pqeQSk_z2Pr-KWQhs7D-o4JnwPRI/s1600/fingerpaintb4.jpg" height="256" width="320" /></a></div>
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Hanging the finished art on the mirror to dry worked well. The mirror needed to be washed anyway (as you can see), and the paint came right off.</div>
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The finished project will be a fun addition to our already growing collection of Valentine crafts!<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-68861216710614312602014-02-05T14:53:00.000-05:002014-02-22T11:11:53.462-05:00What to do with a Wonderful One Year Old (Cat in the Hat Edition)<br />
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To continue to fight the mid-winter blues, I've decided to have a little gathering of playgroup friends in a few weeks. We're going to throw <a href="http://whatsjustonemore.blogspot.com/2014/02/dr-seuss-party.html" target="_blank">Dr. Seuss a birthday party</a>. Selfishly, it gives me something to think about while we're trapped in the house by the evil weather. The trick will be figuring out what activities the 'under two' crowd can handle in our limited space. I decided to start with a simple Cat in the Hat craft and do a bit of a beta test.<br />
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<b>Instructions</b>: Using red card stock, I cut out a rectangle to make the hat. White card stock worked for the stripes. Construction paper circles made the face and whiskers. Leftover foam heart stickers worked for the nose and beads (<strike>stolen</strike> borrowed from my daughter's bead bin) made great eyes.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuxAj7XL9Zds-LFG0BfprnX4mjXn-uft_8QxXAqRGsfG4zD9ULZdpVQK0OpSczY4dRPIe2jIC79C6-lqVXnscgvWdXhr3ZSgpYGTcPOrPPk1gj9zDdBcZCXxq0zvJzdnSh8nsMA3EJqQX6/s1600/catcraft3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuxAj7XL9Zds-LFG0BfprnX4mjXn-uft_8QxXAqRGsfG4zD9ULZdpVQK0OpSczY4dRPIe2jIC79C6-lqVXnscgvWdXhr3ZSgpYGTcPOrPPk1gj9zDdBcZCXxq0zvJzdnSh8nsMA3EJqQX6/s1600/catcraft3.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQPFbTRWrq-3dzQK6zuaDX6g0Bt8zKe6H7jkD3rz6bbPB8hGcgeMmkHnoM0mmreDS_vyEA4hT4PNd5upW25RYGVEM1Ajy9s5N8FXWxVsEQsKivHFajr9jgC7_RRtYOqTSl7K83J-gObAwW/s1600/catcraft2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQPFbTRWrq-3dzQK6zuaDX6g0Bt8zKe6H7jkD3rz6bbPB8hGcgeMmkHnoM0mmreDS_vyEA4hT4PNd5upW25RYGVEM1Ajy9s5N8FXWxVsEQsKivHFajr9jgC7_RRtYOqTSl7K83J-gObAwW/s1600/catcraft2.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
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I found the key was to talk him through the activity. He wanted to touch the glue, which was fine. He enjoyed sliding the "stripes" around a bit. We talked about "stick". When we put the face together, we talked about nose and eyes. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzAQEoCUwUrEelnVbwwCZX7EoCWDwUppLggn1cakyb2sMAHC-3aw4wUNoktWyy0JpF6GY-SKg-13mkoAD3ki3yZgIM5qvXrxEV7yb8LaeSso3Lk3eu9UpNCGG94wlwd9S0-egTbSYCDbFK/s1600/catcraft4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzAQEoCUwUrEelnVbwwCZX7EoCWDwUppLggn1cakyb2sMAHC-3aw4wUNoktWyy0JpF6GY-SKg-13mkoAD3ki3yZgIM5qvXrxEV7yb8LaeSso3Lk3eu9UpNCGG94wlwd9S0-egTbSYCDbFK/s1600/catcraft4.jpg" height="112" width="200" /></a>It's fun to find ways to work new language into fine motor skills. At this point, he will focus on things like this for anywhere from 3 - 5 minutes, so I find having everything handy and ready to go helps. Eye contact, reassurances ("Good job!"), and encouragement ("Keep trying!") keep him engaged. And his smiles keep winter from driving me completely insane.</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-1461235350796368982014-02-05T13:25:00.000-05:002014-02-05T13:26:44.311-05:00What to do with a Wonderful One Year Old (Valentine's 1.0)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUIvkjPC_hNlVm68kWSThzA6STCWPOjF9g9BzlPYzG9yjzva3M5luX0F0Ny0-7I55bhSEFnLO9s1vsHX1QkTYdI0ZfDDQy9W5c2fCqLM5noO04J-Q6ar5-WcP2Fd3ghHomKlfLPpeXVuEl/s1600/vcraft1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUIvkjPC_hNlVm68kWSThzA6STCWPOjF9g9BzlPYzG9yjzva3M5luX0F0Ny0-7I55bhSEFnLO9s1vsHX1QkTYdI0ZfDDQy9W5c2fCqLM5noO04J-Q6ar5-WcP2Fd3ghHomKlfLPpeXVuEl/s1600/vcraft1.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a>Winter seems pretty endless these days, so I've been trying to keep Connell engaged and busy. After he settled in for a morning nap, I sifted and sorted through craft supplies to see what I had on hand to entertain him. Luckily I tend to stock up on and squirrel away lots of odds and ends.</div>
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We focused on the color red and the words 'heart' and 'stick'. <br />
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(Finger paints still terrify me... we didn't touch those.)<br />
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I decided we'd start with "stained glass". Using wax paper, I let Connell pour the glue and spread it around with his fingers. Luckily, Elmer's has an adjustable spout and is nontoxic. We sprinkled glitter on one piece of wax paper and covered the other with small squares of tissue. (Baby wipes are great for quick clean up.) Foam heart stickers made the frames festive and in a matter of minutes, he was ready to move on to the next craft.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizFXKYptKTwg5ffpBBPZD-io6KktwkXrbSBGnZ0br4sThA2hEyjw_4ibP3qCKc5RcVGe22sOkfO_MWr4637XjhuPU12V5YoPu_IcLMv9njXMWwbvljiiHJdesApgkohkT6OkW5rsIN-N2q/s1600/vcraft2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizFXKYptKTwg5ffpBBPZD-io6KktwkXrbSBGnZ0br4sThA2hEyjw_4ibP3qCKc5RcVGe22sOkfO_MWr4637XjhuPU12V5YoPu_IcLMv9njXMWwbvljiiHJdesApgkohkT6OkW5rsIN-N2q/s1600/vcraft2.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPvrORgsauwADlROsLbHfJIdKvVoZaJAw_XHXw-V1F97jl4ouEkoarXYos-j75l0Cz8sU7p80PAG8bYBxS8j4NcKHa7Q6GwqLdVfKGalnT3Vtwlj4N8c5CAdsyJ06aIUDqkssp6YAl8rn1/s1600/vcraft7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPvrORgsauwADlROsLbHfJIdKvVoZaJAw_XHXw-V1F97jl4ouEkoarXYos-j75l0Cz8sU7p80PAG8bYBxS8j4NcKHa7Q6GwqLdVfKGalnT3Vtwlj4N8c5CAdsyJ06aIUDqkssp6YAl8rn1/s1600/vcraft7.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh48CK9mOf404HfOl9BRXKiRdUjzJ9HRZ9zUY3SNytpgHqJl-KHcy8mZMFrBrgTzQBGIwqbcLjIJ4qYvZCd9sij58p37jR58QXpGlLSY69eLlAQ367lpAH6k62FtlNQskJbOsM76ua1nHzS/s1600/vcraft3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh48CK9mOf404HfOl9BRXKiRdUjzJ9HRZ9zUY3SNytpgHqJl-KHcy8mZMFrBrgTzQBGIwqbcLjIJ4qYvZCd9sij58p37jR58QXpGlLSY69eLlAQ367lpAH6k62FtlNQskJbOsM76ua1nHzS/s1600/vcraft3.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
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He was still raring to go. Using coffee filters (Do people still make full pots of coffee? Probably.), I cut a quick heart shape. We used <a href="http://www.crayola.com/products/my-first-crayola-jumbo-watercolors-and-brush-product/">My First Crayola Water Colors</a>. By the time he worked his way through 3 of the 4 colors, he had painted a mustache on his face. Of course, I washed it off before I snapped a picture. </div>
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A few hours later, he found the pom-poms and stickers (and by "found", I mean, "Mom left them within his reach and he carried them all over the house saying "STICK! Momma! STICK HEART!" I tried really hard not to have visions of him someday becoming a vampire slayer.). We tried a bit of counting and color sorting. A little more glue, and voila! A pile of toddler crafts to brighten up our dreary mid-winter blahs!</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-75216363711060434992014-02-03T10:05:00.000-05:002014-02-03T10:57:19.206-05:00Dear Target<br />
<h2>
Dear Gregg W. Steinhafel (CEO, Target):</h2>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicMRzLZR8FU5uMEqCySkDrte2RELrynWgw90O2uqiOpYtNAwZvVXJAJF2x2TEZw6bxSdxKBCk8IRYXn4oEdPwpkVpSml8fHjLTtu9XotzgSxPCht6pWBeEqsX65glWc1c6Ct4SIo5as5et/s1600/blurredlines.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicMRzLZR8FU5uMEqCySkDrte2RELrynWgw90O2uqiOpYtNAwZvVXJAJF2x2TEZw6bxSdxKBCk8IRYXn4oEdPwpkVpSml8fHjLTtu9XotzgSxPCht6pWBeEqsX65glWc1c6Ct4SIo5as5et/s1600/blurredlines.jpg" height="400" width="225" /></a></div>
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This isn't okay. Blurred Lines is the name of a song about date rape. You did not designed the shirt. And I understand your buyers chose it. But you, sir, are untimely responsible for promoting the idea of blurring the lines even more.<br />
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<b>You are selling the idea that <a href="http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/music/10427870/More-universities-ban-Blurred-Lines-over-fears-it-promotes-rape.html">date rape is cute</a>.</b></div>
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According to <a href="http://www.usciences.edu/shac/counseling/daterape.shtml">University of the Sciences</a>, 1 in 4 college women are victims of date rape. 84% of those women knew their attackers. <a href="http://www.cwfefc.org/svfacts.html">The Center for Family Justice </a> reports that every two minutes a women in the United States is sexually assaulted. 55% of gang rapes happen at fraternities where this song is likely to be played during parties. (<a href="http://www.oneinfourusa.org/statistics.php">One In Four</a>)<br />
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The <a href="http://www.healthyplace.com/abuse/rape/effects-of-rape-psychological-and-physical-effects-of-rape/">long term effects of rape</a> are devastating. Depression, borderline personality disorder, sleep and eating disorders, just to name a few. We won't even get into the i<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/hal-herzog/why-are-rape-victims-more_b_1823152.html">mpact unintended pregnancy due to rape</a> has on society.<br />
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<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/06/18/robin-thicke-blurred-lines-rapey_n_3461215.html">Article</a> after <a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/globe-debate/why-robin-thickes-hit-offends-women-its-not-the-lyrics-but-their-empty-context/article13867534/">article</a> dissects the lyrics and their meaning. The bottom line is this: <b>As a major American retailer, you are responsible for the messages on your clothing. You are responsible for knowing what you're marketing to little girls. You are responsible for making date rape cute.</b><br />
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You are a father, Mr. Sheinhafel. Would you let your daughter wear this shirt?<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-85129165964439700142014-01-11T15:14:00.000-05:002014-01-12T12:05:20.277-05:00Doing Hard Things<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj23a0uUr8zcRo7zNurxc52gLYO-XYIy8US7C2t-81OZEP_xy1P6CZAerKzK8V4aaYKEeYwW7H1Z_2MLAuPqhGRlxp4OgH507o6_ykQydQVZgyV2UZkEBXsSiFdPpv6Do6d-d5XL71nBewt/s1600/RY3A1911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj23a0uUr8zcRo7zNurxc52gLYO-XYIy8US7C2t-81OZEP_xy1P6CZAerKzK8V4aaYKEeYwW7H1Z_2MLAuPqhGRlxp4OgH507o6_ykQydQVZgyV2UZkEBXsSiFdPpv6Do6d-d5XL71nBewt/s1600/RY3A1911.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></a>This is my 14 year old daughter. See that bracelet on her arm? The thick black one she insisted on wearing in family pictures? It says, "HAVE FAITH". In big, bold letters Katie declares to the world every day that she has faith. What you can't see in that photo is the necklace with the shield and cross on it that says, "I can do all things through HIM who strengthens me". She's an alter server at our Catholic Church and volunteers to serve for funerals, even though they make her cry. She's a kid who lives her faith in ways I'm not able. A little light that shines from her, inspiring me to be a better person.<br />
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She's a pistol, though, to borrow a phrase from my grandmother. Katie will always be the kid who keeps us on our toes and makes us question the world around us. We will fight back when the world feels it's necessary to push its own morals and values on her. We know we won't always win. When she's gotten through these teenage years, whatever she chooses to do will be incredible. I have faith in her.<br />
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Right now she's angry with us. And that's okay. My job isn't to be her friend. We've put our foot down with the school (again) because of questionable song choices (again). This time it's in choir. She's part of the select show choir, which is a big deal and we're very proud of her. The song choices for the spring concert include "Ain't No Mountain High Enough" (oldie but a goodie), "Home" by Philip Phillips (beautiful harmonies), and "Edge of Glory" by Lady Gaga. That's where we said no. <br />
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This child is not trading her morals to be part of choir. She's not compromising her values to make her music teacher happy. She wants to... oh, does she want to. And she's furious that we're setting limits. There will be no public performances of songs that include lyrics about being taken home or doing shots or needing "a man who thinks it's right when it's so wrong". <br />
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And this is hard. VERY hard. I don't want to make her "the girl who can't sing that one song in choir" or "the one with the crazy parents". I don't want to <i>be</i> the crazy parents. But I'll wear the crazy crown if it means standing up for her innocence. <br />
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Now, the next question is why did Pennsylvania tax dollars pay for a song about doing shots in the first place... but I'll leave that up to the school board to figure out if that's what it comes to. <br /><br />
<i>Edited to add a bit of snarkiness...</i><br />
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The school handbook clearly states that students can not wear articles of clothing with references to drugs, alcohol, sex, etc. So to prove my point, I put the lyrics on shirts. They'd get kicked out of school for wearing the words, but not for singing them? Hm.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-54453551038782065202014-01-08T15:13:00.000-05:002014-01-09T10:10:02.488-05:00On Our WayThe day I left the hospital with Connell I was desperately ready to go home. The last time I had spent the night in that maternity ward I went home empty handed and heartbroken. Andrew's stillbirth was still as raw as my midsection. We rushed to pack things, shoving socks in bags and hair clips in pockets. We'd done this before. We knew that we didn't really need all of the paraphernalia the new mom magazines suggested. <br />
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The nurse scurried in and out, sensing our urgency. She glanced at me from the corner of her eye when she thought I wasn't looking. I signed papers, moving as quickly as my cesarean would let me. There was always just one more thing to do before I could leave the labor hall and get on with our lives.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzbgoccpy_9ie_-amtucfePOnLArU4MWaMooa4sjbdK7OYTGbHnhDDmJp9AU255ReLKDxXkUR-xZSLoV9Xr0ANtCIzQTht4F8KVrwOFZ8Vm7w5utSDGtMS4Dbxv2ZcrR52SoRaI0DBsDdx/s1600/Connell13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzbgoccpy_9ie_-amtucfePOnLArU4MWaMooa4sjbdK7OYTGbHnhDDmJp9AU255ReLKDxXkUR-xZSLoV9Xr0ANtCIzQTht4F8KVrwOFZ8Vm7w5utSDGtMS4Dbxv2ZcrR52SoRaI0DBsDdx/s1600/Connell13.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a>David treated me gingerly. He remembered my last recovery. The tears, the shock, the unexpected surgery. He didn't understand that the pain from this delivery was welcome. It reminded me I had survived and our youngest son was alive and healthy. David gently asked me to sit down. My pacing was making him nervous. But I was afraid to sit down. If I did, I may have ended up back in that bed for another night and I couldn't have that.<br />
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The nurse returned. She removed my IV. She checked my incision one more time. She cooed at my well bundled newborn. And she looked at me again, with an expression I'd come to know over the year before Connell was born. She must have read my entire chart and she knew what had happened. She was watching me with the eyes of someone who had also suffered a loss. She was waiting to see if I'd be able to handle this transition from mourning-mother to new-mother-again. She was giving me time to change my mind and stay the extra day our insurance company would pay for.<br />
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The orderly came to my room with a wheel chair. After she'd bent down to adjust the footrest, the nurse looked me in the eye. She held my gaze for an extra second. "I can do this" I tried to tell her with my eyes. "I can start to move on."<br />
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She handed me my 8 pound miracle. She put her hand on my shoulder as she gave final instructions to David. "Follow up appointment in 5 days. Pediatrician in 7. Make sure she takes her iron and stays very hydrated. Let her rest. Enjoy these moments." She squeezed my shoulder as she said those last words. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCFLFrgoqgJnem2gPu8qCeqIZSKhAF2rWP-7pWVy6ZSE8zFP1EPhqWRXo3CrS3n1wcsZR5dgUaHiX8mzzoT3hKzJhals7usPTiqx-btRyxOXHWFS7QyEOd71VTSj3JCmMj0nM6pVAxCbgo/s1600/Connell03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCFLFrgoqgJnem2gPu8qCeqIZSKhAF2rWP-7pWVy6ZSE8zFP1EPhqWRXo3CrS3n1wcsZR5dgUaHiX8mzzoT3hKzJhals7usPTiqx-btRyxOXHWFS7QyEOd71VTSj3JCmMj0nM6pVAxCbgo/s1600/Connell03.jpg" height="212" width="320" /></a>We're a sorority of the worst kind, we grieving mothers. We know each other as we stutter when <br />
sharing how many children we have. We all wince slightly when we hear a newborn cry. We all share the same broken purple heart of child loss. And we comfort each other. A gentle squeeze. A willingness to listen. A different view of family and priorities.<br />
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The orderly whisked me through the hospital halls. He was young and insensitive, taking bumps and turns at breakneck speeds. Connell let out a yelp as we zoomed out of the elevator. "You need to be more gentle." I told the orderly. "We need to get home safely." He slows down and apologized. The bright August sun blinded me when I met David at the curb. He settled Connell in the carseat with care and made sure I was buckled safely. We drove toward home with our newborn looking forward to moments to enjoy.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-38623056898635083512014-01-05T20:32:00.002-05:002014-01-09T20:24:04.434-05:00Out of Their LoopI watch them walk out the door, into the mid-day cold. They laugh as they slide on the ice, her Converse having much less traction than his sensible Clark's. They flash the same smile over their shoulders at me as they wave, their identical blue eyes shining in the winter sun. And they're on their way.<br />
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They speak their own language now. He shares his twenty-mumble years of programming and computer science experience with her. Ruby on Rails, Rust, C++, Java, Linux. She soaks it up and adds her own spin. Twitter, Tumblr, Pinterest, Facebook, Instagram. He stresses the importance of structure and form. She focuses on communication and connectivity. All in a jargon I don't fully comprehend.<br />
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I keep an eye on their progress toward the shop on the GPS app. The ice has made traveling conditions less than ideal, so watching them arrive safely makes me feel a little less out of their loop. They're meeting with the rest of the team today to continue on their project. Kids come from two counties and a dozen school districts to be part of this award winning team. No amount of ice could keep some of them away. They come to build, program, design, and test. They come to learn about engineering, physics, public relations, and team work. But mostly they come for one thing: <a href="http://www.techfire225.com/">Robots</a>.<br />
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Then the texts start. They're really meant to reassure me. He knows I'm a momma bear and I worry. But also because he's proud of her. And he's proud of himself for raising her. She's building a rig, he tells me. She's using power tools, suggesting design ideas. He's mentoring other students and sharing his knowledge. He often finds himself in awe of what some of them are already able to do at only seventeen years old. He's enjoying these rare moments of spending time with his teenage daughter. She was just a little girl a few seconds ago and now she's holding her own as part of a robotics team. He's creating memories for her to pack along with her college supplies next year. He's building a foundation of confidence and experience, giving her a launch site for what we know will be an incredible journey into adulthood. He's teaching her to choose to spend time with people who respect her and to settle for nothing less.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh89zTdOi9vgYfGZ9JtO0N6CcGQD-rlmOygxaDuFvcSXBOsJMQobjtY8anKI7wjrqjntK0jZf530RijT133V2Kn9xWDkVyOV-62B8eBlbyeqg7Cngdfud82Y0RJh_fmaU_aCZ0f1M5REO6E/s1600/jobt2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh89zTdOi9vgYfGZ9JtO0N6CcGQD-rlmOygxaDuFvcSXBOsJMQobjtY8anKI7wjrqjntK0jZf530RijT133V2Kn9xWDkVyOV-62B8eBlbyeqg7Cngdfud82Y0RJh_fmaU_aCZ0f1M5REO6E/s1600/jobt2.jpg" height="320" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jill with last year's robot. <br />
This year's is under wraps.</td></tr>
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I'm grateful they have this to share. Fathers and daughters don't often find common ground at this stage. Robotics has given them something that belongs to them. This team has given them something they can belong to together. I'm grateful he is willing to step outside of his quiet comfort zone and get involved. I'm thrilled to watch her bravely walk into a shop filled with tools and computers and all things "manly". She gains confidence from the other women and girls in the shop. Together, they chip away at stereotypes.<br />
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The end result of their intense six weeks of building a robot really isn't important. (Although they will disagree.) Whatever the team builds will be incredible. <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Auj7BAlz_DM">Last year's team </a>gave them an <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4WPwFBlXrn0">award winning robot </a>to inspire them toward greatness again this year. Competition season will add a new dimension to the team and to their relationship.<br />
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The National Weather Service extends the ice warning. Fog rolls in. I watch the GPS app again as they make their way up the icy roads. They come in smiling, tired. And they continue to speak in a language I don't understand. It's theirs. And I'm glad they share it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-92226850957750862562013-11-24T08:52:00.001-05:002013-11-24T08:52:47.091-05:00The Age Gap One of the things I didn't consider when I pictured life with a new baby was the impact it would have on us socially. Let me back up... David and I are not particularly social creatures. We don't like small talk. While we enjoy parties, we're happier at home. We do have friends and those friends generally have children the same age(s) as our kid(s), but never with a 15 year gap between them. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Scouting events as a family. Graham watches as Jill <br />shows him her newly discovered high ropes skills.</td></tr>
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Our friends probably think the choices we make are nuts. Our priorities are often so far removed from theirs, we must look like slackers or over-scheduled dingbats, depending on the circumstance. For instance, Cub Scouts has been put at the bottom of the priority list for this school year. It's not for lack of respect for the program and it's definitely not a reflection on the leaders (I adore them and think they're probably the best people we've met in years), but right now something has to give, and for the moment it's Scouts.<br />
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It's more than just the fact that we're homebodies that keeps us from joining every event that comes our way. We have the benefit of experiences many of our friends don't have. We are able to recognize our time with our kids is becoming more and more limited. One more year from now and I will have an adult child heading off to college. I have one more Homecoming and Halloween with Jillian at home. After this, I will have one more Thanksgiving Day Parade with her, one more Christmas season with her, one more year to spend with her as my kid instead of as an adult. And I am going to enjoy it, people. <i>Enjoy it</i>.<br />
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So no, I am not going to do every Cub Scout hike and every elementary school event. I will do them when I can. Instead, I am going to try to have quiet afternoons with my family, playing games and making memories. I'm going to sneak out and have ice cream with her when time allows. And I am going to shed a few tears as I snap photos to remember these passing days.<br /><br />But don't worry... there's a <a href="http://www.scouting.org/stem/awards/webelos.aspx">Super Nova</a> and a <a href="http://www.scoutingbsa.org/programs/Awards/Religious_Emblems/Catholic/Parvuli_Dei.html">Parvuli Dei </a>award with Graham's name written all over them. There is a <a href="http://boyscouttrail.com/content/award/super_achiever-530.asp">"heavy shoulder" award </a>on the horizon. We're just going to accomplish them at our own pace and in our own way. And I'm not going to expect anyone else to understand.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-53051519983323803552013-11-19T13:19:00.000-05:002014-01-06T10:10:37.892-05:00Born in Silence<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I sobbed as I listened to these parents. And for three minutes, as I watched, I relived my own loss. I'm so grateful to know it is being talked about - that it's not a banished conversation. Andrew changed us. For nearly 20 weeks, we thought about him as a family. We planned for him as a family. We loved him as a family. And as a family, we are stronger and better for having had that time. <br />
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I will always feel conflicted. We found out we were expecting Connell within weeks of losing Andrew. We know we're lucky. Had Andrew lived, I wouldn't have my happy little shadow. Andrew would be my happy little shadow, I suppose.<br />
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I know there's a plan. I have faith there's some kind of logical reason for all of this. (The sun came out for the first time in two days when I typed those words.... so yeah, there's a reason.) I miss Andrew. I'm grateful for him. And I'm lucky to be his mother.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-1391741784015604292013-11-01T08:32:00.000-04:002013-11-01T08:32:36.649-04:00November Family Fun<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmH78DJeJ5uS1iYrPUmEiKLGuFoKT1eTAJytcPF6WNwSslOsfE9Rk5ITe8uY0T3oXlRGYJWd4h-eXq0V-c203h5KBG4G8TFcfUncoWSi3UBqVdG6Ele7aM3BYPVaZe6TRBe5e8EmhDbnk9/s1600/happier.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmH78DJeJ5uS1iYrPUmEiKLGuFoKT1eTAJytcPF6WNwSslOsfE9Rk5ITe8uY0T3oXlRGYJWd4h-eXq0V-c203h5KBG4G8TFcfUncoWSi3UBqVdG6Ele7aM3BYPVaZe6TRBe5e8EmhDbnk9/s1600/happier.jpeg" /></a>Like I said in <a href="http://whatsjustonemore.blogspot.com/2013/10/looking-forward-to.html" target="_blank">October</a>, I find myself rushing through my days and forgetting to take the time to really enjoy living in the moment. I tend to use lists as a way of <strike>keeping the crazies at bay </strike> staying organized. This is kind of a personalized infographic of sorts, to keep me focused on the fun stuff. It was pretty simple to make on my Mac using a template in Pages. One of my goals for 2014 is to learn to to actually make word art, but that's an entirely different blog topic.<br />
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In other news, I absolutely love <a href="https://www.happier.com/user/52421edbf6c94a0dba6cf783">Happier.com</a>. The more I use it, the more I truly believe <a href="http://www.mayoclinic.com/health/how-to-be-happy/MY01357">you can create your own happiness.</a> So if you haven't found Happier yet, please do. It's very worth it!<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-34247356325634817332013-10-31T14:41:00.001-04:002013-10-31T14:41:15.376-04:00Women Gamers... as Pin Up Girls?Kickstarter is an interesting site. Lots of potential for good can happen there and we're able to support what we like and ignore what we don't. But this is beyond demeaning.<br />
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Let's just set aside the fact that the entire premise of this project is completely untrue. (Nearly Half of All Gamers are Women - <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2013/08/08/tech/gaming-gadgets/female-gamers/">CNN.com</a>) Let's forget that the sexualization of women and girls has proven negative effects. (Sexualization of Girls - <a href="http://www.apa.org/pi/women/programs/girls/report.aspx">American Psychological Association</a>). And just for a second, let's even forget the mental health issues that crop up when girls are sexualized. (<a href="http://www.apa.org/news/press/releases/2007/02/sexualization.aspx">Sexualization of Girls Linked to Common Mental Health Problems in Girls and Women</a>)</div>
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Let's focus on the fact that these two young men think this is how we're going to "help" women gamers. (Whiskey Tango Foxtrot, folks. <b>W</b>hiskey<b> T</b>ango <b>F</b>oxtrot!) What are we teaching our sons?</div>
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With this in mind I talked to my almost-10 year old this morning. I told him what they were doing. "They want to help women gamers by make a calendar of them in their pajamas." </div>
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He looked at me like I had eight heads. "How does that help?"</div>
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"Exactly! It's not helping! And it's not okay that these men are treating these women they're only good gamers if they show off their bodies."</div>
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He busied himself in his backpack for a few minutes as I wiped down the counter.</div>
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"That's sad," he finally said. "Nobody ever told them they're important enough to keep their clothes on."</div>
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And <i>that</i> was when I knew there was some hope left in this world.</div>
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So good luck with your "project", Jared and Erick-with-a-CK. You won't be getting any support from us. We respect people in this house - including women gamers.</div>
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<i>*Please note, I spent many years as a woman gamer. World of Warcraft was not only a fun game, but a great social outlet. However, it's also a huge time sink and I gave it up because it was too much of a distraction. </i></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-57388652307225604852013-10-29T14:37:00.002-04:002013-10-29T19:14:58.960-04:00Math V. Zombies<div class="p1">
I recently attended an outstanding <a href="http://aspire.swe.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=96&Itemid=156">conference</a> sponsored by the <a href="http://societyofwomenengineers.swe.org/">Society of Women Engineers</a>. I left with many, many ideas about how to encourage my daughters to embrace math and science without fear. The most important message came from <a href="https://twitter.com/camsiemcadams">Camsie McAdams</a> of the US Department of Education. She said we, as parents, have to <i><u>stop telling our kids math is hard</u>.</i> That statement was backed up by an <a href="http://qz.com/139453/theres-one-key-difference-between-kids-who-excel-at-math-and-those-who-dont/">article</a> my husband shared with me yesterday addressing the differences between kids who excel at math and kids who don't.<br />
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When I started getting semi-frantic and very frustrated texts from my 16 year old today as she dealt with a difficult C++ class, I took Camsie's advice to heart and tried to be a math cheerleader. Only, I don't think Ms. McAdams had zombies or bloody corpses in mind when she was giving her very inspirational talk. (And please note, this kid is in honors math and honors chem. She rocks. She's just temporarily stuck and that tells me she's tough enough to know when she has to work smarter.)</div>
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<b>jillian: </b>Major headache because of C++ and I haven't been in here for 15 minutes. </div>
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<b>Me: </b>Noise? Glare? Sick?</div>
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<b>jillian: </b>I don't understand the math and I've asked for help but it just makes everything worse.</div>
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<b>Me: </b>Okay. Take a deep breath.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>You are absolutely capable of figuring out the math. It just takes a little time. Can you send me a picture of the problem? Scott, my cousin, majored in math in college. He can probably give it a try. And Dad can help, too. And if they're not good enough, we'll find someone else who can make it make sense. </div>
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You could ask your teacher if there are websites or other resources that might help you with this math... let him know you aren't giving up because "math is hard" (said in my best Barfie voice).</div>
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<b>jillian: </b>I don't think he's aware that I'm not working...</div>
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<b>Me: </b>Okay. It's always good to check in when you have a problem though. Be the kid who cares enough about his class to want to do well. I'm sure he has his hands full.</div>
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<b>jillian: </b>I tried. For the past three days I tried.</div>
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<b>Me: </b>To talk to him or figure out the math?</div>
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<b>jillian: </b>Yes</div>
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<b>Me: </b>Okay. We will work on it tonight. This is kind of like... um... your brother is eating his socks. Hang on.</div>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>Okay. Sorry. This is kind of like a test of fortitude. Stare the stupid math in the eye, tell it you're going to smash it's brains in, and keep wailing on it until it's a bloody corpse on the ground.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGTfpUGOvHlzETbcrdEFyTY2eDf7A6bupDSiCIAIBwMG4ViC4bIDMNp-TisRimIx4VP3kUxYum1yyqbRwyJiOyE6OLtHBhoSpHS6hPTiYe3i0waDUfzE_DbaE2fU12505YUEwLsoOLmjMR/s1600/zombie+pony.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGTfpUGOvHlzETbcrdEFyTY2eDf7A6bupDSiCIAIBwMG4ViC4bIDMNp-TisRimIx4VP3kUxYum1yyqbRwyJiOyE6OLtHBhoSpHS6hPTiYe3i0waDUfzE_DbaE2fU12505YUEwLsoOLmjMR/s1600/zombie+pony.jpeg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zombie ponies, Jill! Zombie. Ponies!</td></tr>
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<span class="Apple-tab-span"> </span>Wow. That was violent.</div>
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<b>jillian: </b>*its a bloody corpse</div>
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.....Put away the Walking Dead, slowly. Just turn it off and walk away....</div>
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<b>Me: </b>But Jiiiiillllllll. There are new zombies now! COOTIE ZOMBIES! And they Bleed. Out. The. EYES! </div>
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<b>jillian: </b>Mom. Just put it away. Watch pretty ponies instead.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEd8Vpec-5htTkBvb7-ljJF5mO1V3lamuvu95UoEdx8R-XQnB-iTpdiAbt-Qch0IpijEE1pSNdAy-auPeDmeDniaRxrBqmccPtgUt0jYEz-sp_5yp2xsPkhrCvieXm8cjA8qJ1S9LbXnIF/s1600/math.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEd8Vpec-5htTkBvb7-ljJF5mO1V3lamuvu95UoEdx8R-XQnB-iTpdiAbt-Qch0IpijEE1pSNdAy-auPeDmeDniaRxrBqmccPtgUt0jYEz-sp_5yp2xsPkhrCvieXm8cjA8qJ1S9LbXnIF/s200/math.JPG" width="200" /></a><i>UPDATE: </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>She and David figured it out. Because math is only as hard as you make it and having an engineer for a father is pretty darn handy! Sadly, there were no zombies present during the solving of these equations. Sigh.</i><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-52017087320583793482013-10-25T14:28:00.000-04:002013-10-25T14:28:25.385-04:00Five Minute Friday: TogetherI'm going to attempt this <a href="http://lisajobaker.com/2013/10/five-minute-friday-together-2/">Five Minute Friday</a>. No editing, no second guessing, just writing. The theme is "together". And go...<br />
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There are six of us here on earth. <a href="http://whatsjustonemore.blogspot.com/2013/10/loss.html">One of us in heaven.</a> And the moments of being together seem few and far between. When we are all together, I breathe a deep sigh of relief. Even if the kids are fighting or I'm stressing over the chaos or David is hiding behind his computer screen, trying to eek out a few more minutes of work, I breathe a little easier. I don't have to watch the clock as closely or worry about missing someone's pick up time from choir or Scout event.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUH1pbLG9Hb28eTd2bQqq-v1eABc0l_iAPq0aT8TXR1ei9YgJaU7ct07TWTLQF20QHceTc3mMnwEzGa2oSGPr0stfTIF8Mom3fFNiMntlXIAExFK5lh5WOdS66Lb18lKIClp9iEjJ6OKXo/s1600/love.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUH1pbLG9Hb28eTd2bQqq-v1eABc0l_iAPq0aT8TXR1ei9YgJaU7ct07TWTLQF20QHceTc3mMnwEzGa2oSGPr0stfTIF8Mom3fFNiMntlXIAExFK5lh5WOdS66Lb18lKIClp9iEjJ6OKXo/s320/love.jpg" width="260" /></a>I also think of myself as constantly struggling to remain put together. I don't mean my hair or outfits, because that ship has sailed. (I sport a great mom-bun and love me some long sleeve t-shirts and jeans.) I mean emotionally. It's been a struggle to regain any sense of normalcy since we lost the baby. We no sooner lost him than found out we were expecting again. I had to process all of that at the same time. And then came the wave of chaos after Connell was born last year. The kids changed schools. Again. We just resolved a major issue related to that yesterday. So slowly, I'm reassembling myself and feeling like I can fully function.<br />
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Mostly, though, when I think of "together", I think of my marriage and how incredible it is to be married to someone I enjoy so much. We're not perfect and we're never going to be <a href="http://thebloggess.com/2013/10/1020-wrap-up/">Victor and Jenny </a>or Desi and Lucy, but we make each other laugh. And if that's not the best part of being together, I don't know what is.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-68665590319221058442013-10-25T13:51:00.001-04:002013-10-25T13:51:24.254-04:00What to Do with a Wonderful One Year Old (Halloween Books and "Craft" Edition)<div style="text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPtJ2GunujvlnyDg-6q-HvcU-uRzMzHPvOcDCQtuFKiANvjj7_3nGr7H-lB6RWGpvkiVmJNR8SBPyQb8LYoeKniUph_IIGLsExUj8XX0O5gV8skih4FkCR2ZibiVKoxtIi_11BIykQw-f/s1600/book2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDPtJ2GunujvlnyDg-6q-HvcU-uRzMzHPvOcDCQtuFKiANvjj7_3nGr7H-lB6RWGpvkiVmJNR8SBPyQb8LYoeKniUph_IIGLsExUj8XX0O5gV8skih4FkCR2ZibiVKoxtIi_11BIykQw-f/s200/book2.jpg" width="200" /></a>Halloween is coming. Balancing the <a href="http://whatsjustonemore.blogspot.com/2013/10/teens-and-trick-or-treating.html">teens interest in all things scary</a> with my need to keep things innocent and fun for the little guy is one of the many challenges we face in our "wide age gap" family. One of the ways we've encouraged the Bigs to connect with the Little is through books. I try to get them to read to him as often as they're willing. These are a few of our Halloween favorites:</div>
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<b><i>Where is Baby's Pumpkin </i>-</b> We love Karen Katz books in general. The life-the-flap pages keep Connell interested and excited. The page with a double flapped closet hiding the bats is by far his favorite. We have to read that page at least five times every time we read the book.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQgtln_SzfIkDjNjPSC1OoLotfML9KQp3R_FHcliQrIDnH2xzfYSy1O8I7AfRYKBtmH0eMahXDjH4aABxmN0z4Dxv25MZbDY_flXwWKXGXCiSLBKWjgPC2LqbLT-QkXW2IQBIQ2D1kCrL/s1600/Hbook1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="193" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQQgtln_SzfIkDjNjPSC1OoLotfML9KQp3R_FHcliQrIDnH2xzfYSy1O8I7AfRYKBtmH0eMahXDjH4aABxmN0z4Dxv25MZbDY_flXwWKXGXCiSLBKWjgPC2LqbLT-QkXW2IQBIQ2D1kCrL/s200/Hbook1.JPG" width="200" /></a><b style="font-style: italic;">Max's Halloween </b>- This is actually <i>my</i> favorite. I'm a big fan of Max and Ruby, despite their missing parents and Ruby's <a href="http://www.lifescript.com/life/family/parenting/helping_your_first_overcome_the_oldest-child_syndrome.aspx">Oldest Child Syndrome</a> issues. The candy names and Max's obvious dismissal of his older sister's megalomaniacal demeanor always makes me chuckle. Connell tolerates the book, but I'm sure as he gets older he'll come to appreciate Max's struggles. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgKdqy38Yyek468oQSpRm4LkgjaGoDSpvgZr1nu6SOUQz_EvVNqdVPL56PSLOh_L0my_KllNJlIS3d4llljaDLmiy4QQVfGJSUs_cWCFrqfGeRwJ8zjuN1XnSkQxDYzvE7B4_I3-yp1gcm/s1600/hbook2.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgKdqy38Yyek468oQSpRm4LkgjaGoDSpvgZr1nu6SOUQz_EvVNqdVPL56PSLOh_L0my_KllNJlIS3d4llljaDLmiy4QQVfGJSUs_cWCFrqfGeRwJ8zjuN1XnSkQxDYzvE7B4_I3-yp1gcm/s200/hbook2.gif" width="199" /></a></div>
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<b style="font-style: italic;">Five Little Pumpkins </b>- A holiday classic, this book has been set to several different tunes. I prefer to recite it dramatically, giving each pumpkin its own distinct personality. There are several different <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cm1qvX1ygOo">versions online.</a> The counting in this book inspired this morning's 2 minute craft.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD3r2QWBvW7Zw81uXw60UoKyNhGtDbiHtEbHxbh4fpP0xTeuoWmj6A0v6N5ftJlqxBojSs3QuEiCc64_vRNHR5_80PZvStVldMe_P4wMqLFWH4tD-HEVW9267oDUcSkCGUNT52mAfQ9GAs/s1600/hcraft4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhD3r2QWBvW7Zw81uXw60UoKyNhGtDbiHtEbHxbh4fpP0xTeuoWmj6A0v6N5ftJlqxBojSs3QuEiCc64_vRNHR5_80PZvStVldMe_P4wMqLFWH4tD-HEVW9267oDUcSkCGUNT52mAfQ9GAs/s200/hcraft4.JPG" width="200" /></a>While Connell was napping, I gathered up odds and ends from previous crafts. Since he seems to really like counting (okay, he likes saying "Two two two!" and then jumping), I thought we'd work on some simple groups of five. I found cats, bats, and ghosts left over from something the Bigs did last year. Punches I've collected over the years worked well to add circle pumpkins and fall leaves to the mix.</div>
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We had a serious conversation about the importance of respecting glue, but I suspect he was more interested in the Thomas episode playing in the background. He enjoyed sticking the self-adhesive foam shapes. The paper shapes were a little more difficult, so I helped him with those. </div>
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The finished product will look festive on the fridge! I don't think he has a clue how any of this relates to the books we read today, but he didn't eat the paper... so we're making progress!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-62019323194076399472013-10-23T20:15:00.000-04:002013-10-23T21:25:42.755-04:00Looking Forward to...<i>I tend to forget to enjoy the season. I'm hoping to slow down and enjoy each moment as it comes. This project was a quick way to help me focus on these fleeting fall days.</i><br />
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<i><span id="goog_176857309"></span><span id="goog_176857310"></span><br /></i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-67037142087763689192013-10-23T13:21:00.003-04:002013-10-23T13:21:43.840-04:00Simple things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Sometimes the simple things are the greatest.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bird Watching<br /></td></tr>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dw8nQ7x1hwUdqWNvtMWDGANN24tEkF4FwY8OA7j5YoySG_jkD5SKKr5TbMDa_ywha7hjLTNW1_TRt1J09AxxQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Making up a "counting" game.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pumpkin picking fun</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing in the corn at a local farm.</td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-14947661711094408452013-10-20T17:43:00.000-04:002013-10-22T14:26:58.664-04:00A Little Vent<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>I went to the soccer game from hell before I wrote this. I watched spoiled little princesses whine through their game and their mothers coddle them with promises of treats and prizes for playing "your very best". I listened as moms compared their super-busy-extra-important-schedules in the endless "I'm better than you are" Mommy Wars. I'm so over soccer and I'm so over the notion that our kids have to be happy-happy-happy all the time.</i></div>
<br />
This popped up on Facebook yesterday and it's been bothering me ever since. I think we put too much emphasis on making our children happy and not nearly enough on making them functional. So forgive me, but I believe it's time for a rant...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQM3KOB6Itov4bvopNBJT_UEZ4Z_fSCW27V34h-Ca7WdllpnKZhXzQS6IJjmud4cCqNdPjPe5328JwSOEHbib-xN5TrY246QcYT0FG1Hgi0yn65RmVTuZqTfgfxbFII10tXm-lha9FJeLy/s1600/to+be+happy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQM3KOB6Itov4bvopNBJT_UEZ4Z_fSCW27V34h-Ca7WdllpnKZhXzQS6IJjmud4cCqNdPjPe5328JwSOEHbib-xN5TrY246QcYT0FG1Hgi0yn65RmVTuZqTfgfxbFII10tXm-lha9FJeLy/s320/to+be+happy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Really? Your only wish is for your child to be happy? Because that's not mine. My wish is for my children to be responsible, resect<i>able</i>, respect<i>ful, </i>intelligent, capable, independent, healthy, reasonable, creative, and fulfilled. <br />
<br />
And you know how to help your kids achieve those adjectives? You parent them. You keep them off of sites like Ask.fm. You demand they follow rules - your rules, school rules, sport team rules, and the <b>Golden Rule</b>. You set the bar high. You give them opportunities to <b>not</b> be the best at everything. Failure is growth and growth is vital. You expect they respect their father and he expects they respect you. Of course, you have to start by respecting each other. You put your marriage first most of the time and present a united front. <br />
<br />
You don't choose cigarettes over milk. You don't let them talk back. You don't let them interrupt adults. You set limits and never make empty threats. You treat them with kindness and compassion. Acknowledge they may have naughty moments, but you <b>do not</b> label them as brats or evil. You celebrate earned success and tell them to try harder next time when they don't get the prize. <br />
<br />
So should you want your kids to be happy? Sure. Go for it. But make sure you're doing with with your eyes wide open. Kids aren't always going to be happy. That's part of growing up. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-75072970573937097322013-10-18T10:04:00.000-04:002013-11-01T10:54:04.803-04:00Teens and Trick or Treating<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8RzFfJ7ZM3KzXdq_pcJlGCznjOsUgiMM5zRaIP91yYw8TADBVr6cA8_JuE59dRJUyvoL-OLpQ8SGOUfsXk9uzTvftOMT8NLO0J_t9A0F9xjb_MqVF-n0N2s0rPOyHNcMp3e7Mb3rWQ6Oq/s1600/DalekPumpkin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8RzFfJ7ZM3KzXdq_pcJlGCznjOsUgiMM5zRaIP91yYw8TADBVr6cA8_JuE59dRJUyvoL-OLpQ8SGOUfsXk9uzTvftOMT8NLO0J_t9A0F9xjb_MqVF-n0N2s0rPOyHNcMp3e7Mb3rWQ6Oq/s320/DalekPumpkin.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jillian's Dalek pumpkin 2012</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Trick or Treaters of all ages are welcome at our front door. Sharing one of our favorite holidays with other festive families makes it even more fun for us. My kids, particularly my oldest, pour hours of thought into their costumes and usually make them from scratch. (Please don't think I'm Martha Stewart, but we've been pretty clever over the years.) <br />
As much as I love teenage trick or treaters, I do have a few humble requests:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Ladies, please <b>respect</b> yourselves. Your body is not your costume and shouldn't be on display for the world. Further more, respect everyone else and don't make us uncomfortable as you pour out of your costume.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Use your <b>manners</b>, folks. I am "that mom". I will insist on hearing a nice, hearty "Trick or Treat!" before I dole out the candy <u>and</u> if you don't say thank you, I will merrily call, "Oh! You must have forgotten your manners! You're very welcome." as you slink down my driveway.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Remember this is really a holiday for little kids and please<b> don't push</b>, <b>bully</b>, or <b>harass </b>them. Even in our nice suburban neighborhood, I've seen a little too much rough stuff and it bothers me.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>Put a little<b> effort</b> into it. Be creative, think about your costume. Heck, even if you bloody up your old soccer uniform and become a zombie goalie, I'll take it!</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li>And just <b>be nice</b>! Enjoy the holiday, get into the spirit, and be a decent human being.</li>
</ul>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-85463116074788392612013-10-17T12:19:00.003-04:002013-10-22T06:42:59.180-04:00What to Say in Times of Loss<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinVPrs7SZjQ4LNJ4bIEgOYgfG_vVIm2b0iUahQk4_ZTHk5unO2MsKBI3OC6yB7p8Os4CXIlWb4cvSEuIuB8BdVV6GJY6BLSO41p4Z7ehLz0_ubQCOTO56ASxZ5AlCIBIC0lWOAr83gE4FO/s1600/missing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinVPrs7SZjQ4LNJ4bIEgOYgfG_vVIm2b0iUahQk4_ZTHk5unO2MsKBI3OC6yB7p8Os4CXIlWb4cvSEuIuB8BdVV6GJY6BLSO41p4Z7ehLz0_ubQCOTO56ASxZ5AlCIBIC0lWOAr83gE4FO/s200/missing.jpg" width="200" /></a>When a mother loses a child during pregnancy, it's hard to know what to say. Babies live in a mother's heart long before they're born into the world. Sometimes it's difficult for people to know how to be supportive of a grieving mother.<br />
<br />
In retrospect, I realize how hard it must have been for my friends to help me through my loss. Through the grace of God, most of them haven't dealt with a stillbirth. They were wonderfully supportive and I'm grateful for all of them. I found the following especially helpful when <a href="http://whatsjustonemore.blogspot.com/2013/10/loss.html" target="_blank">I lost Andrew in 2011</a>. This won't apply to every grieving mother or all circumstances, but these lessened my grief as much as possible.<br />
<ul>
<li><u>Please use the baby's name.</u> His name is Andrew. Please don't say "it" or "him". "The baby" will work if you don't know his name, but please ask. Andrew is still my son and using his name, even two years later, is something I appreciate.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><u>Ask if the mother wants to talk.</u> Sometimes I just wanted to sit. My friend Renee threw off her shoes and climbed into bed with me. She let me sob all over her beautiful blouse and she didn't say anything until I was ready. Jennifer brought us dinner, kissed my cheek, and told me she'd be there when I needed her. And she was. Don't just dive in. But be available.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><u>Send a card.</u> I have every card anyone sent us. I have only read them once and I will probably throw them away someday. For now those cards are a physical reminder of the people who remember my son and who love us enough to lick a stamp. (Or stick a stamp. Do they even make the licky kind anymore?)</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><u>Don't share your story right away.</u> I know it's tempting to be empathetic, but asking a mother to carry your hurt while she's still processing hers isn't fair. Unless she asks, wait until the initial shock is over.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><u>Offer to help and be specific. </u> In the days following Andrew's loss, I didn't know how to put one foot in front of the other. The friends who said, "Hey, I'm going to pick Katie up for soccer. I'll pack her a snack, don't worry about it." or "I'll take notes at Back to School Night for you. Don't feel like you have to be there." were more kind then they realize. I appreciated the offers for help as I healed, but those friends who stepped in and took control of small things were a blessing.</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><u>"Hey, I've been thinking about you."</u> Those words became a secret code between my friends who had been through a loss. It was a kind an unobtrusive way of saying, "It's okay to hurt. I know. I'm here if you need me."</li>
</ul>
<ul>
<li><u>Don't put an expiration on grief.</u> Two years and a beautiful blonde bundle of baby boy later and I still have teary moments when I think about Andrew. That's okay. I'm not asking you to share them or understand. Just reserve your judgement and respect my grief.</li>
</ul>
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Everyone is different. What worked for me might not be what someone else needs. If all else fails, light a candle and say a prayer. Or do that first. Prayer is pretty amazing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2pn7fw2OIGUzRO5gyRVZphJQhLEltE_KaUHaA-yiejabSKMUJmEmF5OMPhzaI7ddlFTXXHg05B_-alw9XWisDfa7VGwe4PVKyRUkOhOM8g7o5cCaUOrOHwn4zJmiAncpAFFa2tihajOIW/s1600/loss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2pn7fw2OIGUzRO5gyRVZphJQhLEltE_KaUHaA-yiejabSKMUJmEmF5OMPhzaI7ddlFTXXHg05B_-alw9XWisDfa7VGwe4PVKyRUkOhOM8g7o5cCaUOrOHwn4zJmiAncpAFFa2tihajOIW/s320/loss.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3698173125786050172.post-16087261670007227712013-10-15T17:13:00.001-04:002013-10-18T20:49:01.422-04:00Loss. <div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><i>It's taken me two years to write this down and share it. Today is <a href="http://www.babble.com/pregnancy/10-ways-to-honor-pregnancy-and-infant-loss-remembrance-day/light-a-candle/" target="_blank">Pregnancy and Infant Loss Day</a> and I think it's time to maybe let go just a little bit.</i><br /><br /><br />“Oh. Was he an oops?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Wow. That’s quite an age difference. Intentional?”</span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">“Are you insane?”</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">More often than not, those are some of the many classy responses I get when I tell people I have more than 15 years between my oldest and youngest children. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">How should I answer that? I’ve spent the last year struggling to come up with a good response. If I had the time, I’d tell them this:</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">In the fall of 2010, I tripped over a scooter while cleaning the garage. In August of 2012, our youngest child was born. There was a fair bit of heartache in between. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFbtlbYgZY4MExSK9UVloAKEbY2gqpzl_j8sQ8QLljqOTWU5h3Sz-aMC2TFtheVGARr5wCZ0jK2rBx2_iKAoAcVEJoF1MLHg8rEyWE8sGtKnk9BWxyfUQFWXdGjCV9YGW4DUbbvvIKnQcz/s1600/loss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFbtlbYgZY4MExSK9UVloAKEbY2gqpzl_j8sQ8QLljqOTWU5h3Sz-aMC2TFtheVGARr5wCZ0jK2rBx2_iKAoAcVEJoF1MLHg8rEyWE8sGtKnk9BWxyfUQFWXdGjCV9YGW4DUbbvvIKnQcz/s1600/loss.jpg" /></a><span class="s1">I’m not known for my graceful nature. When I tripped that time I managed to screw up my back in the process. A week later, I landed in the ER with a sharp, stabbing pain in my back, right over my kidney. During the 8 hours it took to rule out kidney stones, I had several different scans. One of them came back showing a shadow on my ovary. The ER doc called ob/gyn and as we waited, he told us we needed to take a deep breath. Shadows and pain, according to Dr. Doom & Gloom, were often cancer symptoms.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Cancer.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I was 36.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Several stressful hours later, I was sent home with muscle relaxants, pain killers, and the promise that there was no sign of cancer. But in the hours between the first mention of the C-word and my smiley happy trip home, I suddenly realized our family of five wasn’t complete. David, my husband of 16 years, agreed.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The following spring I discovered I was pregnant and there was much rejoicing. We waited until I was 12 weeks to tell the big kids. Mixed reactions were to be expected, but over the months following, they grew to be more excited. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">On September 3, 2011 I went to the Boy Scout Store with David and then-7 year old Graham. We were looking at Pinewood Derby supplies and picking up pins and patches . It was a fun morning and I was enjoying the thought of having another Cub Scout in a few years. In the middle of our shopping, I had a pain that told me something was wrong. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">We went straight to the labor hall where we met my doctor. An ultrasound showed no heartbeat. Our baby had died. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I don’t know how I kept breathing. Graham was in the waiting room, expecting us to take him out to lunch. Our daughters were at home, waiting for us to walk through the door. And I couldn’t breathe. </span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><br /></span>
<span class="s1">Two days later, Andrew Charles was born. He was almost 20 weeks early. I hadn’t done anything wrong, although I’m not sure I’ll ever fully believe that. He had <a href="http://stillbirthmatters.wordpress.com/2013/04/05/whats-the-truth-about-cord-accidents/" target="_blank">wrapped himself up in his umbilical cord</a>. I like to imagine he just drifted off to sleep and never felt anything, but I have no way of knowing.</span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br />
<span class="s1"></span><a href="http://www.centralpennparent.com/Heres-The-Scoop/October-2012/A-positive-in-the-healthcare-field/" target="_blank">My doctor was incredible.</a> I was a mess. I imagine most doctors would have just drugged me to high heaven to get me through delivering. Instead, Dr. Lawrence talked to me. He told me someday I would want these memories. I would <i>need</i> these memories to heal. He was right. Of all the horrible things that happened during the 72 hours I was hospitalized, being blessed with the wisdom, gentleness, and talent of my doctor was the single greatest experience I took away from it all.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTQ4SzDUADFDG9AywyqQg3iT9aftMStWx3LcLwbehB7JxrvBBFOO02HC6ClztHQmIeLay-Z5qN7-7J_CR1E5z7BgdkSWuI6AjYyvqJVU4iTN5PwSv9GYLVCbIGufrblaAFZdm41UbCG7ny/s1600/loss.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTQ4SzDUADFDG9AywyqQg3iT9aftMStWx3LcLwbehB7JxrvBBFOO02HC6ClztHQmIeLay-Z5qN7-7J_CR1E5z7BgdkSWuI6AjYyvqJVU4iTN5PwSv9GYLVCbIGufrblaAFZdm41UbCG7ny/s320/loss.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">From Andrew's memory box. The leaf card, the blanket my <br />
sister made him, the tiny blanket they wrapped him in before <br />
she arrived, and dozens of cards from people I love. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="s1">Once I had delivered Andrew, the doctor gave me something for my anxiety. After a surgery I don't remember, I was wheeled into a recovery room where the nurses taped a postcard to my door. The leaf on the postcard told the whole hospital there had been a loss. </span>When they handed me my tiny baby I remember thinking that he wasn’t any bigger than a leaf himself. He had fingers and toes. His eyes were closed like he was sleeping. He was perfect.<br />
<span class="s1"></span><br />
<span class="s1"></span>David called our priest who referred us to a funeral home. Andrew was cremated and placed in a tiny acorn shaped urn. My doctor assured us we could still have another child, but it might take up to a year to get pregnant. At that point, I couldn’t imagine ever trying again.</div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">The weeks following Andrew’s death are a blur. I returned to my job with the Catholic Church in October. Social services is among the most emotionally draining fields to be in under the best of circumstances. I could tell my heart wasn’t in it any more. I was struggling to connect with people. My patience wore thin quickly and I just wasn’t myself. Part of me was missing and I didn’t know how to fill it. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">By Christmas, we knew we were pregnant again. I was terrified. The pregnancy was surprisingly easy. No morning sickness. Lots of exhaustion, but that was to be expected given I was of “advanced maternal age”. We told the kids at the <a href="https://vimeo.com/40681879" target="_blank">halfway point.</a> Again, mixed reactions, but mostly concern mixed with fear. Katie, who was 12 at the time, was the first to show signs of excitement. </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrOFmep7s2ha5dKKWUNSmWD667pKILKgh3JfksRH_uOYnQoM-0GcmvO2iBMcnLyDtUcBlgSJfL2TNhaiIym2fjfPh8p2QeqOUKSn2fVohuslqH51EcA3FhF0ii4kgsYMvDuHsT8sbQGKxg/s1600/connell4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrOFmep7s2ha5dKKWUNSmWD667pKILKgh3JfksRH_uOYnQoM-0GcmvO2iBMcnLyDtUcBlgSJfL2TNhaiIym2fjfPh8p2QeqOUKSn2fVohuslqH51EcA3FhF0ii4kgsYMvDuHsT8sbQGKxg/s320/connell4.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Connell, 8 hours old. 8lbs 2 oz of<br />
snuggly baby goodness wearing a<br />
hat my sister made.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="s1">Connell was born in August of 2012. I'm not sure which of us was louder; his newborn cries mixed with my sobs of relief made the nurses nearly yell to talk over the two of us. </span>The same doctor who delivered Andrew calmly listened to my blubbering happiness and told me my baby was healthy and alive and I'd done everything just right. David gently brought Connell to me, all bundled up, sweet little eyes peeking over the swaddle. </div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">During the first few months of Connell's life I often slipped and called him Andrew. I don’t think anyone noticed or if they did, they didn’t correct me. I was afraid, in a lot of ways, that having another baby boy would some how make Andrew less real. What I’ve come to realize is that Andrew is always going to be real. I’m always going to miss him. It’s been more than two years and I still have teary moments when I think about him. Connell didn’t replace Andrew. Connell reminded me how to feel happy again.</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJv-QXGYsqc_1VJYyADYnhEo40gjSqSdTiZkaHZUoa8fsRBhPb26IKzxKMBnVhyphenhyphenuh9wfKqSnjeUhQmY1JYf5kMoIzVKsgZ6PzN6JvDtcuQCrg2Xv2LtI5N8u0KJSVexLyoJAVrnFQ14fMS/s1600/shoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJv-QXGYsqc_1VJYyADYnhEo40gjSqSdTiZkaHZUoa8fsRBhPb26IKzxKMBnVhyphenhyphenuh9wfKqSnjeUhQmY1JYf5kMoIzVKsgZ6PzN6JvDtcuQCrg2Xv2LtI5N8u0KJSVexLyoJAVrnFQ14fMS/s200/shoes.jpg" width="148" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pure joy. 14 months old.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">So was Connell an oops? No. Not even a little bit. Was he intentional? Absolutely. Am I insane? No. (My mother had me tested.) </span></div>
<div class="p2">
<br />
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Every year, when the leaves start to change and squirrels litter our yard with acorns, I think about what my life would have been like had Andrew lived. And I think about how grateful I am that Connell is here and healthy, helping me find joy when I wasn’t sure there was any left. I don't know why I lost Andrew and I know I never will. But occasionally I see changes in all of us because of Andrew and I know, as a family, we are better because we loved him. And I know he loved us.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0