tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-240283362024-03-08T14:01:03.274-05:00Baby BangsSons are a heritage from the LORD, children a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are sons born in one's youth. Psalm 127:3-4Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.comBlogger933125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-43874633308700770202023-11-27T15:42:00.003-05:002023-11-27T15:55:28.672-05:00Senior Year<p><span style="font-size: large;">Hi. I "got nails" last week for Melissa's wedding and it's not that easy to type. I think it had been 11 years since the last time I tried to have long nails. I'll get annoyed having to go in every two weeks but maybe I won't mind now that I don't need a babysitter. Annabeth is almost 15 and she enjoys getting her nails done whenever she has some cash. It'll be fun to do together. One time I tried to do eyelash extensions but they were way too fussy for me. They were really pretty though. It annoys me that we keep adding things that women have to do to keep up.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Do you ever feel like you can't talk about anything if you can't talk about the real things? Gosh, so much has happened in the six years since I last posted. We had Hurricane Harvey, which impacted all of our lives in Houston so much. Our church was heavily involved in the cleanup. I got severely depressed soon after that and honestly fought for my life for the next year. A flaming dumpster of trauma was like "Hey girl," and I had to face it. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">COVID-19 changed the world.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We moved to Springfield, Missouri, in the summer of 2020 with a sixth grader, a ninth grader, and a 4-year-old. </span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We took a break from church ministry. Curt works at Convoy of Hope, which is an incredible organization working around the world and in the U.S. After what we were involved in with Harvey, it makes so much sense to me.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">We found a sweet local church where Curt now serves part-time.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">I was the PTA secretary for Willa's school last year. It was hard! I took the year off because JACKSON is a SENIOR. What on earth? I serve on the church's missions board and I get to help out at a food pantry every month.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: large;">Parenting teens has brought me to my knees many, many times. MANY TIMES. When it's good, it's so very good though. Willa, age 8, is a firecracker but she's still in the sweet imagination years. She loves her friends. Her bestie lives across the street and they're both the babies of families with teenagers. They're the kids I griped about when mine were little because they knew too much. </span></p><p><span style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">This blog was the first place I shared about Jackson, so it seems fitting to post a few senior pictures here.</span> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5rVDe8CoUhg8yLjHKumZHt8y-tjvaLRsBD_ipa1vjI79l8eRBKvzY7PJXhvCof8ZTekfxAwvLm0-cSFKgF7MB8orYqYpc5gZ3DGW-mbJSIBs-A2Toofn3jgKYzT0hdcdd9iVo4MMyvR6WVnSTnkrkPFwz0Qbnom7ybmjnWpTV2YzIFeBHPBAf/s3240/jackson-15.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5rVDe8CoUhg8yLjHKumZHt8y-tjvaLRsBD_ipa1vjI79l8eRBKvzY7PJXhvCof8ZTekfxAwvLm0-cSFKgF7MB8orYqYpc5gZ3DGW-mbJSIBs-A2Toofn3jgKYzT0hdcdd9iVo4MMyvR6WVnSTnkrkPFwz0Qbnom7ybmjnWpTV2YzIFeBHPBAf/s320/jackson-15.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAKpmx4_8UW_npHMCAiDANHRke9gGGsLN8LqHqfRTTNXZyVbP8eSd3I3hMqiwrfS8ZvF85cj6uhOxrAj2Xn5gY0oeuiD78IgWhL-yGpneKrhVRnE4VUuxdwpIRYb-qHMg1y8dtUOW6bz9kltTZ7lH0kX-beioiKskiCcf27absmjgXzTVgjDvC/s3240/jackson-61.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAKpmx4_8UW_npHMCAiDANHRke9gGGsLN8LqHqfRTTNXZyVbP8eSd3I3hMqiwrfS8ZvF85cj6uhOxrAj2Xn5gY0oeuiD78IgWhL-yGpneKrhVRnE4VUuxdwpIRYb-qHMg1y8dtUOW6bz9kltTZ7lH0kX-beioiKskiCcf27absmjgXzTVgjDvC/s320/jackson-61.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_nWKUeC5EroLODUln_NrdcHDYc9zrvQWrAa06_A62Atc9kfgmtALbkcKVpmC-DpFWHwEy1NFI-_eTgm2h-aTMJLNT3WP6Avx0-5r1w38u7I_hpaJOyP3Cxl_XSk07ui5Jdpv59brxRKgf_PUo2HbvGWGwRrOYX4r4EyxqQgIUEi1huF5MDkyC/s3240/jackson-18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_nWKUeC5EroLODUln_NrdcHDYc9zrvQWrAa06_A62Atc9kfgmtALbkcKVpmC-DpFWHwEy1NFI-_eTgm2h-aTMJLNT3WP6Avx0-5r1w38u7I_hpaJOyP3Cxl_XSk07ui5Jdpv59brxRKgf_PUo2HbvGWGwRrOYX4r4EyxqQgIUEi1huF5MDkyC/s320/jackson-18.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWugVqUetq5LvC567ia-1JI87cvSwEFp75KBhelNU6Pz7hCOGdrejyJDZRFY6Q3ojwyu77mUu0te8rxKnsGNcA9jQm4KQ-B8hoIOQNXNu5bZVsrkX1CHY0UDITZaC8BKXCkFF1uDw3Kl2FK3UkJsOXU1tID_OHScugtB1j1KMsX0LvXVx0CcU2/s3240/jackson-29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWugVqUetq5LvC567ia-1JI87cvSwEFp75KBhelNU6Pz7hCOGdrejyJDZRFY6Q3ojwyu77mUu0te8rxKnsGNcA9jQm4KQ-B8hoIOQNXNu5bZVsrkX1CHY0UDITZaC8BKXCkFF1uDw3Kl2FK3UkJsOXU1tID_OHScugtB1j1KMsX0LvXVx0CcU2/s320/jackson-29.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOUx3vkSNwgYpUCEQp0GmLrth64cjWKVGD3ylEskBDVtqTRObcZxm8msJaNAWDt5QWnbMo-fC5eQvhIduSbORr3dwfASmGjOzKWGKXfDBPqtd88LzYf-4G7UGvgapBbGIVpWz7LfFmHP5xm-QbrT_T0eiypeOkvVwV2D1eL2CLqxM6Q6Tz0_cJ/s2160/jackson-49.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="2160" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOUx3vkSNwgYpUCEQp0GmLrth64cjWKVGD3ylEskBDVtqTRObcZxm8msJaNAWDt5QWnbMo-fC5eQvhIduSbORr3dwfASmGjOzKWGKXfDBPqtd88LzYf-4G7UGvgapBbGIVpWz7LfFmHP5xm-QbrT_T0eiypeOkvVwV2D1eL2CLqxM6Q6Tz0_cJ/s320/jackson-49.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbxGwlZLz_ZY6F49Thfj_LYesDR50ePXwNIw_sBXLq-TBVunQ-2TCjkOdbHFjEwG5_n3bvEKQR-eEP0UWcc0KgooozBssZbC-oDC1Gy5QhvE5yQnKNYccbSmIFP8abQ61_9tVMJQ2tIHc7Xf1vJQdPy0hHf_NvDscjMM_HD99hboVGSXnyRSNP/s3240/jackson-7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbxGwlZLz_ZY6F49Thfj_LYesDR50ePXwNIw_sBXLq-TBVunQ-2TCjkOdbHFjEwG5_n3bvEKQR-eEP0UWcc0KgooozBssZbC-oDC1Gy5QhvE5yQnKNYccbSmIFP8abQ61_9tVMJQ2tIHc7Xf1vJQdPy0hHf_NvDscjMM_HD99hboVGSXnyRSNP/s320/jackson-7.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguBGpQKClVALuP2RPSCoJKgEEoXdGX0nGccf2MUC8uMAxvmVGoMbxq8fwMZXjaDL-UsdLzJbr1oczNTEeRoB-A2ZVaPkshyphenhyphenKoR3ZrETL_9VRrYG5XHuVno5G3TGot3deJdcqr6qicUE5kliATfaspPjCplcFcw1MdyaIWtJ0UBuAdfZ9FAYe-5/s3240/jackson-38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguBGpQKClVALuP2RPSCoJKgEEoXdGX0nGccf2MUC8uMAxvmVGoMbxq8fwMZXjaDL-UsdLzJbr1oczNTEeRoB-A2ZVaPkshyphenhyphenKoR3ZrETL_9VRrYG5XHuVno5G3TGot3deJdcqr6qicUE5kliATfaspPjCplcFcw1MdyaIWtJ0UBuAdfZ9FAYe-5/s320/jackson-38.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVZQpbB8L3duCRDDewTebu21CWQ2YjwgHctf28beZxkQgg7G4v4EHObSxwVTNzzfJ0mSjrZ_otdNRymbqMHSRONrp-d5c8oFgf7eOf0ApsvBpkjMyGJO4cpWyro50tOy7DZUUZtnZmUO8vRskLSfIUpjIql6HaD_cIXl-cg29E7BYJpguj3vEt/s3240/jackson-33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVZQpbB8L3duCRDDewTebu21CWQ2YjwgHctf28beZxkQgg7G4v4EHObSxwVTNzzfJ0mSjrZ_otdNRymbqMHSRONrp-d5c8oFgf7eOf0ApsvBpkjMyGJO4cpWyro50tOy7DZUUZtnZmUO8vRskLSfIUpjIql6HaD_cIXl-cg29E7BYJpguj3vEt/s320/jackson-33.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEqhdwxwDPGiTFiblr8CKiSATiQFa6pMnexLGBsZC-ht2ltY-uslnQxibs5EoKyrfOVxldJahusaB37TQ5bJlwx2zm-dWLoqjTvYKwB9L4lZs1oq5e3GHLbO-R3fdwG1nTZ1qTcerwOhWSy6ZgtNo7zK1LgrI3URa0CxKAFdlB4gXnPQO7W4p/s3240/jackson-53.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxEqhdwxwDPGiTFiblr8CKiSATiQFa6pMnexLGBsZC-ht2ltY-uslnQxibs5EoKyrfOVxldJahusaB37TQ5bJlwx2zm-dWLoqjTvYKwB9L4lZs1oq5e3GHLbO-R3fdwG1nTZ1qTcerwOhWSy6ZgtNo7zK1LgrI3URa0CxKAFdlB4gXnPQO7W4p/s320/jackson-53.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQGJ5VSlp4NCpylEjxt0CJEkJAK1Nb3D6yfAGpjjwUVAS5OhZl0g-VrQPXgM8VuYalYCEtgPffpaeiI-XnW1YREaKxcqyFI5Vu58JyAv0JDUrZmdWoNav5Bo1Wet-yCAfb5j8MdHyxjtDnyCL3zPd_BU8FE6EKj485h0cMyEcS8Dh-ahynK0pl/s3240/jackson-32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQGJ5VSlp4NCpylEjxt0CJEkJAK1Nb3D6yfAGpjjwUVAS5OhZl0g-VrQPXgM8VuYalYCEtgPffpaeiI-XnW1YREaKxcqyFI5Vu58JyAv0JDUrZmdWoNav5Bo1Wet-yCAfb5j8MdHyxjtDnyCL3zPd_BU8FE6EKj485h0cMyEcS8Dh-ahynK0pl/s320/jackson-32.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2nJGKpaFuk7qCKDIBRHKluoUIO2shQjOXDrxu7-aHNn7t8CyRD58Vu2ewwN3EnOvoGul5ELS-x1Ey16O6zOChWgwP8UwukG4ROdnjvWBVe6EHdruM9RKnlsLjvAV2yX_Pmf_FyxOzP5YL7H98v5bMmlanbB9CRlbJ2zLYGBk0gaX0gFPIOpvr/s3240/jackson-3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2nJGKpaFuk7qCKDIBRHKluoUIO2shQjOXDrxu7-aHNn7t8CyRD58Vu2ewwN3EnOvoGul5ELS-x1Ey16O6zOChWgwP8UwukG4ROdnjvWBVe6EHdruM9RKnlsLjvAV2yX_Pmf_FyxOzP5YL7H98v5bMmlanbB9CRlbJ2zLYGBk0gaX0gFPIOpvr/s320/jackson-3.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTOGMyMe-wIp_7IV1P2mR-5wn0hHIM9JkPJuGd_tYmfUrm17fGBfoJx8ElzXBRIOmhTtYqmPlBdd3FWLRkeXIYgkaFpPIqrek_rskOyFJl2Vg0J2DHmKroWuTwAC079OhjWrQXHvtTO6usgWCN-BBjjxctYDCW2u28e7pI_aJ3qxrIADZkpb01/s3240/jackson-57.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3240" data-original-width="2160" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTOGMyMe-wIp_7IV1P2mR-5wn0hHIM9JkPJuGd_tYmfUrm17fGBfoJx8ElzXBRIOmhTtYqmPlBdd3FWLRkeXIYgkaFpPIqrek_rskOyFJl2Vg0J2DHmKroWuTwAC079OhjWrQXHvtTO6usgWCN-BBjjxctYDCW2u28e7pI_aJ3qxrIADZkpb01/s320/jackson-57.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-65405092314710736802017-06-14T14:25:00.001-04:002017-06-14T20:01:56.025-04:00Rejecting White Supremacy <div style="color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Yesterday the SBC failed to pass a motion condemning the alt right movement and white nationalism. <a href="https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2017/06/the-southern-baptist-convention-alt-right-white-supremacy/530244/" target="_blank">This article</a> details what happened. I encourage you to read the <a href="http://sbcvoices.com/resolution-for-the-2017-sbc-annual-meeting-condemning-the-alt-right-white-nationalism/" target="_blank">original resolution</a> by black pastor Dwight McKissic. It's tragic that people didn't back it as it was. Many Baptists (I hope I am accurate in saying many) were dismayed by their failure to pass this resolution and some have been working to see another form of it pa<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">ssed. I pray it does pass today, but damage has already been done. The following words poured from my heart this morning as I struggled with what happened. *Update: It did pass.*</span></span></div>
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="color: #1d2129; display: inline;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">___________________________________</span></div>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
Curtis Jones and I, and our church <a href="http://bayoucityfellowship.com/" target="_blank">Bayou City Fellowship</a>, denounce the Alt Right and everything it stands for. We renounce the influence of white supremacy in our world, in our country, in our state, in our city, in our community, in our church, in our families, and in ourselves. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
We recognize that white supremacy is deeply embedded. We recognize that powers and principalities of darkness work with the cooperation of sinful humans to manifest, maintain, and advance the evil of white supremacy throughout the earth. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
We recognize that white supremacy is especially insidious and is an affront to the Creator when it lives inside the Church. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
We renounce the privilege we hold in the world that was sinfully gained for us through the oppression of others, especially black slaves who made many of our ancestors and their future generations wealthy and powerful. We recognize that white supremacy has continued to thrive and shape-shift since the ending of slavery in the United States. We recognize that we are blind to it in many ways and we need Jesus to put salve on our eyes so that we can see. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
We confess that even when we hope or think we are getting free from this ancient stronghold, there remains a lifetime of transformation, education, repentance, sacrifice, and relational healing that must take place. We grieve our past, present, and even future participation in racial injustice. May God have mercy on us.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
We ask our black brethren and other people of color to forgive us for our grievous sins against them and their children. May God lift you up and strengthen you in every way. He prepares a table for you in the presence of your enemies. May He anoint your heads with oil and cause your cups to overflow. (Psalm 23:5)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
We pray to bear fruit in keeping with repentance. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
We offer ourselves to Jesus Christ for His glory through the work of racial reconciliation. We pray for the purification of our motives, for humility, for teachability, and for self-forgetfulness. We pray to be servants who do the work required. We pray to wash the feet of those we have hurt. We pray to love with our whole hearts.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
We look forward to the joy of worshipping at the throne of Jesus with every nation, tribe, and tongue, together reflecting the image of God.</div>
</span></div>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-23320998472262966722017-04-01T10:28:00.001-04:002017-04-01T10:29:35.854-04:00Like Storms Without Rain<div style="color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">How do we know the difference between the Holy Spirit's conviction over sin and the Accuser's game of guilt-shaming? I've been thinking about this for a few days. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #1d2129; margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This morning after the kids went to school, the sky got very dark. The wind blew the tops of the trees and the live oak leaves that have been dropping all over my yard. Thunder rumbled. It seemed to be that way for two hours with no rain. These are the perfect conditions for my tornado-phobic self to start panicki<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">ng. As the pressure builds outside it also builds in my chest. Stormy conditions without rain make me the most afraid. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="text_exposed_show" style="color: #1d2129; display: inline;">
<span style="font-family: times, 'times new roman', serif; font-size: large;">Finally, the clouds released the rain. Some small hail came down with it. It bounced off part of the roof and clinked against my kitchen windows. After about five minutes it was just rain. The thunder was gentle. My anxiety was relieved. </span><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: times, 'times new roman', serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">
</span></span>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I put Willa down in her perfectly dark nursery for her nap. My bed wasnt made yet, so I crawled in it and went to sleep to the sound of the rain. No need for a noisemaker.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">When I woke up, all the trees in our new backyard were perfectly still and everything looked washed and clean. For now, there is no yellow layer of pollen on every outdoor surface. My kids' days old chalk art is finally gone. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Spirit's work of conviction is to bring repentance and restoration. Like the storm with rain, there is an end result of peace, cleansing and life. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Accuser's work of guilt and shame does not result in iife. There is no cleansing to be had. He bullies with thunderous threats until we hide in our deepest closets. He digs up old stuff we brought to the Lord long ago. We almost can't see Jesus through the fear, anxiety and dread. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Because Jesus sacrificed his life on the cross for the forgiveness of our sins and rose again, we don't have to cooperate with Satan's guilt game. Jesus has given us the Holy Spirit to do the divine work of showing us our sin, cleansing our consciences and helping us grow toward Christ-likeness. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 6px; margin-top: 6px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The work of conviction can be difficult and painful, but there is always, always, always peace, life, and relief at the end. Let's cooperate with the Spirit and reject the shame game.</span></div>
</span><br />
<div style="font-family: 'helvetica neue', helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">
</div>
</div>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-53229864665723144872017-03-21T16:20:00.000-04:002017-03-21T16:54:16.589-04:00Boxing on Sundays <span style="font-size: large;">This is a post for my imaginary pastor's wife friends in cyberspace. I don't know your names or faces but I feel like I know you. And you know me. Some days we feel like we've been given the greatest lot in life and other days we want to warn others thinking about entering ministry to run far, far away! Haha. Don't run from God though. Seriously. He is worth anything He has called you to. </span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I recently figured out a pattern that happens on many Sunday mornings. Maybe you've experienced this. You get up early to meet with Jesus. You've learned along the way not to sacrifice your own intimacy with Him in order to serve others. Plus, you know how badly you need that time because kids, bad hair days, unexpected freeway closures, people without filters, etc. Then you're washing your hair, blow drying it, straightening it, maybe even putting it in hot rollers for a minute if you like a southern look. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">A conversation starts happening in your head. It sounds like your voice and you're talking to someone. Maybe several someones. It isn't how you normally speak to people. It sounds defensive and self-protective. A little argumentative. You try to shake it off but in a few minutes you're having imaginary conversations again. Your blood pressure is on the rise and the expression on your face while you put on your makeup is not cute. You wipe the corner of your eye because you got a little misty feeling sorry for yourself. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Hold up.</span></b></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">You realize it might be helpful to turn on some worship music, so you try that. But your good-for-nothing, cracked, already outdated one-year-old phone decides it doesn't want to play any music. Gah! </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">What is happening? </span></b></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">While you were getting ready for church, the enemy derailed you into training for a boxing match. He was in your ear coaching you, motivating you to knock the crap out of that punching bag. <i>Practice now so when the moment comes, you'll know exactly what to say. You always regret holding your tongue, don't you? Be ready! Be on your toes! </i></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">This is so tragic. Your pure-hearted devotion to Christ got twisted into something aggressive and angry. You were really looking forward to worshipping with your church family. You had it in your heart to encourage a few sisters who had a difficult week. You had asked God to guide your prayers for people and make them effective. And then this! Is this what's really in your heart? Should you even be in ministry? </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Girl, you've been in a battle. Someone does need knocking out and it's the Accuser who's been bad-mouthing your brethren. I pray God will help you and me recognize these Sunday morning attacks and teach us how not to play along with them. Worship music helps so much! Have you heard it said that worship is warfare? I love that thought. Vanquish him with your loud, glorious voice praising your God! My voice doesn't sound glorious to me, but I believe it sounds good to Him. Put on the armor of God according to Ephesians 6 as soon as you wake up. It would be better to be a couple minutes late than to walk on the battlefield without it. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">When I think about Sunday mornings in my parents' house, I can hear my mom's music blasting and I can see her scurrying through the house with at least one arm lifted in the air. All this in a fog of hairspray, of course. She looked pretty in her Sunday clothes, but she was waging war. I love it. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Be blessed, my friend! </span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-24585676299393774192016-11-26T17:31:00.001-05:002016-11-26T21:25:40.630-05:00Things That Happen to Church Planters<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Dear new or prospective church planter,</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Welcome to my very outdated and mostly inactive blog! My name is Amanda and I am married to a preacher boy from Missouri who moved down to Texas all for love. We’ve been married for 14 years and have a 10-year-old boy, a 7-year-old girl and a 1-year-old baby girl. Growing up, it never entered my mind that I might marry a man in ministry. But when I met Curtis, I fell in love and became quite willing to sign up for whatever was in his future. We were surprised to be called into church planting after our years of working in student ministry and parachurch ministry. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Our church, Bayou City Fellowship, celebrated its fifth birthday in September. My son started kindergarten right before we launched and he just started fifth grade. It’s hard to believe. We planted a second campus right after we turned two because we ran out of room for kids in the school we were leasing. Since our second campus is still so young and since our first campus recently relocated, it doesn’t feel like we are five years past our launch. Sometimes people share memories from the early days and I realize we’ve been doing this long enough for me to forget things. We’ve accumulated a nice little chunk of years. We have to get to five before we get to twenty-five, right? </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>With our first five years under our belt, I’d like to share some of the most challenging and some of the most rewarding things we have experienced as church planters.</b> I am going to start with the hard stuff so we can end on a positive note. I want to shed light on these situations so that if they happen to you, you can look at what’s real and let fear and discouragement leave quickly. I also hope someone who’s experiencing them will be encouraged to know they’re not alone. I’m praying that my words, heart, and tone will honor God and be helpful to anyone who comes across this in the future.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">In sharing some of our challenging experiences, I would never want to dishonor my beloved church, which I love deeply with my heart and spirit. Our two campuses feel like they are our children, having been birthed after months of anticipation, through very painful labor and joyful delivery. We have the privilege of serving with and ministering to some of the most loving, gracious, generous, courageous, accepting, hard-working, faith-filled, and Jesus-focused people I can imagine. God has graced us beyond our wildest dreams. But we are also a church family made up of human beings, and that means we all bring sin natures, spiritual weaknesses, old wounds, fresh wounds, church-related baggage, expectations and opinions to the table. It can get real. Very real. What a miracle it is when Jesus supernaturally binds a bunch of flawed people together into a wonderful, eclectic family. We, like every other church and every other family, have to work at loving one another well. I suppose 90% of the tough things we go through are experienced at every other church in America. So here we go… </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">10 hard things that happen when you plant a church:</span></b></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>1) You and your church will be vulnerable to controlling people who are drawn to your newness and inexperience. </b>People who were not given the platform they desired at their previous church will hope to get it from you. Over time you will discern the controlling people from the servant leaders. It is likely that they will leave when you refuse to be controlled anymore. Don’t develop a suspicious spirit about people (this is very destructive) but ask God to make you as wise as a serpent and as innocent as a dove. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>2) The enemy will carefully orchestrate “perfect storm” situations that you never could have imagined.</b> When his well planned attacks are executed, you will experience shock and awe. You will climb out of the rubble, stumble toward Jesus and fall at His feet. He will deliver you in time. You will look at Him in holy awe when He builds an even more beautiful house out of the parts that had crumbled. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>3) You will be intimidated by “everyone” and “a lot of people.” </b>These terms will be used to put pressure on you. For example, “I think we should ____ and a lot of other people do, too” is more powerful than plain old “I think we should _____.” Everyone and a lot of people can make you feel like the sky is falling. That is, until you wise up to the fact that “everyone” and “a lot of people” is usually one other person who wouldn’t bother talking directly to you about it. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>4) People will tell you they miss “the good ole days.” </b>This can sting and make you feel cruddy about the growth your church has experienced. Did you do something wrong by opening your doors to the community? Of course not. Those early seasons had their own difficulties that we don’t always remember. It was never our goal to create a spiritual country club that catered to the comfort and social needs of its members. No Spirit-led person would sign up for that. We must resist the desire to hunker down with our favorite people (gag) and keep everything the same until we die out. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>5) Your family will sometimes be treated as more than human or less than human.* </b>There will be people who flatter you and put you on a pedestal. They will think you can do no wrong. They will credit you for doing things only God can do. It will feel weird and it should. There will also be people who treat you like a door mat. They will make sure you feel guilty about taking any Sundays off. They will behave as though you don’t have feelings. They will send you anonymous emails. They want you to quit. Most people will understand that you and your family are the same amount of human as everyone else in the church.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>6) You will say painful goodbyes.</b> Some people you can’t imagine your church without will leave. Even if you totally understand their reason, it doesn’t feel good. It hurts your pride and it hurts your heart. It’ll be okay though. Be grateful for what they contributed to the church and be open to new leaders and friends. God is the only One your church can’t live without. Send them out with a blessing.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>7) You will not always approve of yourself. </b>You don’t want to need forgiveness from the people of your church, but you will. You will not be perfect. Sometimes you will be blame-worthy. Sometimes you will sabotage Sunday morning with your bad mood and it will affect the whole congregation. Sometimes you will poison the garden with your very own big mouth. It will not be long after your launch that you will walk into church with a keen awareness that you minister by God’s grace. It is not a bad thing for the leaders of the church to be the most aware of their need for Him.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>8) Given enough time, you will offend everyone and be offended by everyone. </b>You will notice that certain people don’t look you in the eye anymore. And you will catch yourself avoiding certain people. Close relationships are impossible without forgiveness and humility. Develop the ability to forgive quickly and move on. This is important for longevity. If we aren’t good forgivers and if we can’t ask for forgiveness, than we might as well leave the ministry. Forgiveness is a really big deal to Jesus. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>9) You will live under constant pressure.</b> The church is heavy. Jesus ultimately carries it, but He lets you feel quite a bit of the weight. We found a Christian counselor who is well acquainted with pastoral ministry. When the oven gets really hot we know we can go to him and talk it out. Ask God for someone trustworthy to help you process what you are experiencing. No one wants to burn out in their 30’s. It will take self-care to finish this marathon at a ripe, old age. Also, when God gives you days of lightheartedness and laughter, squeeze out every last drop. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>10) These and other hardships will purify your heart for Jesus.</b> They will keep you from loving your work, position, influence and calling more than you love God. They will protect the Priority Love. I learned this principle from my mom and I’m so thankful for the hope it gives me. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Now, on to the good stuff! </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><b><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">10 great things I hope you will get to experience when you plant a church:</span></b></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>1) You will never be bored. </b>If you’re the kind of person who needs a lot to do, you’re in the right place! One of my kids went through a season of occupational therapy and during that time I learned the term “heavy work.” Certain people require a lot of heavy work for their bodies to regulate. If you require heavy work in the physical, mental, spiritual or emotional sense, you will find church planting to be very satisfying. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>2) You will get to see many of your ministry dreams come true.</b> When you start a church from the ground up, the schedule is not too crowded to do the ministries you’re dreaming of. One of the ministry dreams I had for a long time was for our church to start an ESL program. Some amazing ladies in our church launched this beautiful ministry in the fall and it gives my heart so much joy that we can serve internationals in our community. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>3) God will send you some very special people to put their gifts into action and you will thank Him every time you see them. </b>These people are so talented, hard-working, sacrificial, and wonderful, you won’t believe it. You know you don’t deserve to have them at your church, so you will lavish praise on Jesus for His grace. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>4) Your prayer life will have an incredible opportunity to thrive.</b> Prayer should be a huge part of a church planter’s life and of the life of his church. The Lord will answer your prayers so specifically, you will fall to your knees in awe of Him. He will do miracle after miracle, big and small.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>5) There will be people in your church you love so much, you’ll wonder how you went your whole life without knowing them.</b> Relationships are the best part of church planting. Curtis and I often say, “Isn’t it weird that we didn’t even know ________ three years ago?” </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>6) You will learn to appreciate the diversity of gifts in the body of Christ.</b> You will become keenly aware of how many spiritual gifts it takes to make the ship seaworthy. As we began our church planting process, we prayed that God would bring us every spiritual gift and every part of the body of Christ to help our church thrive. And He did it! It is beautiful to see them all working together. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>7) You will be cared for by your church family. </b>I pray you will find this to be true. When we launched our church, the enemy came at my husband many nights in a row through terrifying dreams. One night, without telling us, a bunch of the men on our core team took turns praying for him every hour so he could sleep. The nightmares stopped. Also, when we had our youngest baby, people brought us meals every single night for a month. We couldn’t believe it. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>8) You will see your struggles and painful life experiences redeemed as you use them to minister to people.</b> Our prayer team is pretty big and it always amazes me when God sends a woman with a familiar struggle to pray with me. Almost every Sunday I get a taste of that redemption. Thank You, Jesus.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>9) The person who really, really doesn’t like you will probably not stay. </b>I can’t imagine why anyone would stay at a church plant when they don’t like the pastor. It wouldn’t really pay to stay and be grumpy and try to outlast them.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><b>10) For the pastor’s wife, there’s no collective pressure to be like the one who was there before you. </b>You may feel more free to be yourself instead of fitting into a mold. At first, you will probably serve in the areas with the biggest need, but over time you will be able to serve where your gifts and passions align. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
</div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Friend, I pray a blessing on you and your family as you seek God's will for your ministry. May you hear His voice, have His vision, be given the strength of His hands and the steadiness of His feet. And may your heart only and always be His. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">*I got the concept of “more than a human” and “less than a human” from a book called <i>Twenty Things Adopted Kids Wish Their Adoptive Parents Knew</i> by Sherrie Eldridge a few years ago. Eldridge quoted speaker and author John Bradshaw from his book <i>Homecoming. </i>He wrote about toxic shame that can cause individuals to be more than human (ex: perfect) or less than human (ex: a slob). He says healthy shame allows us to make mistakes, which are an integral part of being human. You can read it in context <a href="https://books.google.com/books?id=BNHH0-iwE8AC&pg=PT152&lpg=PT152&dq=adoption+more+than+human+less+than+human&source=bl&ots=9mybjsatSb&sig=MfMg-Boid9fVmfnp8p40iKafFOs&hl=en&sa=X&ved=0ahUKEwiOms_sh8_OAhUDSiYKHQGXCmkQ6AEISTAG#v=onepage&q=adoption%20more%20than%20human%20less%20than%20human&f=false" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; min-height: 13px;">
<br /></div>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-82417512448485543612016-05-04T14:24:00.000-04:002016-05-04T21:01:35.156-04:00In Honor of the Time I Asked Google if I Should Have a Third Child<span style="font-size: large;">Last night I came into the living room and found my husband playing "Butterfly Kisses" from his phone and singing it to Willa. I asked him if he was doing some emotional cutting. He was just being silly and in love with his baby girl. In that corny and sweet little moment, I remembered how we had struggled so much over the decision to have a third baby. And here was my husband singing one of the sappiest songs of all time to her. It seems ridiculous now that this was once a hard decision. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPiAvn88_nPO8VcW_ZrcUx0neSmqfdP3HRvyrcmFS5GgYjmqxVdK-BndO0NEshVmTLxVbme27nslyzDx53eZ1ihcVeicUpgBymO0jFz27lFck_SjcA9oJTF9hfay2nJzsKGvUW/s1600/IMG_6072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPiAvn88_nPO8VcW_ZrcUx0neSmqfdP3HRvyrcmFS5GgYjmqxVdK-BndO0NEshVmTLxVbme27nslyzDx53eZ1ihcVeicUpgBymO0jFz27lFck_SjcA9oJTF9hfay2nJzsKGvUW/s320/IMG_6072.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">One day when I was feeling torn about whether we should leave well enough alone or try to have another child, I googled "Should I have a third baby?" I was really hoping to find an amazing blog post where some mama would show me the way and answer this question for me. I read a few things but none of them satisfied me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">One of my struggles was that Annabeth was already in kindergarten (her big brother was in third) and this would be like starting over. But while my year of freedom had some definite perks, I felt sad when I saw other moms out with their kids during the day. I avoided going inside Chickfila during breakfast or lunch because it made me emotional to see a million little kids and their moms. I realized that the point of life was not to get my kids raised as quickly as possible so my husband and I could live some fantasy life of relaxation, travel, and date nights. Some of that is good, but it was not what God intended our lives to be about. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_LEKy5xwleZkHOdT494Zj81Hx8TMi9rEeMMigwQX3EZYJLWobrdVeaI6aVliciR3V6ST7_sdXHZvEfAxZXDm8YmOGSOPH166kMmOzzdkL6RDQt3vWYPF3VEqeUgdaGiHO96p_/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_LEKy5xwleZkHOdT494Zj81Hx8TMi9rEeMMigwQX3EZYJLWobrdVeaI6aVliciR3V6ST7_sdXHZvEfAxZXDm8YmOGSOPH166kMmOzzdkL6RDQt3vWYPF3VEqeUgdaGiHO96p_/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="249" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I also struggled with my age. I would be considered advanced maternal age with any future pregnancy. My mom was really young when she had me and when I calculated how old my sister and I were by the time she was 35, it freaked me out. (I was in 8th grade by then. Eek!) But I realized that if a peer came to me and asked "Am I too old to have a baby?" I would've said, "No! Absolutely not. Go for it!" Why couldn't I tell myself the same thing?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">On November 11, 2014, our dear friends Cassi and Dustin had their first baby - a sweet little girl named Sadie. Curtis and I were so excited for them and we were up at that hospital as soon as we heard that she'd been born. Being in the hospital and holding that little bundle - we looked at each other and knew we wanted to do this again. It was a few months before we were expecting. Guess what my due date was? November 11, 2015. The Odoms are expecting their second baby and their due date is actually Willa's birthday. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I will never forget telling our kids that we were going to have a baby. We were in the back booth at a restaurant called Newks. I had horrible morning sickness and the only thing I could stand to eat at that point was soup, which Newks has in abundance. When we told them, they both started bouncing up and down on the cushiony bench and asking a hundred questions. It was the best. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOru-GfAZXJoB2n2XJLiSz9gNnPAZFwEpqfpolKktqOuq17TPNj5028pXxfkI23cTx53T4uDhyKvEs76ghQYqrBKrTUwN_D3mKTqwrLMc484S9qLcSN0STIHu3BwmM0gLrQzw0/s1600/IMG_6169.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOru-GfAZXJoB2n2XJLiSz9gNnPAZFwEpqfpolKktqOuq17TPNj5028pXxfkI23cTx53T4uDhyKvEs76ghQYqrBKrTUwN_D3mKTqwrLMc484S9qLcSN0STIHu3BwmM0gLrQzw0/s320/IMG_6169.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Around twenty weeks, we took them out of school early so they could be at the gender-revealing ultrasound. We had intended to let it be a surprise but we were weak - oh so very weak! We decided it would be beneficial for the kids not to get their heart set on one gender and to give them time to prepare before the birth. I was totally convinced the baby was a boy. When the ultrasound tech announced it was a girl, I very loudly said, "WHAT?!?!" Haha. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Annabeth walked on air for the next 24 hours and Jackson sulked. Bless his heart. Even so, I promise you he wouldn't trade that baby sister for anything in the world. On Monday, Willa Rose had her six month doctor visit and got some shots. That evening she was pretty weepy and my sweet boy said, "Willa, I'm so sorry about your shots. I wish I could've tooken them for you." I died. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Pm_acNWYLNMdvdcQvZ44lUAZASl5QR3wWBaddNOw0RnbIxc4a40OQcCCc00syrf88bNCxP3bm2cjSHU_rzIPj_x8GHz12qt8sHaxga1twql2XsZgVGbyabjIbzc-BT4mYHzO/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9Pm_acNWYLNMdvdcQvZ44lUAZASl5QR3wWBaddNOw0RnbIxc4a40OQcCCc00syrf88bNCxP3bm2cjSHU_rzIPj_x8GHz12qt8sHaxga1twql2XsZgVGbyabjIbzc-BT4mYHzO/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="251" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I thought by the time the baby was 6 months old, the honeymoon would be over for the big kids and their enthusiasm toward her might lessen. That has not been the case at all. The more interactive she's gotten, the more eager they are for her to wake up in the morning and the happier they are to come home and play with her. Annabeth walked in the door yesterday, didn't even say hi to her dad and me, and whisked the baby right out of Curt's arms. I know that Jackson and AB will have plenty of days when they get annoyed by their pesky little sister, but their relationships with her are so dear. I think Willa's a very lucky girl to have them. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRDEdw_8tq-PCyZJIQkcDRvDDeSwMihIIWPCTEyylTgtINN3j0Kd3KnRrRACw0jqqLmhSHBZFMJSLMvjhk_0F9A7Gw8JXcLzKlt83YtWw7QUOhrneGWVTMRtN8T6hbfxEAWCeo/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="font-size: medium; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRDEdw_8tq-PCyZJIQkcDRvDDeSwMihIIWPCTEyylTgtINN3j0Kd3KnRrRACw0jqqLmhSHBZFMJSLMvjhk_0F9A7Gw8JXcLzKlt83YtWw7QUOhrneGWVTMRtN8T6hbfxEAWCeo/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="222" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Having a big gap between your kids is not super common, but there are some really special things about it. For example, Annabeth came to my baby shower and helped me open the presents. I bought her a corsage and made a big deal about it with her. I love that she will be able to remember it. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcX77To79T3Tns_YOHqKC-4WeY5Q_H-yTXnwf4c7wp4M-zirqT5mMjQ4KvIM-yUsGqeVwAFoFTsJLMbDDifOZDMJrbItpQf8fMSTSu_5txNBIiVuwbmKhkjGXfFWNX8wFpqO0F/s1600/IMG_0844.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcX77To79T3Tns_YOHqKC-4WeY5Q_H-yTXnwf4c7wp4M-zirqT5mMjQ4KvIM-yUsGqeVwAFoFTsJLMbDDifOZDMJrbItpQf8fMSTSu_5txNBIiVuwbmKhkjGXfFWNX8wFpqO0F/s320/IMG_0844.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Also, my time alone with Willa during the day reminds me so much of the best parts of having your first kid. If we want to snuggle on the couch the entire day, we can. I don't have to jump up to help someone go to the bathroom or get a cup of juice. Now our early mornings and evenings are crazy - getting the kids ready for school and doing their various activities - but I figure it all balances out. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpif2Fb1HeEZKUZKW4vdT9DAG9yze_PEvTKUFc59qjONgmsMTPOtfkZ9hkgwnSHEfQxtR0K_s7Qx_nhGFc-FKUCxk33q6UG7qrXJiRMhRwM_2zkcFDRnuhtWXjTx8NtAWGL3iq/s1600/IMG_6415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpif2Fb1HeEZKUZKW4vdT9DAG9yze_PEvTKUFc59qjONgmsMTPOtfkZ9hkgwnSHEfQxtR0K_s7Qx_nhGFc-FKUCxk33q6UG7qrXJiRMhRwM_2zkcFDRnuhtWXjTx8NtAWGL3iq/s320/IMG_6415.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I want to say something to any young mamas reading this post who are overwhelmed with little ones right now. They are going to grow out of some of the things that drive you crazy. They will be potty trained. They will let you sleep late-ish on Saturday mornings. They will be able to fix their own cereal. They will get old enough to go almost anywhere with you without giving you a panic attack. When that happens and you're able to get some rest, you might have the desire and the bandwidth for another kid. When Jackson went to Kindergarten I enjoyed him immensely. The elementary years are so fun. No one told me! That's when I first started thinking that we should've had more kids. Before that I was too tired and overwhelmed to imagine it. Consider this before you take steps to make your family size permanent. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">To any mama who might come across this post after asking Google if she should have a third kid, I can't show you the way or make the decision for you. And this post is not amazing. But I can tell you our family has treasured every single day with Willa. We know the hard parts aren't forever, so we don't dwell on them. We feel extremely graced to have her with us. May God give you wisdom as you decide and bless your family in every way. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com29tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-8971262660449346452016-04-24T12:00:00.000-04:002016-04-24T12:00:01.011-04:00Willa's Birth Story - Part 2<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><a href="http://babybangs.blogspot.com/2016/04/willas-birth-story-part-1.html" target="_blank">Part 1 is here.</a></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I nearly fell out of the bed. I’m not sure why I was shocked since I had labored in the night and we had voluntarily driven ourselves to the hospital. But when I wasn’t further dilated and they tried to stop my labor I just wrote the whole thing off. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The ultrasound had showed that our baby was really sleepy and wasn’t moving around as much as she should’ve been. They had spoken with my doctor and he wanted her to go ahead and come that day. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">They got us settled into a nice little delivery room. My nurse was named Hanna and she was excellent. She was kind, a good listener, attentive, patient, gentle and smart. I remember seeing the baby station and bassinet and it was so wild knowing that all of it was for <i>my baby</i>. And she would use it <i>today! </i></span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I got my epidural early on. I was really nervous about it because I had started to pass out after my last one and had to have oxygen. Nurse Hanna stood in front of me and let me hold onto her. She told me to breathe and talked to me to help me stay calm. The anesthesiologist was a woman and she was wonderful. It was the least painful one of my three. A few minutes later I was still doing great but then the room started getting dark and I felt like I was going to black out. The doctor and nurse shifted my body to one side and kept it from happening. I’m not sure why my body does that. I was totally fine after that. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Curtis, my mom, Melissa and Crista were with us at the hospital during my labor. It was a happy and fun atmosphere in the room. We talked about the Lord’s goodness a lot. Curtis played my favorite worship songs on his phone. I hadn't slept the night before so the epidural made me very loopy. If someone spoke to me, it took me about 5 seconds to respond. The doctor came in to see me and broke my water at some point. He thought I would have the baby around 6 or 7 that evening. I thought it would be earlier based on my past labors. Around 3 I told Mom and Lis and Curtis to go get some lunch. They had been awake for hours and hadn’t eaten. Crista stayed with me and we watched my contraction monitor for fun. All of a sudden I felt pressure and Crista said, “Whoa! That was a really big one!” I was so thankful for my epidural. Nurse Hanna, who had been monitoring me from her station, burst in a couple seconds later and asked how I was feeling. Crista left and the nurse checked me. I was a 10! Crista texted Curtis, who was in the middle of the sky bridge that connects the hospital to a shopping mall, and told him to get his butt back to the room. Mom and Melissa had just ordered a nice lunch at Churrasco’s nearby and had to come right back. Oops! </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It wasn’t long before my room was emptied of the people I knew and filled mostly with people I’d never met until that day. Curtis, of course, was by my side. He counted and I pushed and at 4:44 PM, that sweet Willa Rose Jones was born. As with her sister, the cord was wrapped around her neck. She cried a little but when they laid her on my chest she got very still and seemed to fall asleep. That moment is supposed to be really sweet and bonding and everything, but it scared me to death. I thought something was really wrong with her because she wasn’t moving around. The nurses eventually got a little nervous too and took her to the baby station. They did what they do and the baby was fine. (Remember how they’d said she was “sleepy” in the womb?) My doctor and all the nurses sang Happy Birthday to Willa while they were working on her. They wiped her off and put her in a blanket for me. Curtis and I marveled at this priceless treasure we had just been given. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">About an hour later, my mom and Melissa came in. Then Crista and her son Noah came in. It was a joy to introduce everyone to our new daughter. Later in the evening, my dad brought my grandmother and Jackson and Annabeth. My mom says that she’s never seen a happier little family than the first time the five of us got to be together in the hospital room. There are many things I can’t recall, but I remember Annabeth arriving in some leggings and a t-shirt. Apparently my dad didn’t know that she was supposed to have a skirt on over it. Ha! I think my first postpartum meal was a burrito from Freebird’s. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We hated to say goodbye to our sweet Nurse Hanna when her shift ended. I wanted to keep her. Before she left, she told us that on her way to work she always prays for whomever she will meet that day. Willa’s birth had already been covered in prayer before we met her. How precious is that? </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Our night nurse was Pat and she gave Willa her very first bath in the sink in our room. I’m kind of old school and I was looking forward to her getting a thorough cleaning. Nurse Pat was really funny and kept me giggling through the night. She helped me get out of bed those first few times, which is a traumatic part of the whole process. You really want great people with you for the first 24 hours. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Curt’s Mom and Dad spent the entire day driving from Missouri and they made it late that night. We got to see them for a little while before they checked into the hotel connected to the hospital. The Lord has been so kind to us with the births of each of our children. Despite distances and crazy travel schedules, all three of our kids got to meet their four grandparents on the day they were born. I’m so grateful. That day we also saw Corey, Cassi and Dustin, and Crista’s husband Brian. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The baby and I had a hard time falling asleep. Gone are the days when you could send your newborn to the nursery at night. Hospital policy is now to keep the baby and mama together at all times, unless the baby is having a test done. There are mostly pros to that, but one con is that it’s against the rules to sleep while the baby is in your hospital bed. There aren’t that many ways to comfort a crying baby in the middle of the night when you’ve just given birth. I couldn’t get up yet without great effort, nor could I even lift her out of the bassinet from my bed. So I finally cradled her around my stomach on the Boppy (in the very spot where she used to kick me at night) and we both snoozed a little bit. It was as close to the womb as she could get. The baby on the other side of the wall from us cried all night long and I felt so bad for the mama. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The next morning my mom came to the hospital and continued the tradition of drying my hair for me. It’s so awesome that she does that. We had lots of new visitors, including the Parkers, the Moseleys, Alicia, Laura, Cassi and Sadie, the Altics, and Christine. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Our third day in the hospital was very strange. While it was still dark, a nurse came in with a special bassinet with lights on it. Willa’s bilirubin was high. (Being born a bit early caused her system to operate slowly and this was one of the effects.) She had to lay under the lights the whole day. We were really upset that we couldn’t hold her. But if she didn’t spend enough time in there, she might not be discharged with us later that day. We prayed hard that that wouldn’t happen. Ralph and Jane Borde came to see us, which was really fun because their baby was going to be born in that same hospital two months later. They helped take our minds off the jaundice drama.</span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Willa Rose passed her blood test that evening and we got to take her home. We picked up a pizza and salads on the way home and then started our life as a family of five together. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Even though we were really happy, that first week was extremely stressful. I ended up wishing Willa had been born a couple weeks later and avoided the jaundice drama. We were discharged on a Wednesday and had to be at our pediatrician’s office every morning - bright and early - for the next three days for a bilirubin check. On Saturday morning I had to take her to an after hours clinic in order to do that. I had to show up before it opened to make sure they got us in before all the sick kids showed up. At that appointment I found out that Willa had to go back to the hospital for more phototherapy. There was no way to get us the equipment required to treat her at home since it was the weekend. I was in a bit of shock. I was incredibly exhausted, my body was still in pain, and my emotions were wacky. By God’s grace alone I was able to deal with that news without having a meltdown. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Willa and I checked into Texas Children’s Hospital in Katy later that morning. She had to be under the lights as much as possible, so I pumped milk for her so her time outside the glowing bassinet would be minimal. I also pumped so that we could be sure she was drinking enough to flush the jaundice away. She was not a good nurser and we didn’t really have time for her to get good at it. It was hard, again, not to be able to hold my baby as much as I wanted. She got very restless and was constantly ripping off her little eye mask and flipping her body around. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The nurses and doctors at this hospital were incredible, although I hope I never have a reason to go back there again. It’s a very sobering place. When I felt overwhelmed, I remembered that any one of the parents in that building would trade places with me. I think jaundice is probably the most minor thing you can be admitted for. We had a male nurse and I would've adored that if I’d been there with Jackson, but it was a little weird for me since I was in a postpartum state and pumping non-stop. I just had to get over it. He was very professional and wonderful with Willa. (I’m super thankful for male nurses, by the way. Curtis had one during his hospital stay six years ago and he was tremendous.)</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The next morning my baby girl was discharged and we picked up celebratory donuts and kolaches on the way home. It was like a little party around our breakfast table. Willa had finally kicked the jaundice! We had a couple more bili checks that week (her poor heels!) and then our lives finally calmed down. I got to sit on my couch and snuggle my newborn in my pajamas for hours on end, just as I had imagined. </span></span><br />
<div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-78074295301848027552016-04-23T23:47:00.001-04:002016-04-24T15:49:00.814-04:00Willa's Birth Story - Part 1<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; min-height: 13px;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></div>
<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I can't believe I waited six months to write about Willa's birth. I tried to do it when she was a newborn, but my brain was so mushy I could hardly put a whole sentence together. This took me the whole day to write and is probably not much better than what I would've come up with on three hours sleep. It's overly detailed but I will thank myself for that in a few years. Here is part 1 of Willa Rose's birth story. </span></span></i><br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">The Friday before Willa’s birth, Curtis and I had to go shopping for a new washer and dryer. Our 11-year-old set had finally kicked the bucket. We had lunch at Salata and I ate all the ice I could get. I had developed an insatiable craving for ice in my third trimester (low iron causes this) and theirs was the perfect shape and softness. My craving was so fierce, I had actually lost a couple of pounds because I was preferring ice to food. </span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We walked next door to the Sears appliance store where the salesman showed us a simple washer/dryer set that would be big enough for a family of five. It arrived the next day. We had been tempted to see a movie instead and go appliance shopping later, but I’m glad we decided to be adults that day and take care of business. I came to see the whole thing as God’s providence. </span></span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">On Saturday I was supposed to be part of the A21 Walk For Freedom downtown. I was pretty run down from a cold and was having a ton of Braxton Hicks contractions. At my OB appointment the Thursday before, my doctor said I was starting to dilate and while he thought I’d make it another week, it could be soon. Worried I wouldn’t be able to keep up the pace with the other walkers and with my doctor’s words ringing in my head, I decided to spend the day close to home. If this was my last Saturday before baby, I had a lot to do!</span></span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Priority number one was to have a pedicure. I value having nice toes to look at when all dignity is shed during the birthing process. Annabeth and I went to my favorite nail salon and had our toes done. She was very ticklish during her foot scrub and it made me laugh. My heart was tender to my girl because she was about to move from being the baby of the family for six years to being a big sister. She was so excited but I knew it would be an adjustment for her. Having this girl time together made me feel more peaceful. After our pedis, we went next door and had Chinese food. Once our nails were dry enough, we ventured to Target to get last minute items like baby shampoo and newborn diapers. It was surreal to buy those things because they’re sort of the last stuff you get before baby comes. Meanwhile, Curtis was at home cleaning out the garage. He was totally nesting. The kids and I hung out at home that night while he prepared his sermon for the next morning. </span></span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">During my third trimester, Sundays were pretty hard on my body. Getting myself ready in a hurry, driving to church, walking around, standing during worship, and wrangling the kids sent my Braxton Hicks contractions into overdrive. One Sunday at about 34 weeks, I thought I was going into labor on the way home from church. After drinking a bunch of water and taking a long bath, my contractions chilled out. After that, I resolved to sit down during worship and only come for one of our two services. It seemed silly to already be at that point when I was more than a month out from my due date, but the truth is, this was my third pregnancy and I was six years older than the last time I’d had a baby.</span></span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">That final Sunday we were at our Cypress campus. I remember struggling with what to wear - now nine months pregnant - and settling on a billowy and comfy black cotton dress. I was trying not to be vain about things but it’s definitely hard not to be self-conscious at the end of pregnancy. Everyone asked me how much longer I had. I figured I couldn’t possibly last more than two weeks, but hopefully less! We normally go out to lunch after church but that day I told my husband I just needed to go straight home and get in my bed. Stick a fork in me, I was done. </span></span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">In the late afternoon we drove out to my parents’ house in the country. They had a big quilt spread out on the grass with some pillows. Mom had a conference that weekend and she had spent the afternoon out there reading and resting. I laid my tired, sore, contracting body down on the blanket and looked up at the green trees and the blue sky. Memaw had brought a big jar of oatmeal raisin cookies and they tasted so good. Even though my body felt terrible and I was weary of being large and weak, the afternoon was nothing less than dreamy. It was beautiful and peaceful and everyone was taking care of me. Mom had to help me get up when it was time to go inside for dinner. We had fajitas but I couldn’t eat very much because my stomach didn’t feel very good. </span></span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">By this time I thought labor could be pretty soon, or I deeply wished it would be. I couldn’t imagine carrying on much longer in that state. I told my mom and grandmother it could be the next day. Mom said she would not turn her ringer off during the night, just in case. </span></span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">We went home and got the kids in bed. I took my nightly warm bath to calm down the contractions that I had every evening. Curtis and I settled down on the couch to watch TV. I started logging my contractions on an app just to see. For some reason Curtis started having an allergic reaction and his whole body was itching. He took two Benadryls and then went to bed. Meanwhile, I continued to have a lot of contractions. Eventually I got in bed, but I was having too many to be able to sleep. Another bath didn’t stall them. They didn’t hurt yet but they squeezed my abdomen pretty hard. My stomach was upset, too. I prayed to God that if this wasn’t the real thing, He would make it stop and let me fall asleep. I mean, my husband was passed out on Benadryl so this was not ideal timing! Somehow I did fall asleep for an hour or so. I woke up to some cramps that did not feel good. My contractions came quicker now and I decided it was time. </span></span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">I packed my bag and then woke Curtis up. I told him I had been up all night and it was time to go to the hospital. He jumped out of bed and shook off the Benadryl. It was about 4 AM. I texted my mom so she would know that it was game time. I texted our sweet babysitter and her mom, who live a couple streets over, but they didn’t wake up. Then I texted my best friend Crista and asked if we could drop the kids off at her house. She fed them breakfast, got them dressed and off to school before joining us at the hospital. <br />
</span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">Curtis and I headed out on our 25 minute journey to the hospital. By now it was 5 AM and, thankfully, slightly too early for rush hour. I hoped my contractions weren’t subsiding but I thought they were a little bit. By the time we parked I was losing confidence. We checked in on the third floor and sat in the waiting room for a few minutes. No one else was there but eventually some other couples showed up for their scheduled c-sections and inductions. They took us into a triage room and hooked me up to all the things. To my dismay, I was not any more dilated than I had been at my doctor’s appointment a few days before. I couldn’t believe it. </span></span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">It was now that a tiny factor began to influence the course of our week. </span></span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">According to my calculations, I was 37 weeks to the day. But according to my doctor’s records, I was two days shy of that. At the beginning of my pregnancy I did not try to argue with them about my due date, but in the end I wished I had. Since they believed I was only 36 weeks, the hospital wanted to stop my labor. The nurse gave me an IV bag to hydrate me, but it didn’t stop my contractions. Then they ordered a very long and unpleasant ultrasound session. I was wheeled down into a room where they poked and prodded my belly until I wanted to cry. Curtis and I felt stupid for coming to the hospital. In my very pregnant and emotional state, I felt like I was just being used to help one technician train the other. They wouldn’t tell me what was going on the whole time and I started to get scared. Now I know this was protocol but in the moment it was unnerving. </span></span></div>
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">They wheeled me back to the triage room and put me back in the bed. I started apologizing to the nurses for wasting their time. They were gracious and did not seem bothered by me. A little while later a nurse came in and said, “You’re going to have a baby today.” </span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="font-family: Helvetica;">
<span style="font-family: times, times new roman, serif; font-size: large;"><a href="http://babybangs.blogspot.com/2016/04/willas-birth-story-part-2.html" target="_blank">Part 2 is here.</a> </span></div>
<div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><br /></span></div>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-69496355470629427812016-03-31T17:17:00.000-04:002016-03-31T17:18:10.131-04:00An Introduction <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Hello, Blog! It's been quite a long time. You turned 10 years old this month. I can hardly believe I wrote my first post about Baby Jackson that long ago. He has grown into such a wonderful kid. He is thriving in fourth grade and I've never enjoyed him more than I do right now. He's into TaeKwonDo, is well mannered, loves to read, and is really fun to laugh with. He gets a kick out of telling me random science facts. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi34_FlXOFT8z4wEXNRkw-sM46tboQneQPlVm-7DBs-nvx8AJ1nMZcSc7SoFboeukjlHYl4uIybqXKCjdEG3Pn3fyQQKNCyFfWMzS4Lqh9VqYW-47MV4aD08RDbT8zVNZxLYXUU/s1600/Jones++022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi34_FlXOFT8z4wEXNRkw-sM46tboQneQPlVm-7DBs-nvx8AJ1nMZcSc7SoFboeukjlHYl4uIybqXKCjdEG3Pn3fyQQKNCyFfWMzS4Lqh9VqYW-47MV4aD08RDbT8zVNZxLYXUU/s320/Jones++022.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Annabeth is seven now and in first grade. She is outgoing, cheerful, and feels very comfortable being the center of attention. She loves to dance, ride bikes and play with her friends in the cul-de-sac. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXc7eR-06EwIoMn11cajZ5j86_LaO2GP2xHydwBsnFjOaOnpObhipS26_tRGt_HCh3vgcfOkK9uF-NlGowtQeTyhzxxlrcJMV8ayH98X1CE0H1bDEzXYggs8_aKUd_z1qGLAfA/s1600/Jones++029-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXc7eR-06EwIoMn11cajZ5j86_LaO2GP2xHydwBsnFjOaOnpObhipS26_tRGt_HCh3vgcfOkK9uF-NlGowtQeTyhzxxlrcJMV8ayH98X1CE0H1bDEzXYggs8_aKUd_z1qGLAfA/s320/Jones++029-2.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Well, dear Blog, there's something I've been meaning to tell you. <b>We took the plunge. </b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPjDv3JpRe2NOLirk0zzyIvhs-LR5gw80rsP_AS5CENtHmrCa0RtllF5P7faBpHEfoblyLvNPBzXBFx_hBauSIeWigAqF37SPuFrqtvX17GCvbDbPkDEVm_GowKHZgu5BRrlgA/s1600/IMG_0989.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPjDv3JpRe2NOLirk0zzyIvhs-LR5gw80rsP_AS5CENtHmrCa0RtllF5P7faBpHEfoblyLvNPBzXBFx_hBauSIeWigAqF37SPuFrqtvX17GCvbDbPkDEVm_GowKHZgu5BRrlgA/s320/IMG_0989.JPG" width="256" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">And we're so glad we did. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeZZliOxhScXY30pejHU9CvwusJc00jDKzA9Hgm8eyDOMtyWn4VMj4OB52gSbNmJ-V64MueSJrfC_m9rcThgh-Xfc0UHAv5S2MbSjjKmRW5JNKOKXmQltwEZOIdFd2k45ySa4q/s1600/IMG_1064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeZZliOxhScXY30pejHU9CvwusJc00jDKzA9Hgm8eyDOMtyWn4VMj4OB52gSbNmJ-V64MueSJrfC_m9rcThgh-Xfc0UHAv5S2MbSjjKmRW5JNKOKXmQltwEZOIdFd2k45ySa4q/s320/IMG_1064.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>Willa Rose Jones joined our family on October 19, 2015.</b> She arrived five days after my 36th birthday and was about three weeks early. She was 6 lbs. 8 oz. and 19.5 inches long. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1TX2S5JmKnOiDm-wr53uDbkEqrD4phq3uKF_244UkUT3a29sdkSfCn-PMwwcawYTLxixP1skRqtQjYgvd3tYZUrQOeIpDuS_Fzh8LRYxmC4jvs6nYbA2lIxl6vOsAO42jdmrP/s1600/IMG_1345.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1TX2S5JmKnOiDm-wr53uDbkEqrD4phq3uKF_244UkUT3a29sdkSfCn-PMwwcawYTLxixP1skRqtQjYgvd3tYZUrQOeIpDuS_Fzh8LRYxmC4jvs6nYbA2lIxl6vOsAO42jdmrP/s320/IMG_1345.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm not sure I can put into words how happy our family has been for the last five months. There is so much joy and love under this roof. What a gift from God. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The kids just got home from school and they were bummed that the baby was taking a nap. They miss her when they're gone. The way she smiles and laughs at them tells me she thinks they hung the moon. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMPksFFJARwalnNiJMd8kIguJMObSzBsqc_KpXkNYqoh4IghtvfY5HIrqlE6HxvPTTtcVIqWA7Y48CaUEbvUCDDz0AChQt7oFOsgy5yBiLfZgo_wHDrZ11_UtQ_Q2IZLuaxT5O/s1600/IMG_4559-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMPksFFJARwalnNiJMd8kIguJMObSzBsqc_KpXkNYqoh4IghtvfY5HIrqlE6HxvPTTtcVIqWA7Y48CaUEbvUCDDz0AChQt7oFOsgy5yBiLfZgo_wHDrZ11_UtQ_Q2IZLuaxT5O/s320/IMG_4559-1.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She definitely looks like Annabeth's sister, but I think she really takes after her brother. She has big blue eyes and rosy red cheeks. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicsqhAPCE9USj8IhtMpc1GFTB-CyLwyzlt21AgVcDS62aKdxK4WkjW8roKv6HuTRydsyxxKDH_OppbMopMkRztGdZi4G57NNKfjAv44W6SXJB7Kv82JdXco4o8kpHpkwsuKzsk/s1600/IMG_4087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicsqhAPCE9USj8IhtMpc1GFTB-CyLwyzlt21AgVcDS62aKdxK4WkjW8roKv6HuTRydsyxxKDH_OppbMopMkRztGdZi4G57NNKfjAv44W6SXJB7Kv82JdXco4o8kpHpkwsuKzsk/s320/IMG_4087.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Curtis is smitten with this baby girl. We both feel so graced. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Qy4kGokhgxfcyjYUTyL-hh4jfFLUwyxoIyfgIiXaYQnP5V07UHs5q72p6_WuddBZ_OErykotNIPxOp-Jf8Zohwstt-gQVTsvv46BebaUGjSylqgxRgEqpDHIzxj5VRMp2wty/s1600/IMG_2874.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0Qy4kGokhgxfcyjYUTyL-hh4jfFLUwyxoIyfgIiXaYQnP5V07UHs5q72p6_WuddBZ_OErykotNIPxOp-Jf8Zohwstt-gQVTsvv46BebaUGjSylqgxRgEqpDHIzxj5VRMp2wty/s320/IMG_2874.JPG" width="306" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Willa loves to be held and talked to. She's very vocal when she's happy. She sleeps through the night and wakes up when the big kids are getting ready for school. Right now she's teething but no teeth have poked through. She takes a few naps a day - the longest one being in the afternoon. Sometimes I have to wake her up after three hours. She likes to sleep on her tummy and sucks her hand to fall asleep. She used to require a tight swaddle, a paci, and for me to hold her just so. I was kind of sad when she passed out of that phase. I think she will start sitting up soon, which will be a lot of fun. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo0HUf0kN2QCqR0CT7syOtLf254tyzjCnZyVwSIkkOs9k9geXWKWExSVKJiAb5d6x1PA07959YWCiUh2xRslS9DXYSNZGV2JAP9SyWn-owxMQAs5oji7OphsIJ349jGOpQXSrS/s1600/Jones++001-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo0HUf0kN2QCqR0CT7syOtLf254tyzjCnZyVwSIkkOs9k9geXWKWExSVKJiAb5d6x1PA07959YWCiUh2xRslS9DXYSNZGV2JAP9SyWn-owxMQAs5oji7OphsIJ349jGOpQXSrS/s320/Jones++001-2.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Oh, and Blog? My baby bangs are starting to come in. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com37tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-12816657134726194262014-11-03T11:47:00.001-05:002014-11-03T23:26:35.324-05:00A 50's Girl and Some Guy from Star Wars<span style="font-size: large;">Last Friday was the highlight of the school year for my kids. Field day got married to Halloween and they were quite a pair!</span><br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">I volunteered to bring the ice chest for Annabeth's class and that meant I was also the Cooler Dragger. Let me just tell you, that thing was heavy with 24 kids' hard plastic water bottles inside. I will not be the sucker who volunteers for that job next year. It was fun to be with her class though. One kid asked me if I was Annabeth's mom and when I told him yes he whispered, "Whoa..."</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Annabeth got to be the line leader for the first segment of field day, which meant she and another kid got to hold the class spirit sign together. As it turns out, it's easy to feel entitled to the sign and the first spot in line all day long when you've started the day with such a privilege. I kept having to *encourage* my daughter to take her hands off the sign but she was not really feeling my authority while on the school grounds. I may or may not have threatened to "take her to the bathroom" if she didn't give the other kids a chance, to which she may or may not have responded, "I can't go to the bathroom." What a wonderful parenting moment. </span></div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">It was great seeing her enjoy field day with her friends. This was a two hour shindig for the kids and they were thoroughly exhausted before it was over. I worried we might have a long night ahead but Annabeth proved me wrong. Here she is with one of her friend-since-birth, Ellison.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy_RmJjkuYMocBahTHcuWQ1avpJify8alNklgpY8p-Korz1QbfBpX1QnWJjFtx2DCUao5azzkwa5kDxSQQcgVG_Z2XjXGYtlZOBjTtBlxdOdvSxP2Z4fP_Px4JJWPQbM20AvL2/s1600/IMG_9871.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy_RmJjkuYMocBahTHcuWQ1avpJify8alNklgpY8p-Korz1QbfBpX1QnWJjFtx2DCUao5azzkwa5kDxSQQcgVG_Z2XjXGYtlZOBjTtBlxdOdvSxP2Z4fP_Px4JJWPQbM20AvL2/s1600/IMG_9871.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Curtis came to the school for Jackson's field day and I went home and took a nap and some Tylenol.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">That evening we had a few friends come over for pizza and trick-or-treating. I am bad about having people over to our house but this is one night of the year when I really like to do it. Our little part of our neighborhood is pretty fun on Halloween. Everyone has front porches and a lot of folks sit outside and pass out candy rather than answer the door. The houses aren't on big lots so it makes the trick-or-treating very efficient for the kids. Normally I station one of my friend's teenagers at my house to pass out candy but this year I decided to man the porch myself. The dads took the kids out and everyone did great. A few of my girlfriends stopped by and we got to chat in between visits from little Elsas and Annas, Uncle Si's and Harry Potters.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">One of the things we handed out was little tubes of M&M's from <a href="http://www.fmsc.org/" target="_blank">Feed My Starving Children</a>. The kids can fill up the tubes with quarters and send them in to FMSC. The money feeds 63 children. I didn't have that many tubes so I tried to save them for the tweens. When I explained what it was, they acted really interested in doing it. I was actually pretty surprised! It was very encouraging and I hope to do something like it again next year. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I took pics of the kids when they tried on their costumes for the first time because it's much easier to get good ones at dress rehearsal than at showtime. Jackson was some guy from Star Wars named Boba Fett. I don't even know. It lit up though and he loved it. Next year he's not getting anything with a helmet because he couldn't walk around in it. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRb4qAyfMhKJEgfyIlAK73DBgVMjFeOopnP3ghMaBqGpLhZB_jUDFH3P3wLaEznBQMHEm_DG7kLkxN1Hhxx84IY6eWsiapBcNPhpkGyzs_6d-HfSOoEPuiSEqcvvI6QrQRsB12/s1600/IMG_9332.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRb4qAyfMhKJEgfyIlAK73DBgVMjFeOopnP3ghMaBqGpLhZB_jUDFH3P3wLaEznBQMHEm_DG7kLkxN1Hhxx84IY6eWsiapBcNPhpkGyzs_6d-HfSOoEPuiSEqcvvI6QrQRsB12/s1600/IMG_9332.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Here's Annabeth in her poodle skirt. No, I did not make this. Thank you, Etsy. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiClY1GSwJFhi1uNH1oe4-Tj6QX_oX1Pne6FqZoYLhIclJA2s-XeluRMnlLbaM5-o-C3WEFgLYQGHdwpXBgx_t_enUWqch2fL3Ie4ElLS0GoYPgYaq3qXtZ0ub4V_gEQ1LAQxf/s1600/IMG_9314.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiClY1GSwJFhi1uNH1oe4-Tj6QX_oX1Pne6FqZoYLhIclJA2s-XeluRMnlLbaM5-o-C3WEFgLYQGHdwpXBgx_t_enUWqch2fL3Ie4ElLS0GoYPgYaq3qXtZ0ub4V_gEQ1LAQxf/s1600/IMG_9314.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfJ8jrxAtfWuu3Tl8SEOC4FD1HxCMV5P5dnezYsp9zUsraNTWh2tNOaQWfg_8n-RHTCPS9WwQtz_pyjdTH-ccijL4rVVp1d5MDGp3kJW7Rh6ydJKuLSXWkrv19dG5N6Hg8_3pO/s1600/IMG_9316.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfJ8jrxAtfWuu3Tl8SEOC4FD1HxCMV5P5dnezYsp9zUsraNTWh2tNOaQWfg_8n-RHTCPS9WwQtz_pyjdTH-ccijL4rVVp1d5MDGp3kJW7Rh6ydJKuLSXWkrv19dG5N6Hg8_3pO/s1600/IMG_9316.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She immediately started dancing and twirling like you do when you're a girl.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0FSM7MCEDmzPIDfDQ0ZyPnEa7SGwm4S8ZK7m35B05Ca1b38RxCWCpGrT4WfiSlNCqhUAOCzC17-zkwb6n8_A0GqWw3Os3XPxEP5BE2OF_Ts6vh75pdWqSoilTFDVdariOtbuT/s1600/IMG_9320.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0FSM7MCEDmzPIDfDQ0ZyPnEa7SGwm4S8ZK7m35B05Ca1b38RxCWCpGrT4WfiSlNCqhUAOCzC17-zkwb6n8_A0GqWw3Os3XPxEP5BE2OF_Ts6vh75pdWqSoilTFDVdariOtbuT/s1600/IMG_9320.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0NnM-XQhSVL8aLFmACnmvP3g0tHR75cXJ9E1Gh8t6ptP6ehFzFfLTRthc9Cf-kaKrL8aYrV8H8D-tJa2FPkyQvGo3p8Ap-rijbgtUeuI1kEcJoc2IvbqQb-OiTuExNBpa2E4S/s1600/IMG_9323.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0NnM-XQhSVL8aLFmACnmvP3g0tHR75cXJ9E1Gh8t6ptP6ehFzFfLTRthc9Cf-kaKrL8aYrV8H8D-tJa2FPkyQvGo3p8Ap-rijbgtUeuI1kEcJoc2IvbqQb-OiTuExNBpa2E4S/s1600/IMG_9323.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Here they are on the actual night. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjax7Sz0gl4raSJavBgy_Z4dEZRhkbX7luxIZPArg7kc1nAWFGCevjbMSdxjMBu9a-9Ow_iGCn92pIeyA_2ME_ZwUF7FqMaRlJTJmE35jqNBHib8K9kztuqCR4jbRbP1EMCyq-H/s1600/IMG_9884.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjax7Sz0gl4raSJavBgy_Z4dEZRhkbX7luxIZPArg7kc1nAWFGCevjbMSdxjMBu9a-9Ow_iGCn92pIeyA_2ME_ZwUF7FqMaRlJTJmE35jqNBHib8K9kztuqCR4jbRbP1EMCyq-H/s1600/IMG_9884.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The candy crew. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiivj8Yh2WDWkd2Tfql-ztZWjFcoVvpfkLal9abU8B-hw4CANhMVQrr76LsqYDuFEENHYWc5W5BtFhWjrzJshMEOzzwrduARGZqBzzo_Rh70DULVtfGauM1t9hERDw4DOAxO8g9/s1600/IMG_7701.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiivj8Yh2WDWkd2Tfql-ztZWjFcoVvpfkLal9abU8B-hw4CANhMVQrr76LsqYDuFEENHYWc5W5BtFhWjrzJshMEOzzwrduARGZqBzzo_Rh70DULVtfGauM1t9hERDw4DOAxO8g9/s1600/IMG_7701.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Dad/Uncle/Big Brother chaperones. I hate that this is blurry.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj098UPVDvGfrURfEsM2sXarIC9_oU33hm7JpbgCORA0AMIifopzgOHSBIquaCVHGMlOBeGwTgiuSwBFgdwQmSPMxT2wWlIdi1u6OhLuDorwzCjEph7BuhtNjzJctwNCsMr1p4i/s1600/IMG_7704.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj098UPVDvGfrURfEsM2sXarIC9_oU33hm7JpbgCORA0AMIifopzgOHSBIquaCVHGMlOBeGwTgiuSwBFgdwQmSPMxT2wWlIdi1u6OhLuDorwzCjEph7BuhtNjzJctwNCsMr1p4i/s1600/IMG_7704.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Here's Abey after making her rounds. By the way, I bribed her with $5 to get her to wear the glasses. She said it would be an additional $5 if I wanted her to wear makeup. I passed on that one. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqL6lcjmRmeNxYEomu_IAkGihOU1baglzxqehq-wp09beWK5mWeS2Q2yGEqicxgBhRwhT6LVL6Q2o-pN0aNpKlX9bLpsNP1p-GVSa0XtHbR2bgMyTnE71xHk6mKpad1CGNV56W/s1600/IMG_7706.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqL6lcjmRmeNxYEomu_IAkGihOU1baglzxqehq-wp09beWK5mWeS2Q2yGEqicxgBhRwhT6LVL6Q2o-pN0aNpKlX9bLpsNP1p-GVSa0XtHbR2bgMyTnE71xHk6mKpad1CGNV56W/s1600/IMG_7706.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Here she is with Rory Jane, who was an amazing pink ninja.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWxQiVn2-rlx9ZzM2Ttzirr2Lay_ND2bZ3O1d40ZsOJFjQNutcQ3oClKaAjVAgzdMa9FP8HCLJHzQvvdRCZsliRSK2AmfmPdioy8olkN1dXWUYN8eE9prhiNfoizaxfUBOCzsR/s1600/IMG_7708.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWxQiVn2-rlx9ZzM2Ttzirr2Lay_ND2bZ3O1d40ZsOJFjQNutcQ3oClKaAjVAgzdMa9FP8HCLJHzQvvdRCZsliRSK2AmfmPdioy8olkN1dXWUYN8eE9prhiNfoizaxfUBOCzsR/s1600/IMG_7708.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Maybe it's corny to carve a cross in your pumpkin but I don't care. I was praying that people would sense peace and light when they stepped onto our property. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMVcoe__EVL6aJPiBPfq4jPmZB1mw7ZkMS-Ttf_CHZBgHwpxdDtgPxDr_GDZgcYzgfU2dbk0aG3F3roVij2zn_ozXOZsiKpLOw4AcZNBt8MX3wdM5ShiQW-P7SY6gRl0Hf71b-/s1600/IMG_9887.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMVcoe__EVL6aJPiBPfq4jPmZB1mw7ZkMS-Ttf_CHZBgHwpxdDtgPxDr_GDZgcYzgfU2dbk0aG3F3roVij2zn_ozXOZsiKpLOw4AcZNBt8MX3wdM5ShiQW-P7SY6gRl0Hf71b-/s1600/IMG_9887.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Liz and I were the candy ladies. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBhiSzGq0Q0dFIgA0D90kQK1mLZ1rP5nN2fxksm3BzXekyqdVZ1Um2lNOYopy3YLkNXLnhl5ybXCM15Qf0Oz7mV9r2fEzzQQNoAIh1-HDcmE8AKfSXHIKZ4t3MYIsLBCY6kNz8/s1600/IMG_9888.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBhiSzGq0Q0dFIgA0D90kQK1mLZ1rP5nN2fxksm3BzXekyqdVZ1Um2lNOYopy3YLkNXLnhl5ybXCM15Qf0Oz7mV9r2fEzzQQNoAIh1-HDcmE8AKfSXHIKZ4t3MYIsLBCY6kNz8/s1600/IMG_9888.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">All the kids congregated in the living room to go through their candy bags.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNekWM7caG1Qgy52NClXI089hcJ6wdB4Ngtad9RcCiL1OBkRFFr0kIy404TH4sYA93pgzuhu7U6fonDvqCNbFfEuKhBPLuB2xQx1cWRuIeOoZlusILcHBUs4cGST5LcEJG7owW/s1600/IMG_9894.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNekWM7caG1Qgy52NClXI089hcJ6wdB4Ngtad9RcCiL1OBkRFFr0kIy404TH4sYA93pgzuhu7U6fonDvqCNbFfEuKhBPLuB2xQx1cWRuIeOoZlusILcHBUs4cGST5LcEJG7owW/s1600/IMG_9894.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">They each paid me a Dots tax. I ended up with a lot more than this. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFU-43TBAuTDkZONkacC1jNbPqM-H7ap4CJlfKsM-4xzxQb3k9x7UMdAtyMk7Jn_Cx5dtihG92rt6VlfKHbAN47coO_PoY8yunFlFfrAHTZqIKUbNDSMASQDy7sTV0Z-gGoELx/s1600/IMG_9895.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFU-43TBAuTDkZONkacC1jNbPqM-H7ap4CJlfKsM-4xzxQb3k9x7UMdAtyMk7Jn_Cx5dtihG92rt6VlfKHbAN47coO_PoY8yunFlFfrAHTZqIKUbNDSMASQDy7sTV0Z-gGoELx/s1600/IMG_9895.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">When the sugar rush began, the mamas escaped to the back patio.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3fydke50MPnP87ttzhXVNYsZFLHINMytEiQfOPKNXbdoDhWRkeav7Asx3Muo7QUcNlEy9Zd8Vt2IbTnfuE1cRpGiuyamCODsbp9Wrqdp93OIq-x18PvDX7tDiyDHeSA4HqQzJ/s1600/IMG_9896.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3fydke50MPnP87ttzhXVNYsZFLHINMytEiQfOPKNXbdoDhWRkeav7Asx3Muo7QUcNlEy9Zd8Vt2IbTnfuE1cRpGiuyamCODsbp9Wrqdp93OIq-x18PvDX7tDiyDHeSA4HqQzJ/s1600/IMG_9896.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I served hot tea with Wavy Lays and ranch dip. Somehow it worked. Cheers! </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUfwX96oRmyyzO3Tc1CQouHJbeggDOWB2PPDqJZq04W40oowlbOdoZQCfc9PQ_D3dGMTiMCqnICzV6iiCzmZPEuCqCAvu7yvuZxQHzhiKWMzjkj1LOssX_8Et-aZ8TKLB9ghRW/s1600/IMG_9899.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUfwX96oRmyyzO3Tc1CQouHJbeggDOWB2PPDqJZq04W40oowlbOdoZQCfc9PQ_D3dGMTiMCqnICzV6iiCzmZPEuCqCAvu7yvuZxQHzhiKWMzjkj1LOssX_8Et-aZ8TKLB9ghRW/s1600/IMG_9899.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">And this is the pic by which I will remember Halloween of 2014. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkK5NvIfaAlGomUHMfCDo3pr67bBGwvnN5j__lSg7fhWEOBV2FYxChDu75skeM6yv_Ll8dLH25TlmuzRvosada2EMunatfelrBXFhXlP5gL0_7RF5lkV1-o2vUgC6x5cyAA65m/s1600/IMG_7696+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkK5NvIfaAlGomUHMfCDo3pr67bBGwvnN5j__lSg7fhWEOBV2FYxChDu75skeM6yv_Ll8dLH25TlmuzRvosada2EMunatfelrBXFhXlP5gL0_7RF5lkV1-o2vUgC6x5cyAA65m/s1600/IMG_7696+2.JPG" height="287" width="320" /></span></a></div>
</div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-81617813255627595352014-10-28T11:46:00.002-04:002014-10-28T11:46:22.117-04:00A Missing Season of Mentoring<span style="font-size: large;">I've been thinking a lot about how eager and willing we are to mentor younger women in their new seasons of life. Entering college, adapting to a career, being a newlywed, stepping into new ministry roles, or becoming a mom are exciting times. It can be fun and satisfying to walk with our younger friends through them. I think women are generally eager to share and pass on their knowledge. I can name every person God used to mentor me through those seasons and I'm really grateful they poured into me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">One thing I hardly ever hear other women talk about is the end of the season of childbearing. I don't mean menopause because I know for a fact that women like to talk about that. When I was a recent college grad I worked in the office at Living Proof and I got quite an education. But it seems like most women in our culture end childbearing before they truly reach menopause. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm just not sure there's a lot of mentoring in the ending of childbearing. Why do you think that is? Is it because no one hires a photographer to send out "We're done reproducing!" announcements and no Pinterest boards with great ideas for "We're moving on!" reveal parties? Is it because this isn't very exciting and therefore it's unseen? Maybe it's just too private a matter. (But let's be honest. We get down to the nitty gritty about childbirth. Do we care that much about privacy?) </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Where is the 30-day devotional about this topic? Publishers send me new books every week but I haven't come across this one yet. And I don't remember seeing it as a breakout session at a conference for moms. Maybe it was there but it just seemed irrelevant at the time.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When every mom faces the end of the baby years at some point, it seems strange that it isn't talked about more. If I'm missing the voices that are discussing it publicly, please point me in their direction. I mean that.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't know about you, but I need to hear these stories. I need to know what it looks like to move on gracefully even though there is heartache. It would be really powerful to know the stories of the older women in my village. I need to take the time to ask them these kinds of questions: Why did it end for you? Was it your decision or was it because of circumstances out of your control? Did you and your husband agree on when it was time to be done? If not, how did you come to peace? Five years later, did you have regrets? Do you have regrets now? Did it end on a high note or with trauma? Is it even possible for this season to end on a high note? Is this painful for everyone? </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I need to shut my self-important mouth and listen to them speak. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">If you have already walked this path, your wisdom has tremendous value. You may not get an announcement in the mail from the one who needs it, but she will be relieved when you come alongside her share this part of your story. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com65tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-3223168074791856982014-09-13T23:00:00.000-04:002014-09-15T09:12:52.339-04:00A Saturday in the Life <br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My girlfriends come to pick me up for a baby shower. On the way out the door I sense I need to remind my husband that when he runs errands with the kids, he needs to take them inside whatever store he goes into. He does not need to leave them in the car, even for two minutes. "But it's not even hot outside!" Suspicions confirmed. I tell my children it is illegal for them to stay in the car and they may need to remind their father. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The tissue paper in my shower gift is immediately crumpled upon entering my friend's vehicle and "My Brest Friend" peeks out the top. I say "piece of crap" in front of my friend's little girl. I may need a spanking with the wooden spoon we find in her car. I later thank the gift recipient for allowing me to buy something called "My Brest Friend."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">After the shower I horrify my children with a date to get our flu shots. The Walgreens clinic is closed but CVS has a "free flu shot" sign. The pharmacists don't seem real excited when we show up. After waiting 15 minutes, I find out the shots won't be free because of our insurance. I say I don't care at this point; I just want to get all three done in the same place. I pay. My daughter begins weeping uncontrollably. An older lady smiles at my daughter's misery and thinks I don't see her. I want to punch her. I do not.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The pharmacist comes out and gives me the first shot. I see someone I know but I don't know if she sees me. I smile like it tickled so my girl will be brave. It did not tickle. My daughter immediately runs screaming through the aisles and I have to chase her down. I have a strange sense that we might be on the news later. Or YouTube. My daughter gets her shot. The screaming is horrible. The promised toys are not picked out because I am shaking from embarrassment and need to leave as soon as possible. I tell the children that now we will have to change pharmacies because they have humiliated me and I can never go back there. They don't really know what that means.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Mom is mad. Kids are mad and sad. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I cool off and we make our way to a grocery store where we all pick out a treat. Toy is downgraded to candy. Annabeth gets Reese's Pieces, Jackson gets the Hershey Kisses with the caramel center, and I get Dots. Annabeth opens up her big bag of Reese's in the car and 60% of them spill out immediately. I open the window and tell the kids to throw those candies out so they don't later melt and make a mess. I realize the children are pelting the car next to us. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe4B04vSVZq-tYAJn6INq5Od1OO4wQ_ohjwhdfmSd1PN5rOEp4UbO6QQ-baaEaA5wEz0wjw4eO8vAHTaR-Jq9Qs1b61_STn5ZwVx9XipL8oAIh1ZeJh6UhY9PGah-LYlhxenEk/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe4B04vSVZq-tYAJn6INq5Od1OO4wQ_ohjwhdfmSd1PN5rOEp4UbO6QQ-baaEaA5wEz0wjw4eO8vAHTaR-Jq9Qs1b61_STn5ZwVx9XipL8oAIh1ZeJh6UhY9PGah-LYlhxenEk/s1600/photo+1.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We go, as planned, to Studio Movie Grill to see Dolphin Tale 2. Fifteen minutes into the movie Jackson thinks he's going to throw up. We all run out and he goes into the mens room. Annabeth and I wait for him. He comes out and says he's okay. We go back in the theater. I hear a woman behind us complain to a server that we have disrupted her peace. I ask for the check and pay for our food in case we have to leave quickly. The woman is still grumbling. A kid behind us spills her drink and it splashes on us. Jackson is still acting weird so we leave. I cannot take another embarrassing scene today. Annabeth does not follow us out and I stand on the side trying to coax her without disrupting the whole theater. She comes. The grumpy lady with no mercy gets up and tells her daughter they are moving. How have we managed to draw so much attention today?</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">When my son goes to bed he says he's hungry. I want his stomach to rest and I don't want him to eat. I tell him I won't eat again either. (That lasts until 11 PM when I retrieve my Dots from the car.) He's hungry enough to cry about it. He cries harder than I've seen him cry in a very long time. When Beckham died he'd held it all in. I rub his back and I know he's not just crying about food. The stress of going back to school is exiting his body. My happy boy who has been so mopey about third grade. Hot, salty tears are pouring out. It's hard to grow up. When your sister loves kindergarten but third grade is a lot of work and you don't have anything exciting to say about it. It's crappy when you get a flu shot and then have to leave a movie early and then mess up your Lego creation and have to go to bed on an empty stomach because who knows if you have a stomach bug. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I pray over my boy and knead his shoulders his body rests. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">New mercies will be here soon. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG7T7DeIoDp18v5z4SL-LUK4W-oQn3NYXgRabMo7TVgdqCWXjuY_xzsJWSv_H_Z5uT6_j78WVOx-Q_AM1X5Ggg5HJdUH5P2W4w_rS3yYyoxnIaOBSe-laWt2Yw3ntLNlm_fMj8/s1600/photo+4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjG7T7DeIoDp18v5z4SL-LUK4W-oQn3NYXgRabMo7TVgdqCWXjuY_xzsJWSv_H_Z5uT6_j78WVOx-Q_AM1X5Ggg5HJdUH5P2W4w_rS3yYyoxnIaOBSe-laWt2Yw3ntLNlm_fMj8/s1600/photo+4.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-86765653106603106382014-09-09T11:20:00.001-04:002014-09-09T11:20:41.816-04:00Would You Change Your Journey? <span style="font-size: large;">Have you ever heard a person who experienced something terrible in their past say they wouldn't go back and change it? I have come across this statement a handful of times and I've never understood it. It seems like the power to be able to change the decisions you now regret, or prevent the losses and traumas that pulverized your heart would be an incredible asset.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I wince at every remembrance of our first steps on the adoption path. The footprints on that path don't even look normal because I wasn't walking - I was skipping like a naive child. I wish we had never made that first phone call to the agency or filled out the first stack of forms. It's hard to imagine ever being that glad that we did what we did.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Even so, if God gave me the power to erase it I would experience loss all over again. I would lose the tools I have been awarded on this path. To be honest with you, I don't even know what these tools are called or what exactly their function is. But my instinct tells me they're really valuable. They're shiny and heavy and they cost <i>a lot.</i> Somehow my muscles are even conditioned to be able to carry them without getting tired. I sense they have a lot of potential.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't want to give them back.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So maybe that's what it means when people say they wouldn't change their journey. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Would you change yours? </span></div>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-39261110914843976272014-09-05T18:15:00.001-04:002014-09-06T10:43:37.187-04:00Crossing Thresholds<span style="font-size: large;">The first two days we had Sailor home, she planted herself on our living room couch and hardly left it. She had decided that would be her home base and she would only venture from it with persuasion. When she did walk around, we noticed she was hesitant to cross thresholds. Getting her to proceed through doorways took us getting down on the floor and calling her name excitedly. We acted like fools, but that is what happens to people when they come into contact with puppies. It's part of their charm.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8MAgy59v8a6pBSIcJwsuhGblrQtXGmBQniko3WKjkQUvRCn8TiUYTV4kOnhE9Zu7YiYy3aSDqPAW_m4-aiJeHWIhvBl1iz2OdacZG2gj277KTqpj8TrPUfBUpwlRfpAaPYTno/s1600/IMG_8567.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8MAgy59v8a6pBSIcJwsuhGblrQtXGmBQniko3WKjkQUvRCn8TiUYTV4kOnhE9Zu7YiYy3aSDqPAW_m4-aiJeHWIhvBl1iz2OdacZG2gj277KTqpj8TrPUfBUpwlRfpAaPYTno/s1600/IMG_8567.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We have three types of flooring in our downstairs - carpet in our bedroom; laminate wood in our living room, dining room and office; and slate tile in our entryway and kitchen. Sailor hated crossing thresholds so much that she didn't even like to walk from one type of flooring onto the other. She was probably glad when we rolled up all our rugs and put them away to save them from puppy destruction. One less surface change!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It took Sailor about a week to explore the whole downstairs and move through it without hesitation. Now if she needs a change of scenery she leaps from the couch like a deer and runs across the slick surfaces like Scooby Doo. She (almost) owns the downstairs now. We have the upstairs gated off because she's not ready to be trusted there yet, but we've carefully prepared the downstairs so that she can go anywhere and be safe and thrive.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I, too, am a reluctant threshold crosser. I fought tooth and nail for our season with littles at home not to end yet. But whether I liked it or not, the time came to cross the threshold. I have felt the Lord near to me in the last two weeks, as if He were crouching down and calling my name, willing me to walk into the next room. "This room is yours too. Come and see it! Look at the things I have for you in here."</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Our whole lives we cross thresholds. We never stop doing it until we cross the last and most important one of them all.* I want to get better at this. I think I will always be the kind of person who has to process big changes deeply, but I want to do it without fear and dread. Hopefully I'm making progress.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="small-caps" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-size: large; font-variant: small-caps; line-height: 24px;">God</span><span style="background-color: white; font-size: large; line-height: 24px;">, the Lord, is my strength;</span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="text Hab-3-19" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px; position: relative;">he makes my feet like the deer's;</span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
<span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"></span></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Hab-3-19" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;">he makes me <span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-ESVUK-22788B" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-ESVUK-22788B" title="See cross-reference B">B</a>)"></span>tread on my <span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-ESVUK-22788C" style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-ESVUK-22788C" title="See cross-reference C">C</a>)"></span>high places.</span></span></span></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">
</span></span></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span class="text Hab-3-19" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;">Habakkuk 3:19</span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"> _______________________________________</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">
</span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Reading "Twas the Night Before Kindergarten" with Annabeth before she went to sleep. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ZeqYTz4Jxc2k3QBXQPwrMwsQdm_hgjUOQ3ORuAPmf2DzlpMiITQUVP0vfssvoM080xDWbHFuBvm-bHTtZ7peZrJTMWaEfMNehPloG5_crWNY2Jd7-tLQBEk0tdtgOUoufxPJ/s1600/IMG_8495.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ZeqYTz4Jxc2k3QBXQPwrMwsQdm_hgjUOQ3ORuAPmf2DzlpMiITQUVP0vfssvoM080xDWbHFuBvm-bHTtZ7peZrJTMWaEfMNehPloG5_crWNY2Jd7-tLQBEk0tdtgOUoufxPJ/s1600/IMG_8495.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The first day of kindergarten and third grade. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh32JYm63902dm2vpX5F6DNBcAa3r9z2flA6F30RGoXPK40YUeOS4PcFwfotFy_AGUuQS-Uy5uT08PcaKE_v-4nzl896iB3HGdIgQ1UEZW4CnkyT_9zqMrdtrfrVUXvxjZih6h5/s1600/IMG_8504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh32JYm63902dm2vpX5F6DNBcAa3r9z2flA6F30RGoXPK40YUeOS4PcFwfotFy_AGUuQS-Uy5uT08PcaKE_v-4nzl896iB3HGdIgQ1UEZW4CnkyT_9zqMrdtrfrVUXvxjZih6h5/s1600/IMG_8504.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Here they are walking into school. I shed a couple of quiet tears when we walked out. Then I had breakfast tacos with two of my closest friends who also have kindergartners and we celebrated, mourned, and did everything in between. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt2naEsGO231pyrWavWFlwgtoUJMiCVDoJec_lRCVR0sYHIt2w5U3ov_wHZ4oh1uaTKnwxYnjRvOpstbBMXxvbOXWqMAkI6_rkW7kCODLizOC7ttsYSMNdsYvJuAEy90cIaG3R/s1600/IMG_8512.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt2naEsGO231pyrWavWFlwgtoUJMiCVDoJec_lRCVR0sYHIt2w5U3ov_wHZ4oh1uaTKnwxYnjRvOpstbBMXxvbOXWqMAkI6_rkW7kCODLizOC7ttsYSMNdsYvJuAEy90cIaG3R/s1600/IMG_8512.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">Curtis told Sailor this was the very day for which she was born. She is such a love.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF9dtdZtpdCijclkcD4qCBp-pMm2zRTUYzxXs4Xcm-I2_uTpY_ycFcxjOJCFdzPT_hA1fxJCE_rO0XDaNGbnI9fhybOVkQc4Q30D0-MtrZGkOavXJ0nktTY9fonZACqiQ3jnuv/s1600/IMG_8543.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF9dtdZtpdCijclkcD4qCBp-pMm2zRTUYzxXs4Xcm-I2_uTpY_ycFcxjOJCFdzPT_hA1fxJCE_rO0XDaNGbnI9fhybOVkQc4Q30D0-MtrZGkOavXJ0nktTY9fonZACqiQ3jnuv/s1600/IMG_8543.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The end of a successful first day! </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCE3Cn0g8u5QVwKoNQs-2EJ4rTO8StYCnR8Pwo_QPSYnglMDvYMfj0QOvLR78VQyNHmlC7pR1fSxZjU_4nMh70Exemf_9IZiDqZBQvhuBd3phmsdNX_skEfCuB2frNVOUYNN8Y/s1600/IMG_8532.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCE3Cn0g8u5QVwKoNQs-2EJ4rTO8StYCnR8Pwo_QPSYnglMDvYMfj0QOvLR78VQyNHmlC7pR1fSxZjU_4nMh70Exemf_9IZiDqZBQvhuBd3phmsdNX_skEfCuB2frNVOUYNN8Y/s1600/IMG_8532.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">*A wonderful book that has recently helped me through loss and crossing thresholds of unwanted change is <u>A Grace Disguised</u> by Jerry Sittser. I highly recommend it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-12204526663488290922014-08-22T14:56:00.003-04:002014-08-22T14:56:58.281-04:00A Goodbye and a Hello <span style="font-size: large;">I'm really hoping this will be the last sad blog post I have to write for a very, very long time. I'm sorry to even write it but it's important to my family's life and I need to record it, if only for us. It will end with something sweet though. </span><div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The day we returned brokenhearted from Florida, we picked up our 10-year-old golden retriever, Beckham, from a boarding facility. I crouched down and gave him a huge hug when they brought him to us. He has a comforting presence. That night he did not seem great. Over the next few days he was breathing really hard and blood dripped occasionally from his nose. We found a spot or two every day, usually where he had been laying down. I was very scared and pleading with God not to take him right now. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">Three vet visits in the next three weeks only amounted to this - diagnosing the problem would be extremely costly and would probably only confirm a diagnosis we couldn't do anything about. He had all the symptoms of a nasal tumor. The vet said they would help us know when it was time to say goodbye. We decided to try an antihistamine and an antibiotic in case it was just an allergic reaction. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">For about four weeks we cherished our beloved friend and watched him very closely. It was hard to watch him decline and live with the dread of what was probably coming.</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;">During that time we visited Curt's family in Missouri. Beckham loves to be with Nana and Papaw and run around with their dog, Silas. He had a great time. One afternoon they wandered past the ten acres of my in-laws' property and made friends with an elderly neighbor. When we finally found him the man said he wouldn't mind keeping him. Of course he said that! Here is Beckham's "Homeward Bound" moment. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIEHvOFtOfVQIhVzdh8aTMAVDEfihUD_y0qUG9xYueBH53Oqf33evt4Oy7Mv06VlTLeZaHpMwiEek7uNtsStstZfrp06WiaLf6g204tF2mfFtqNEne0JvIyDBFFmxVlbmG_8R-/s1600/IMG_8126.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIEHvOFtOfVQIhVzdh8aTMAVDEfihUD_y0qUG9xYueBH53Oqf33evt4Oy7Mv06VlTLeZaHpMwiEek7uNtsStstZfrp06WiaLf6g204tF2mfFtqNEne0JvIyDBFFmxVlbmG_8R-/s1600/IMG_8126.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">On our way home we spent the night in Irving and got to see lots of old friends. Beckham had a little reunion with Janelle's dog, Jones. The kids asked if Janelle had named her dog after us, which was hilarious. I wished I could know if the dogs remembered each other after 6 years. The kids don't remember their playdates from when they were babies, but they really enjoyed being together. This was definitely a summer highlight. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5j_2fHw0jf702hQFf0yT21YMMmw2Wmj9XSO2Lhq8mEf59YFwlzhvrOzfrAsOhp3_rlJAhJijKQRz7b6jUOFL3lGjgZwatCczpmTE69K_IwhuGRqlEOdeeuac3GcDtYtopapA/s1600/IMG_8192.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo5j_2fHw0jf702hQFf0yT21YMMmw2Wmj9XSO2Lhq8mEf59YFwlzhvrOzfrAsOhp3_rlJAhJijKQRz7b6jUOFL3lGjgZwatCczpmTE69K_IwhuGRqlEOdeeuac3GcDtYtopapA/s1600/IMG_8192.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A week ago today we woke up and Beckham was clearly very sick and suffering. They say you'll know and it was true. He was dying. A repairman had just arrived to fix our air conditioner and he heard all of our tears and painful goodbyes while he was working in the attic. Curtis and I held each other and cried. Annabeth sang a song to Beckham and included the words "You will see God!" I am tearing up again right now.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Curtis took Beckham to our vet and he went to sleep peacefully. Our faithful old boy was laid to rest under a gorgeous tree on my parents' property. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJzMhtGahVa0QRuMaqogZY8HWEPaLn05-b0ZbV5FcoX7nZ8XnRvGg4-b9-1cMa41GH1gnOuvP64op5YtWeF3Oiy7edFsNuaWvAh6-q-BX-Z0q-L2VhPnRjOlIap_NiHB1qkuvn/s1600/IMG_8111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJzMhtGahVa0QRuMaqogZY8HWEPaLn05-b0ZbV5FcoX7nZ8XnRvGg4-b9-1cMa41GH1gnOuvP64op5YtWeF3Oiy7edFsNuaWvAh6-q-BX-Z0q-L2VhPnRjOlIap_NiHB1qkuvn/s1600/IMG_8111.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I cried so many tears that my kids went into comfort mode. They brought me tissues and cups of water and said, "We're so sorry, Mom." I felt proud of their compassion and guilty that they had seen me cry so much this year. I wondered if they would need therapy because of what a wreck I have been. (I was very sick with Cyclospora for 4 weeks after we went to Mexico. They have not seen me at my best in a while.)</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Our house was painfully quiet and still. You don't realize how much you do for your dog until he's gone. After 10 years, it's second nature to open the back door at certain times of day and let him out. To be walking out the front door and look back to make sure he's inside. To step out of bed gently because your big ole bear is probably laying on the floor next to you. I took a bath for practically the first time in 10 years without him laying next to the tub. It's hard, hard, hard with so many reminders all day long. Coming home after we had been out was the worst because he was not there to greet us. I left the dog bowls on the floor for several days because I couldn't bear to clean them out and put them away. We still haven't gone swimming because it's been too sad to do that without him. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwRsknn6aGZO56htot1zdIqpSnmLg8frEUA2vuRTu-FaDSfsyDxc_uJU2jG6avhyphenhyphenyr-SwERhz1JPM0wq2AIAztqdTzbdwA0dEFYXlW4x593oPm5z69eeQ9w8W0byqMMKoQq73_/s1600/IMG_8258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwRsknn6aGZO56htot1zdIqpSnmLg8frEUA2vuRTu-FaDSfsyDxc_uJU2jG6avhyphenhyphenyr-SwERhz1JPM0wq2AIAztqdTzbdwA0dEFYXlW4x593oPm5z69eeQ9w8W0byqMMKoQq73_/s1600/IMG_8258.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A few months ago I decided that if adoption did not work out for us, I was going to get a lap dog to help keep me company while the kids were at school. I had a breeder picked out and knew there would probably be a puppy born at the end of summer. I did not expect that our big boy would pass away before that happened. I did a little research one night about the toy breed I was considering compared to the golden retriever. There was just no contest for a young family. Goldens are amazing family dogs. Beckham had been everything we hoped he'd be and more. His patience with and affection for the kids was priceless to us. I realized I was not ready to live without a golden in our home. One day I would like to have a lap dog, but if I'm being honest, my kids are not at a great age for one. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">On Monday my friend Crista and I took our boys to Schlitterbahn water park in New Braunfels. While we were there, my sweet husband was researching breeders so that we could have a little bit of sunshine in our house sooner than later. Annabeth starts kindergarten in a few days and I was dreading being completely alone in my home. And we all needed a dose of sweetness after a very difficult summer. As we were filling up my car in New Braunfuls after a great day, he sent me a picture of a potential puppy that brought happy tears to my eyes. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7NkPCP_T4wVt3Ttghl05ZDNOI2xWOK_9mEm8lI67Jtkhh8wQaDzIw9eWIiXCLEya3MwEiijKvcjENrleQcMMWaYq-Jtbhm_6CHTMeOXnByUk3VoH9I6R_Jeb8CbwQjRV1hyphenhyphen7X/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7NkPCP_T4wVt3Ttghl05ZDNOI2xWOK_9mEm8lI67Jtkhh8wQaDzIw9eWIiXCLEya3MwEiijKvcjENrleQcMMWaYq-Jtbhm_6CHTMeOXnByUk3VoH9I6R_Jeb8CbwQjRV1hyphenhyphen7X/s1600/photo.JPG" height="320" width="299" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We all had so much joy over this picture. It was medicine to some sad little hearts. Yesterday the four of us piled into Curt's truck at the crack of dawn and made a four hour drive into the country. We met this sweet 3-month-old girl in person and fell in love with her.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">She sat in my lap and we snuggled for four hours on the way home. She has an outgoing personality and is enjoying the kids. For now she is sticking around the living room and hasn't explored much more the downstairs. I have my phone timer set to go off every 30 minutes so I remember to take her outside. It's kind of like having a toddler again. Also, I feel like I *might* cope better with puppy badness now that I've survived two toddlers. Maybe. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Ladies and gentlemen, but mostly ladies, here is Miss Sailor Jones. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB6aS-bCeVN4_Ok1c9a-T5bUBmlJrNFTOGohHZzbuoUi-mXD7dwKyqACyaJB708glzZIr4C6z2kPDS0FNW8nIUDlPKGO3pD-RjbLNjfLW986MsmIe-1OBDFdc1CGHezVkdvtsp/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB6aS-bCeVN4_Ok1c9a-T5bUBmlJrNFTOGohHZzbuoUi-mXD7dwKyqACyaJB708glzZIr4C6z2kPDS0FNW8nIUDlPKGO3pD-RjbLNjfLW986MsmIe-1OBDFdc1CGHezVkdvtsp/s1600/photo.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A lapdog indeed, if only for a day. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_UFsur6Bg4TkrYMBPB9yGUSG8LAYV3FSHsbL99sREyKoaweoZEuDD-yWRjIQTmRumCZoc5gaoTyv73tBcP_WCLr9rRamtDPFTbDccrimAheb0oJbdVs6FxJiWl-gmRzwL4V7/s1600/photo+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_UFsur6Bg4TkrYMBPB9yGUSG8LAYV3FSHsbL99sREyKoaweoZEuDD-yWRjIQTmRumCZoc5gaoTyv73tBcP_WCLr9rRamtDPFTbDccrimAheb0oJbdVs6FxJiWl-gmRzwL4V7/s1600/photo+2.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-30332013161838506832014-07-17T15:38:00.000-04:002014-07-17T15:53:06.710-04:00A Dream Trip and a Bad Dream<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">When I was a kid, one of my best friends used to go to Destin every summer. I would listen with envy when she talked about the clear water, the white sand, and finding sand dollars in the ocean. My dad was a fisherman, so our frequent beach visits were always to places like Port Aransas, Texas, that could double as a fishing trip. There is much to love about the Texas coast (minus this summer's horrible seaweed invasion) but you definitely can't see your feet in the water. I confess it makes my inner third grader unbelievably happy to visit a white sandy beach with clear water. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Two weeks ago when our truck began the journey down 30-A in Florida, Jackson saw a giant sand dune and said, "Mommy, is that sand or snow?" Exactly!</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was a dream to get to visit Santa Rosa Beach with some of our closest friends. We rented a darling beach house that was big enough for 4 adults and 7 kids. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIFp9EDHxMxNLh3swzFVIhyphenhyphenz49Odn7XzbzLB7-w-4DQxRXEDnnQWcfPt0USHIPWszg4MZRIJ_UUMv5mmY_w9Xm960CFpI7QwOd-Ct7PUyfK33Lxrq0dtpQl8Tdf74lp4CukhtJ/s1600/IMG_7806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIFp9EDHxMxNLh3swzFVIhyphenhyphenz49Odn7XzbzLB7-w-4DQxRXEDnnQWcfPt0USHIPWszg4MZRIJ_UUMv5mmY_w9Xm960CFpI7QwOd-Ct7PUyfK33Lxrq0dtpQl8Tdf74lp4CukhtJ/s1600/IMG_7806.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Holding to tradition, Curtis made awesome sand castles, Jackson got buried in the sand, and I was inseparable from the boogie board. We learned how to find sand dollars with our feet, which was so fun. I'm highly skilled at finding hermit crabs in Galveston (it usually starts with "Ouch!") but this was more challenging. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVCehamkNdiCPv10i1PONFaGi0hODLD4txjv0Eua3zeQpv1ixKYmJJu1G07e2jQQVPcq8Whoy0w9Cb5kwsi0eGG5J-i9ZpEcBwZV8kRXnRk40ZJMQhmRcuH8ab7RqTle_WFJtR/s1600/IMG_7814.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVCehamkNdiCPv10i1PONFaGi0hODLD4txjv0Eua3zeQpv1ixKYmJJu1G07e2jQQVPcq8Whoy0w9Cb5kwsi0eGG5J-i9ZpEcBwZV8kRXnRk40ZJMQhmRcuH8ab7RqTle_WFJtR/s1600/IMG_7814.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Annabeth really took to the water and spent most of the time riding the waves with her little board. She was very fun to watch, even if she did make me a little nervous. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Fsf5RJfcLj3CxvBz0qZtvMzpclO8mGcQwG5l88uvadCl25we-jU_hix4K-xddGq9-mJYKcAnX3IQIgpQdEfKBQYh7_JDkcbQBMWmYaApNOfCJRf2UjXO_6MRZTvd1asJySHu/s1600/IMG_7833.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-Fsf5RJfcLj3CxvBz0qZtvMzpclO8mGcQwG5l88uvadCl25we-jU_hix4K-xddGq9-mJYKcAnX3IQIgpQdEfKBQYh7_JDkcbQBMWmYaApNOfCJRf2UjXO_6MRZTvd1asJySHu/s1600/IMG_7833.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Crista and I discipled the girls in the (very complex and gourmet) art of making pigs in a blanket. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUEhjV3LmZn1V1FDHfjcK-eobfCEHXVplQba18-REiDnSuk_4vTQkp6UzQzaqIZv3w_OvHwJiIadjabLU0I8AtaV1KO5mNd_288dGnc9plga98eXn6DSNnLjWPDSzTLITia0i9/s1600/IMG_7828.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUEhjV3LmZn1V1FDHfjcK-eobfCEHXVplQba18-REiDnSuk_4vTQkp6UzQzaqIZv3w_OvHwJiIadjabLU0I8AtaV1KO5mNd_288dGnc9plga98eXn6DSNnLjWPDSzTLITia0i9/s1600/IMG_7828.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Every day we walked across the street to a place called Pop Stop that had "artisan popsicles." Oh my word, they were so good! My favorites were the banana pudding pop and the cookies and cream pop. I have been longing for this place since we got back home. Here is a picture of Jackson encrusted in sand and with a cookies and cream goatee. When he saw himself in the mirror he said, "Whoa." Hahaha! I think he was embarrassed that he had been seen in public like that. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit99CI8WdLxrsF4bWYJP4MXaTjKfAlPSlC_hqUcP3vJinF1AW_M7zeRakf2E2CbJ1ELo_VKb8eeS8v6uA3NSdtW_GtijgzGLlQzRrkc08xeevIQ07mj0uDeld_HekVuSoCJ3e1/s1600/IMG_7856.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit99CI8WdLxrsF4bWYJP4MXaTjKfAlPSlC_hqUcP3vJinF1AW_M7zeRakf2E2CbJ1ELo_VKb8eeS8v6uA3NSdtW_GtijgzGLlQzRrkc08xeevIQ07mj0uDeld_HekVuSoCJ3e1/s1600/IMG_7856.PNG" height="320" width="180" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Here are our beach adventurers. This was taken after we ate a sunset picnic dinner of meatball subs wrapped in foil. It is already one of the neatest memories of our family's life. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLCWf-JnM_g_Ue7CAlK7Gxxmh5y8PkxsjsFNRNEI0yabzZ0Zw2vYaSNUMiwPdAcKkBgrAGG0LWzMRvGv2EhHKL6HP2m9I9unTG2EGQCVOlQFANMjm8XTBt_C76zGTY9bjE3_vD/s1600/IMG_7844.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLCWf-JnM_g_Ue7CAlK7Gxxmh5y8PkxsjsFNRNEI0yabzZ0Zw2vYaSNUMiwPdAcKkBgrAGG0LWzMRvGv2EhHKL6HP2m9I9unTG2EGQCVOlQFANMjm8XTBt_C76zGTY9bjE3_vD/s1600/IMG_7844.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Crista and me.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNuY4IhqFZn90NCf6QrZb8P85XoIDgYzngY36DpR3iqjEVTYtdRg_KNoqsjt8VNf_8_WF7Tbr0ayJYV_1WOITrn6Ict7B1ryDWwY9bUAtc9yH2whe_hyVUFEewS-ZopRy8WQmq/s1600/IMG_7865.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNuY4IhqFZn90NCf6QrZb8P85XoIDgYzngY36DpR3iqjEVTYtdRg_KNoqsjt8VNf_8_WF7Tbr0ayJYV_1WOITrn6Ict7B1ryDWwY9bUAtc9yH2whe_hyVUFEewS-ZopRy8WQmq/s1600/IMG_7865.JPG" height="316" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Right after we took this I said, "This is probably the last picture of us as a family of four." </span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHarSqkdc1KAAcSbeCaoyarZVGcK9ATnD7QpwY7j0A93iSDwIdLA-HuN6mY_k7UlQiJatgqEBZuG6bpLdTQtxtVua8T6AIjgZP4KsqE-4fqwcAvZXPYTj1BryiFlhrwW0Qa64/s1600/IMG_7876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOHarSqkdc1KAAcSbeCaoyarZVGcK9ATnD7QpwY7j0A93iSDwIdLA-HuN6mY_k7UlQiJatgqEBZuG6bpLdTQtxtVua8T6AIjgZP4KsqE-4fqwcAvZXPYTj1BryiFlhrwW0Qa64/s1600/IMG_7876.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">On our third night at the beach, I got a phone call from our adoption agency. I couldn't believe my ears when they said a baby had been born who needed a family. No one else was available to receive the baby at this time. Were we open to him? </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Curtis and I were in shock. We had told the agency we were only open until the end of summer and after that we would be moving on. We really didn't think anything would work out at this point. We left the kids with our friends and went on a walk. We found our faith and let our hearts warm up to this possibility. We decided that we would say yes, give it another day to let everything solidify, and then drive home to receive our new family member. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We didn't tell the kids what was happening or let them know that we were actually leaving the beach three days early, but I couldn't wait for the moment when they would be surprised with the news. I was told to make a newborn appointment with our pediatrician for right after placement. We had neither named nor seen a picture of the baby yet. The doctor's office asked me the race and I didn't even know how to answer that question. The receptionist had to know a name, and I knew what name Curtis wanted, so I literally named the baby right there on the phone. It was very surreal. By the time we got on the road on Wednesday morning, the papers had already been signed. It was looking like all the chaos and emotional pain of the last year was about to make sense. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The thing I was most excited about was the potential healing of my spiritual wounds. I had lost almost all confidence in hearing the Spirit's voice. I had stopped looking for the God-connections in everything, which comes as naturally to me as breathing. Some of the dearest parts of me had suffered near-fatal blows on this adoption journey. If this worked out, I would know I hadn't misinterpreted what I sensed to be God's direction after all. It would change everything. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The drive home was going to be 10.5 hours. We left at 6:30 AM so that I would have a little bit of time to shop for an infant carrier before all the stores closed. The placement ceremony would be the following morning. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">When we had been on the road about four hours, we got word that things were not as stable as we thought. And then when we were too far to turn back around, we got word that it was all over. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfwO4zYcRYLz7H4uZKNJ9b4PDVPST_bkGocHjjJEzeC_TZJswSUAk8pyOZDoqtgF_gTq_w-TspA_j8jQqRycp9D_okzb7GYZGbIHdIDKhYdeMelW7sdOf_yBjOR4mUpkUdRM0M/s1600/IMG_7853.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfwO4zYcRYLz7H4uZKNJ9b4PDVPST_bkGocHjjJEzeC_TZJswSUAk8pyOZDoqtgF_gTq_w-TspA_j8jQqRycp9D_okzb7GYZGbIHdIDKhYdeMelW7sdOf_yBjOR4mUpkUdRM0M/s1600/IMG_7853.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">A slap in the face. A punch in the gut. Those things don't sound severe enough to describe how this felt. It was like the enemy custom-designed a plan to see how miserable he could make us before the adoption timer ran out. This felt so very personal. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I had finally accepted the outcome that we would never adopt and had adjusted my expectations to it when this was dangled in front of my face. And when we let our hearts warm back up, left a dream vacation half-way through, and were too far to turn around, it exploded and left us bloody. I felt like a young woman whose ex-boyfriend talked her into getting back together, proposed, and then left her at the altar. I felt stupid, naive, and very angry. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">When I think with the mind of Christ, I know that we did not lose. We believed God again. We didn't let our comfort or fun sway our decision. We did not operate in fear or self-protection. I know that even if this never, ever, ever makes sense until we meet Jesus, we won the spiritual battle. There will be reward in heaven that the enemy cannot steal, kill or destroy. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It's been a little over a week since it happened and I'm still sad. I've been surrounding myself with friends as much as possible, but when it's quiet at home my heart is heavy. This journey is over - for real this time. It is very hard for my soul to accept. My subconscious keeps bubbling up hopeful thoughts that the agency may call us again. But we have told them not to. This is the fourth baby we have opened our hearts to. My stubborn self would never give up if my husband weren't saying, "Enough!" I will be glad when acceptance has made it all the way through my being. When you have fought so hard for something it takes a while for your soul to settle down and be still. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I am thankful that even though it seems like the enemy was allowed to sift us in this process, God restrained him. We were protected from having a child cross the threshold of our door who wasn't meant to be ours forever. I know many people have experienced that nightmare. I myself experienced it during my adolescent years as a brother came in and then went out after 7 years. I had so desired to see the redemption of that difficult experience. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">You know what I learned? I don't get to tell God how to redeem something. He does redeem, but it's on His own terms. Somewhere along the way I made the mistake of thinking it was up to me. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-29641009072149780892014-06-23T16:28:00.000-04:002014-06-23T18:55:58.293-04:00Twelve Years <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdEAIZBoAAouuN2InJBNwFSfHjhIhXwchj2Yyym7YF9YpDcmZnFBpgIbWk2nT0uBgbiGQiswQWgboAQ2Pu2HFxpd3PmghJ0gFQD8VSTcdOkSM3OzxgtnO4BzKm-JPrFNxvoCC/s1600/IMG_7495.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdEAIZBoAAouuN2InJBNwFSfHjhIhXwchj2Yyym7YF9YpDcmZnFBpgIbWk2nT0uBgbiGQiswQWgboAQ2Pu2HFxpd3PmghJ0gFQD8VSTcdOkSM3OzxgtnO4BzKm-JPrFNxvoCC/s1600/IMG_7495.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Mom arrived at 8:30 on a recent, bright Monday morning to collect two happy campers. They were looking forward to their vacation at her house as much as we were looking forward to ours at the beach. The emotional hugs I'd received from Annabeth the night before had been spent. Everything was breezy and smiley. "We'll miss you, but it will be a happy miss!" I told the kids in the front yard. That was how my parents used to say it. Their marriage is 35 years old now - 9 months and two weeks older than yours truly. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Curtis and I loaded our small bags (I swear this was the first time I've ever packed light) into the Park and Fly bus and exhaled. Businessmen crowded around us and I felt a teensy bit guilty that we were traveling for fun. We got off the bus at E Terminal, where the international travelers go. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxE6psGoF2yHPlVVaVOQlWoqgvN97tkayoYOgK0Hh6YJR4CvbjpG-EThKTha1LtEWORRp0mj4Z1O3ilBp2bJrfoboX93B-MDlBZFIV7ZiXLD7QurmsJw8riqJ816pbb1G67H2f/s1600/IMG_7500.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxE6psGoF2yHPlVVaVOQlWoqgvN97tkayoYOgK0Hh6YJR4CvbjpG-EThKTha1LtEWORRp0mj4Z1O3ilBp2bJrfoboX93B-MDlBZFIV7ZiXLD7QurmsJw8riqJ816pbb1G67H2f/s1600/IMG_7500.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">After seven years Mexico had finally called us back. </span><a href="http://babybangs.blogspot.com/2007/06/all-this-and-jesus-too.html" target="_blank">Back then</a><span style="font-size: large;"> it was for our fifth anniversary. I had taken on an editing project with one of my mom's publishers in order to pay for the whole thing myself. I wanted it to be awesome and I didn't want to feel guilty about how much things cost. It was a great strategy. I haven't made an income in a few years so nowadays I have to rely on my man's generosity. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">There was a young couple checking in ahead of us. I knew the second I saw them that they were leaving for their honeymoon. She was impeccably groomed - gorgeous hair, nails done, even tan, no body fat except in the desired places, and a flattering sundress. She was a vision. This is the kind of perfection that takes months to accomplish. If I had any sliver of doubt it was put to rest when she held up her left hand and wiggled her ring finger just so. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU_aBdNwSi8pgWwtUehTffLyJGKMkadIdpwLUuY2-6s95nD7r3dMWRPb0SsGf433fcnCo2qJQE2LpAunObgrnQH9kncseQKCIjQEXRgCAl-Nkm5ns0pFt1skNduP4m2J5rCrJX/s1600/IMG_7522.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU_aBdNwSi8pgWwtUehTffLyJGKMkadIdpwLUuY2-6s95nD7r3dMWRPb0SsGf433fcnCo2qJQE2LpAunObgrnQH9kncseQKCIjQEXRgCAl-Nkm5ns0pFt1skNduP4m2J5rCrJX/s1600/IMG_7522.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I wished I could be that fresh and beautiful for my husband again. I wanted us, once more, to be intoxicated by the newness and by the beginning of everything. But time only works to stretch us farther from that moment when everything was carefully planned and groomed and fashioned and placed and photographed and celebrated wildly. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We spent five days at a gorgeous resort. We saw honeymooners, anniversary celebrators, and wedding parties everywhere we turned. I had a few more of those wishful moments when I saw young brides with perfect bodies, but then my perspective changed. Sometimes that happens when you take a few steps - or a plane ride - back from your life. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25uwnG8RaTIgZ5oxLlYFY3dUk-pxRWt6yBn5W42eLRYVLTfGQ-vLjjdURkE7UW412NSaYP2pPfZIy1qTgHMagUXAe9FePfzr3kgGjWrVveAyT_z0ZBwjp0_Vn1Uwu4knBZQBf/s1600/IMG_7474.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj25uwnG8RaTIgZ5oxLlYFY3dUk-pxRWt6yBn5W42eLRYVLTfGQ-vLjjdURkE7UW412NSaYP2pPfZIy1qTgHMagUXAe9FePfzr3kgGjWrVveAyT_z0ZBwjp0_Vn1Uwu4knBZQBf/s1600/IMG_7474.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The joy of our twelve years together poured out of our hearts, out of our memories. We have built a life, by the grace of God, that is good. We have an endless supply of adventures (and misadventures) to reminisce about. We have a million inside jokes. Most importantly, we have two incredible kids who make us laugh and who make us prouder than we ever knew we could feel. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i>This</i> is the purpose of <i>that. </i></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I had to trade in my white gown and my honeymoon figure, but what we enjoy now is more fun and even more meaningful than we could have imagined. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjArIbqP4m1qYkPRj93iAuZkf_CoUFCKR39VZ-zb4q1X67_8z4NVYhWDd3JUhxYU9l7u-BUpttFz8Vwiw2Mjy1c7OQOmrcL55WcLx01ARD3Wwsv1HH-Ru3jgYaTqK7SeZ-QFJJ5/s1600/IMG_7538.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjArIbqP4m1qYkPRj93iAuZkf_CoUFCKR39VZ-zb4q1X67_8z4NVYhWDd3JUhxYU9l7u-BUpttFz8Vwiw2Mjy1c7OQOmrcL55WcLx01ARD3Wwsv1HH-Ru3jgYaTqK7SeZ-QFJJ5/s1600/IMG_7538.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-14229059459294501202014-06-07T20:46:00.002-04:002014-06-07T20:46:57.817-04:00Where I Feel Like a Good Mom<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My lofty goal for this week has been to get a base tan. And see my son finish second grade. But the base tan is pretty important because the hubs and I are going on a beach getaway soon. If I go with white skin I will fry like a chicken. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">So in my effort to slightly darken the epidermis, the kids and I have spent a ton of time in the pool. This is our happy place. The kids love it when I have second or third hair day and I'm willing to get my hair wet. "Yay! Mom's getting her hair wet!" they yell. I feel like a good mom when I play with them there. I feel like a lame-o mom when I stink at playing Barbies or can't have an intelligent conversation about Minecraft. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Swimming makes me feel like a kid again, so it's easy to pretend we're exploring Mars or to body slam Jackson into the water, which is his favorite thing. Our new game for the summer is this: the kids stand at the edge of the pool and I set a beach ball to them. The goal is to jump in the air, hit it, and land in the water. It feels like volleyball so it's a win for everyone. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Don't tell Jackson I said this, but sometimes I like to cradle him in my arms because in the water he's not too heavy to pick up. Gosh, I don't even know the last time I would've been able to pick him up like that in normal gravity conditions. (So sciencey!) He squints his eyes, his whole body shakes, and he laughs really hard as I say, "Oh, my little baby Jackson. You are so sweet. Too bad your diapers are so stinky." </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">(A note to any first-time boy moms: you will need to summon the potty humor you once had when you were four years old. Every now and then it will win your son's heart and you will be his dream mom.)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">On my first day in the pool, which was a whole month after the kids started swimming in the freezing cold water, I gathered him in my arms like a baby and said something to make him laugh. His elbows, knees and feet were bonier and more forceful than I remembered. I'm sure I came out with a few little bruises. His legs hung over my right elbow and dipped deeper into the water than before. Annabeth was bigger too. When she rode on my back while I swam across the pool, it wasn't quite as easy as last year. They are growing!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">All winter long I regretted our decision to put that pool in. We rendered our back yard useless for half the year when we did it. I missed the days when I could make the kids go outside and jump on the trampoline or swing by themselves. Our play structure was exiled to my mom's house and our trampoline was dismantled for lack of room. But now it's hot and I'm remember why we did this. We all love it and we love one another well with splashes and dunks and dives. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<b><span style="font-size: large;">What is your favorite way to bond with your kids? When do you feel like a good mom? </span></b><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">______________________________________</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">The kids' first swim was back in April. This is Annabeth's face after she jumped in and came out of the water. Complete and utter shock. She forgot how to swim for a second because it was so cold! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ondn_KJ8UPFyHo-VWL350tc3eqiPRBcjGOuAxTRXq5ZeK91pv2PAR9zic1Ozku9CfIGscgtYSHQwVYqjyz9p2eY1Q9cnHplMsWLzmvcnzfyCzAotxDzhPLt8eFzYgAlpRpJJ/s1600/IMG_6917.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ondn_KJ8UPFyHo-VWL350tc3eqiPRBcjGOuAxTRXq5ZeK91pv2PAR9zic1Ozku9CfIGscgtYSHQwVYqjyz9p2eY1Q9cnHplMsWLzmvcnzfyCzAotxDzhPLt8eFzYgAlpRpJJ/s1600/IMG_6917.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">They begged and begged to get in and only lasted 12 minutes. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsx2k4AP4LVSJ6uSWEECXAn79C0VdgAHuSys2HwE8KXVmP_wtRO2euPCoysoJJd3LMOdP-R8W9JI6jPNjW5QUMnfg4FEgs3Lwb42Qj9prJBcIR4LXjyqHvm7RPG0htku5o9DGj/s1600/IMG_6924.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsx2k4AP4LVSJ6uSWEECXAn79C0VdgAHuSys2HwE8KXVmP_wtRO2euPCoysoJJd3LMOdP-R8W9JI6jPNjW5QUMnfg4FEgs3Lwb42Qj9prJBcIR4LXjyqHvm7RPG0htku5o9DGj/s1600/IMG_6924.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Jackson requested this picture yesterday.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYwKG7_frge42_o_qsiYZB9N8gP6m91MjoUcH-le0EMMFPvzx63Pr9ChqLhH7MHfiOH8zHnp2pxhfGR_6jL7PCA8_-nKakP6mO02hwchsIgO0VeCX9Bo8fMk5gKAh2lcQqh2w/s1600/IMG_7360.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLYwKG7_frge42_o_qsiYZB9N8gP6m91MjoUcH-le0EMMFPvzx63Pr9ChqLhH7MHfiOH8zHnp2pxhfGR_6jL7PCA8_-nKakP6mO02hwchsIgO0VeCX9Bo8fMk5gKAh2lcQqh2w/s1600/IMG_7360.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My first swim a couple of weeks ago.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBNvEJy9pSFT6yvfdgsx9nHRxmnpsWgfFy1J8xYDC_0m8_KREhJi-lOI-Q8iyawPhWjr8gX0DzkY7GW8ITFZ45vl3mjoDTHi2tMjI35ioQSXwPIkoYGU7wIPxH601-1HqUt6S/s1600/IMG_7324.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNBNvEJy9pSFT6yvfdgsx9nHRxmnpsWgfFy1J8xYDC_0m8_KREhJi-lOI-Q8iyawPhWjr8gX0DzkY7GW8ITFZ45vl3mjoDTHi2tMjI35ioQSXwPIkoYGU7wIPxH601-1HqUt6S/s1600/IMG_7324.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">*Ironically, I have ignored my kids for the last hour while writing this post, so I feel like lame-o mom again. ;) </span></div>
<br />Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-43878061370435243162014-05-22T20:59:00.002-04:002014-05-22T20:59:56.385-04:00Setting an Atmosphere of Grace<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">*A few months ago I was asked to write about some of the struggles that pastors wives face. This one is about the pressure to have it all together or to look like you do. Something reminded me of it tonight and I thought I would share it here.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;">After years of being raised in and feeling right at home in church, I got to high school and began to feel like an outsider. I remember the day that sealed the deal. In my 10th grade Sunday school class we were encouraged to break into various small groups to discuss the things kids our age were going through. I went to the corner of the classroom designated for the peer pressure discussion and waited for others to join me.</span><span style="font-size: large; letter-spacing: 0px;"> </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 16px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">No one came. I quickly found another group to join so I wouldn’t look like a loser. It was absolutely demoralizing to realize I was the only kid in my grade battling the temptations that bite at the heels of teenagers. That was the last time I went to youth Sunday school or made an effort to be part of our youth group. I couldn’t relate to all the kids who “had it all together” and never experienced the pressures I felt. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 16px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Separated from the flock, I eventually succumbed to those pressures and suffered greatly, believing I was the only one to fail. Years later, I know that I was not the only kid in my class who was dealing with peer pressure. I must have been the only one desperate enough to admit it that day. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 16px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>Perhaps the peer pressure to seem perfect at church was even stronger than the peer pressure I was dealing with in my high school. </b>That is a scary thought. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 16px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><b>As a pastor’s wife, I play a very large part in setting the atmosphere of grace and transparency in my church’s culture. </b>Authenticity starts with me. After what I experienced as a teenager, I reject the lie that I should either have it all together (no one does) or project the illusion that I do. Sometimes the lie originates in my heart and sometimes it comes from another person’s expectations. I tear it down as often as I can with a simple and powerful phrase: “Me too.” These words can lift a heavy burden in a split second. They can brighten the countenance. They can wrap a cloak of fellowship around a shivering, lonely sister. We certainly don’t need to say “me too” when it doesn’t fit, but our attitude of humility and love should fill in the gaps when we can’t relate to our sisters.</span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 16px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Woe to me if I can have a conversation with a woman who is stressed out, in pain, disappointed, struggling as a mother, or in a rut in her marriage and then let her believe that I’m above it all. Woe to me. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 16px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">The way I see it, I can use my energy to have authentic, meaningful relationships and interactions with our church members or I can use my energy to create illusions and desperately try to maintain them. In one hand I have community and the love of Christ, and in the other hand I have isolation and vanity. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 16px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">Sometimes it’s hard to know how far to take authenticity. There’s a fine line between transparency and letting it all hang out. I know I miss the mark sometimes, even if my intentions are good. The line we’re looking to walk can only be discerned by the Holy Spirit, so it is important that we keep in step with Him in our interactions. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 16px;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<br />Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-1843208199368714742014-05-14T12:01:00.001-04:002014-05-14T12:04:40.652-04:00She Likes to Clean<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;">By the time you have an 8-year-old and a 5-year-old, you've had plenty of opportunities to be humbled by the annual Mother's Day Questionnaire. There was <a href="http://babybangs.blogspot.com/2012/05/mothers-day-interview.html" target="_blank">that time</a> </span><span style="font-size: large; text-align: left;">when Jackson was in Kindergarten when he wrote that his favorite thing about me was "my body." More recently, my children have answered the "My mom likes to ______" question with "lay on the couch" and "take a nap." </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">No comment.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Right before Mother's Day I took Annabeth to school and she was very excited to show me a new piece of work that was hanging in the hallway outside her class. Mercifully, this year's questionnaires did not have the children's names on them, perhaps in order to protect the innocent - or the guilty. I would've known which one was hers because she always draws her self-portraits with a bow. This time she gave both of us a heart-shaped bow. She's so wonderful. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I braced myself. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I read the fateful question: <b>What is your mom's favorite thing to do? </b></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Eek! Here it comes!</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">She likes to clean the kitchen. </span></b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnfD0PLU2j0SxTS3X1mXpGE1rwYeb-v_qO61SZqeA9-O8gcF0m3TmrRD0zCR3F3laB-BGfv_m5HbWyeVDwl107yslajBB9jAr7ZLXbBzrNH5m4ipgidgSeeA634TycDsJjsS3Z/s1600/IMG_7106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnfD0PLU2j0SxTS3X1mXpGE1rwYeb-v_qO61SZqeA9-O8gcF0m3TmrRD0zCR3F3laB-BGfv_m5HbWyeVDwl107yslajBB9jAr7ZLXbBzrNH5m4ipgidgSeeA634TycDsJjsS3Z/s1600/IMG_7106.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Ladies and gentlemen, <b>this is redemption</b>. That's right. My daughter thinks I love domesticity. She might even think I excel at it. Both are untrue, but it doesn't matter because my daughter honored me, however anonymously, for all eyes to see. Muahahaha! </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">On the Friday before Mother's Day, Mom, Melissa and I got to attend a "Muffins with Mom" type of event with Annabeth in her class. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTzEF63jzVpp5ZVjlyzJsSCiAHyl422NfPBfyYcDoT5sf4Omwv5HZiNhqLzTQ6pGI5peHxJMZWiCOl6YIpxP8a8BfYvTyhO-tV4cE93dHYE4iJIZfufRXhjGyTALzYKrUuoSrY/s1600/IMG_7010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTzEF63jzVpp5ZVjlyzJsSCiAHyl422NfPBfyYcDoT5sf4Omwv5HZiNhqLzTQ6pGI5peHxJMZWiCOl6YIpxP8a8BfYvTyhO-tV4cE93dHYE4iJIZfufRXhjGyTALzYKrUuoSrY/s1600/IMG_7010.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We had a sweet time with our little darlin'. </span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_oGT6Yta5oyoQra2kik5_6CtHe1IpRL5mihKTLQUCniexTwS14vnt956HOlXXGudB49onc_6zAnYaWeoq5674t4Dv0WrByyn4EaSAiKWho2mE1yP76Vbaj8qa-bYdDqZBuMoI/s1600/IMG_7103.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_oGT6Yta5oyoQra2kik5_6CtHe1IpRL5mihKTLQUCniexTwS14vnt956HOlXXGudB49onc_6zAnYaWeoq5674t4Dv0WrByyn4EaSAiKWho2mE1yP76Vbaj8qa-bYdDqZBuMoI/s1600/IMG_7103.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">There was yet another questionnaire - this time laminated to preserve the answers for years to come. Will my redemption continue? </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8OtqDH6DidyF69w2If4jGBckqslqD7YtX0Qxyao2edb1GTnx-podSC72oQ0PdndPnaPfN7LxjDARWDY4_DH_1rvzXP-8kbVayoF9FmR6ziNu_JLxtESo_yvnFaMyj12w6Z7BT/s1600/IMG_7105.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8OtqDH6DidyF69w2If4jGBckqslqD7YtX0Qxyao2edb1GTnx-podSC72oQ0PdndPnaPfN7LxjDARWDY4_DH_1rvzXP-8kbVayoF9FmR6ziNu_JLxtESo_yvnFaMyj12w6Z7BT/s1600/IMG_7105.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Well, it was a mixed bag. Annabeth thinks I'm really good at cleaning (yay, cleanliness!), but the best thing I cook is sandwiches. Bahahaha! Oh my gosh, I love my child so much. I feel the scale was tipped toward a win for me though. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">There wasn't as much laughing going on by the time Saturday came. I was feeling pretty melancholy about Mother's Day. There's so much pressure to be happy and shiny on that day, and I couldn't stop thinking about how much pain my mama heart has felt this year. We had a second failed adoption placement the week after Easter and, honestly, I just felt sorry for myself. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Curtis had some pastoral ministry to do on Saturday, so I reached out to my mom and asked if we could come out to her property and get gritty and messy. I was feeling gritty and messy on the inside, so I couldn't think of anything better. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We started with an experimental bike ride. I didn't know if the kids would be able to ride their bikes successfully on the trails but they did great. A few places were hard for Annabeth, but I think this is something we could do again. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHcYeMJ2nvDbyCoG9t8RITMrmnZtL-pF2KCy7gxyC2WFJ_tPFmlmIY0YxK-2O7SNViSm3fVSuRpmCCzNAurn6JGGqmWm2D2SbUz7FLjAtH0bl9F1-S23czdJTfj6SyT4qUIFa/s1600/IMG_7120.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjHcYeMJ2nvDbyCoG9t8RITMrmnZtL-pF2KCy7gxyC2WFJ_tPFmlmIY0YxK-2O7SNViSm3fVSuRpmCCzNAurn6JGGqmWm2D2SbUz7FLjAtH0bl9F1-S23czdJTfj6SyT4qUIFa/s1600/IMG_7120.JPG" height="245" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">After we were good and hot (it was like 90% humidity that day) we took the golf cart down to the creek and played in the sand. We named this spot Bibby's Beach. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZp5ZfsNP8EGDN2ljfldRL7lMf7tXj8ciproWScRKW67srPV9GHBsGsftw95Oy1RQkQNsCrqmHpss2j_A1ug-GGA5B-PnCdsN4-_IBBZhMwcqgY3Ews2O1I1QRfVkWyaY5MZwr/s1600/IMG_7142.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZp5ZfsNP8EGDN2ljfldRL7lMf7tXj8ciproWScRKW67srPV9GHBsGsftw95Oy1RQkQNsCrqmHpss2j_A1ug-GGA5B-PnCdsN4-_IBBZhMwcqgY3Ews2O1I1QRfVkWyaY5MZwr/s1600/IMG_7142.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="text-align: start;"><span style="font-size: large;">Please just call me Nature Mom, y'all. No longer Napping Mom, but Domestic-Nature-Sandwich Mom. </span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">To my delight, I received my very first coupon book from Jackson on Sunday morning. He made it at school. Included in my many coupon options are a back rub, a foot rub, cuddle time, cereal in bed, and the gems pictured below. My child's handwriting struggles, so I'll help you out: "90 min of TV time" and "No food for 100 min." I died.</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1VtrwD9VPSdjSAyqURMaKONAEtkzLFWHotLeLtzHSQmb6fPy2dOFTuY_jmPMor2hnarqYAaH9aOyhpSf3BkaXosnHtdIW2FVv1ZWedmYDWCG58qXNGJJHm8WGq-oUcYJTAYxj/s1600/IMG_7152.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1VtrwD9VPSdjSAyqURMaKONAEtkzLFWHotLeLtzHSQmb6fPy2dOFTuY_jmPMor2hnarqYAaH9aOyhpSf3BkaXosnHtdIW2FVv1ZWedmYDWCG58qXNGJJHm8WGq-oUcYJTAYxj/s1600/IMG_7152.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Jackson explained that these two are actually for him. If I need some peace and quiet, I can make him watch TV for 90 minutes. If he's driving me crazy by asking for food non-stop, I can make him fast for 100 minutes. I will never get over the split second I thought I needed my child's permission to watch TV or to diet. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Ultimately, I had a good Mother's Day. God gave me the grace to smile and be happy and have so much gratitude for the son and daughter that have been entrusted to me. I've been advised to stop trying to figure out what everything means or understand why and what God is doing. One day I will know. For now, I have to move forward with these two turkeys and that awesome man of mine. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6R1hFrlhp4hfUPNxDjp9jg1Y5hI0dJpIyFFEUr6v03UCO7YxgEPPX6E58cQ-t52dUczC6LTYIRyYlPC67TH0o4YBetDUcoOfxC931RxTa2rqY9-_MACzcITSX4V8rFZ1g_kvp/s1600/IMG_7052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6R1hFrlhp4hfUPNxDjp9jg1Y5hI0dJpIyFFEUr6v03UCO7YxgEPPX6E58cQ-t52dUczC6LTYIRyYlPC67TH0o4YBetDUcoOfxC931RxTa2rqY9-_MACzcITSX4V8rFZ1g_kvp/s1600/IMG_7052.JPG" height="320" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<br />Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-29024213698139464362014-05-08T14:38:00.001-04:002014-05-08T14:40:03.594-04:00Annabeth is Five...And Kindergarten Bound <br />
<span style="font-size: large;">On the day I typed the very first post on this blog, I never could have fathomed registering my baby for kindergarten, much less his younger sister, whom I wouldn't meet for three more years. I wouldn't have been able to imagine myself 8 years older than I was, just like it's hard to imagine myself at age 42, which is what I will be in 8 more years. Oh my word, Jackson will be driving then. I can't even...</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Regardless of my readiness or ability to visualize this milestone in my family's life, the day to register Annabeth for Kindergarten came and went.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I actually missed the day because I was freshly home and insanely jet lagged from my Australia trip. (I'm putting this on the record in case I get the itch to go there again - jet lag coming home from Oz is INSANE. I couldn't sleep through the night for two weeks.)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">About a week ago, after requesting shot records from the pedi for the umpteenth time, I finally got my junk together. One of my dear friends and I took our girls up to the school to fulfill our motherly duties. I felt a mixture of happiness for Annabeth and sadness that my little shadow will be detached from my person next August. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Another very dear friend works at the school and she happened to come through the office while we were there. She told the girls how excited she was that they would be there with her next year. She even took them by the hand and showed them the Kindergarten wing of the school. It was so precious to see them walking down the hall together holding hands. I melted.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I want to say something to those of you who love Jesus and who work in public schools. <b>You are ministers.</b><i> </i>You minister to children. You minister to their parents. You bring the Kingdom into your school whether you are ever able to utter the name of God. <b>Your calling</b> <b>is important</b> and I thank you for your very hard work and dedication.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">After registration it was time to celebrate this rite of passage with the girls. We considered getting their ears double pierced but thought Merle Norman probably isn't into that. I'm totally kidding. We went to the American Girl Bistro at Memorial City Mall and had lunch with the girls and their dolls.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifx3Effep5Pt4akphL6pG2a9VQGT0oZNKN9stLhyaQCgAjalrFwLXFXCwE16h4KEy20RawSx_lAQTfjbUicd38EXi0cTrCU1cW14METaylxhHhZzu3b1TkJZaILLAqHVqzNnCe/s1600/kinder+reg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifx3Effep5Pt4akphL6pG2a9VQGT0oZNKN9stLhyaQCgAjalrFwLXFXCwE16h4KEy20RawSx_lAQTfjbUicd38EXi0cTrCU1cW14METaylxhHhZzu3b1TkJZaILLAqHVqzNnCe/s1600/kinder+reg.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Annabeth got her doll, Isabelle, on her fifth birthday. It was special to me because I had an American Girl doll (Samantha) when I was a kid. I was right on the verge of being too old when it I first learned about Pleasant Company, but I loved the stories, clothes, and historical nature of it all. My best friend and I used to climb up in her oak tree and look through the catalogs for hours.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">These pictures are from Annabeth's birthday in February:</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGRlHx1IElGv_kSyRkbElBsD2KLENmm92G6NkO7Gqo4dp4mbq7jayFKpsvFpn4iDKjSGxPx2VO5ipHheP1wCt0ZwLqH7Ar_eF9oIUlYVeXLzdNeZKcZKyDMF6q7nfe61zBUZxW/s1600/IMG_6182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGRlHx1IElGv_kSyRkbElBsD2KLENmm92G6NkO7Gqo4dp4mbq7jayFKpsvFpn4iDKjSGxPx2VO5ipHheP1wCt0ZwLqH7Ar_eF9oIUlYVeXLzdNeZKcZKyDMF6q7nfe61zBUZxW/s1600/IMG_6182.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4L14MRBWk8xMXZWFE3rrZlmh4oaUjewod9tY3Rj789j1OWeQPbzyfClLjg8gMeOARdwNEk48jL4NUMh4tWW7jc4z8fHmR-oEtyfZc5QWjm4TDi-wzljDywj670G67pnj3EJLg/s1600/IMG_6185.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4L14MRBWk8xMXZWFE3rrZlmh4oaUjewod9tY3Rj789j1OWeQPbzyfClLjg8gMeOARdwNEk48jL4NUMh4tWW7jc4z8fHmR-oEtyfZc5QWjm4TDi-wzljDywj670G67pnj3EJLg/s1600/IMG_6185.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJEZXgc_y23Pk_f_rCh1sGYVOjardJBAnR58JDpNjH3fh23ia14yS21wZRuDvODOnLCPNK03NFkSshqfsDBLQFemoDWcUyXbZa-cWGL7cdfkUQ9X8uZdUEv5LwCsVherliUfkz/s1600/IMG_6184.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJEZXgc_y23Pk_f_rCh1sGYVOjardJBAnR58JDpNjH3fh23ia14yS21wZRuDvODOnLCPNK03NFkSshqfsDBLQFemoDWcUyXbZa-cWGL7cdfkUQ9X8uZdUEv5LwCsVherliUfkz/s1600/IMG_6184.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVJv6RaeANAhgJY2XBWDjJmGB2pz-Q68YHEh4CL_d0WM9EJRaic3XY4dDV3AkPzh_TtnBhWrSIL1dg_wMkQOtsK1cSfniUn0L7t7lLi7ztOhNsBlKCRGcAWSdxfbRPCR1ApqVu/s1600/IMG_6198.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVJv6RaeANAhgJY2XBWDjJmGB2pz-Q68YHEh4CL_d0WM9EJRaic3XY4dDV3AkPzh_TtnBhWrSIL1dg_wMkQOtsK1cSfniUn0L7t7lLi7ztOhNsBlKCRGcAWSdxfbRPCR1ApqVu/s1600/IMG_6198.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">And since we're on the topic of her birthday and y'all know I have a thing for cake, here are a few more pics. When she saw her cake she tried to dive out of my arms and hug it. If it isn't obvious, this is supposed to be My Little Pony-ish.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1OmufnNRvkCJZI_4ZzOk4tS-yUu0L5dB04Q480gBh0ChkAT6x_CdJ3IS1rTbth-KDFFAgQ7OlXcChKZ94LN9-af2bOY_U5PRFo6tXyJ_yKeZuyG7FrP61H5zBNwFIC3rvimer/s1600/IMG_7380.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1OmufnNRvkCJZI_4ZzOk4tS-yUu0L5dB04Q480gBh0ChkAT6x_CdJ3IS1rTbth-KDFFAgQ7OlXcChKZ94LN9-af2bOY_U5PRFo6tXyJ_yKeZuyG7FrP61H5zBNwFIC3rvimer/s1600/IMG_7380.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6BAaCBefvbO483nmCMCcSnQkIuscqyBmmokrkMqn20jUo-TTFyVYq0BMy1qxhD61Z_UDKPlN-Q9OG8-DzZ8TZaysFzH0hsMNJpxAXCDUpwS9M6ZLMtJZkwOkDaaehAnRfIHS8/s1600/IMG_7372.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6BAaCBefvbO483nmCMCcSnQkIuscqyBmmokrkMqn20jUo-TTFyVYq0BMy1qxhD61Z_UDKPlN-Q9OG8-DzZ8TZaysFzH0hsMNJpxAXCDUpwS9M6ZLMtJZkwOkDaaehAnRfIHS8/s1600/IMG_7372.jpg" height="320" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Having a daughter has been everything I hoped it would be and more. Annabeth is smart, affectionate, cheerful (except when she wakes up), and she loves Jesus with a precious childlike faith. She's also the funniest person in my life. The years ahead will have more wonderful experiences for us than I could ever count, and I know this sweet preschool season has to pass before we can have them.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But they sure have been great.</span><br />
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-87841459174595185432014-04-07T11:56:00.000-04:002014-04-07T11:56:16.204-04:00Spring Green<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Two summers ago we put a pool in our backyard. It was a fantastic decision for us since we live in such a hot, muggy climate. The aftermath of pool installation is that you have a muddy mess of a yard. Factoring the cost of landscaping into the whole project is a must.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I was especially excited about a the arrival of a willow tree that was going to be in the corner of our yard. The day it came I remembered the willow tree in the yard of a rental house we lived in when I was four. There was something magical about it. I thought our kids would love it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We were told to expect the tree, in a bit of shock, to shed all its leaves at first but that they would come back. Sure enough, that beautiful young tree lost all its leaves. We waited for months for it to sprout new leaves. Fall came, winter came, spring came, but there were no signs of life.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">A few months ago the landscapers returned with a new willow tree for us. It lost its leaves, which this time coincided with fall and winter. We had a couple hard freezes this year and I am really sad to say that every plant in our backyard is dead. The grass is emerald green again and all the trees behind our fence boast their new coverage. But every plant in our yard is a bundle of brown sticks. All but one, that is.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The willow tree lives.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">How we cheered when the first burst of green we could see from our living room window was our humble willow. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My spirit is also green again.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It was a terribly harsh winter. The coldest I've ever felt. I thought I might never come back to life. There were times I wasn't sure I wanted to.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">In late January a humble, trustworthy friend approached me in tears with a word from the Lord. The despair I was experiencing was not just grief. The enemy had come in my weakest moment and set a scheme in motion to finish me off. When she said these words I knew she was right: <i>isolation, inconsolable hopelessness, and defiance. Hopelessness laying on me like a heavy blanket. </i>This should have been hard for me to hear but it was the first hopeful thing I had heard in months. I knew the enemy did not have authority to oppress me like this for the rest of my days. Freedom was coming.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Later that day my husband and I went to war together. He poured oil on my hands and prayed for my deliverance. Then I prayed for myself and I renounced all the sinful things I had uttered with my lips in my despair.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The darkness lifted from me that day. For two weeks I felt like I was flying. It was like getting an epidural after three months of labor. The joy of my salvation was restored. I had never been instantly delivered from anything and I'm not sure I really believed people when they said it happened to them. But in a moment, that terrible darkness that sought my end was defeated. Thank You, Jesus. He is truly my Savior and I love Him so much.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Right now the leaves on the trees outside are that beautiful, spring green color. It's almost lime green. If a color can sing, this one does. It sings about life and hope and renewal. As summer approaches the leaves will mature and the green will darken. We will give thanks for the shade they give us. And when the August heat scorches the land, the green will have to fight to stay that way. The gardeners will make sure the plants get the water they need when the sky withholds rain.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My spring green lasted those two lovely weeks. They were sweet and safe and full of song. I was like a bride on her honeymoon. And now my soul is summer green. The heat of life on earth surrounds me, but I am alive and bearing fruit.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Yl_y_HPriU1gE14rg0xTc-Rp-cx4QkENOfm38Hdg822Gm-sXBLURxcWIYOaChsQ_DpeasoAxuIj2r-_3ZT4SWawnCEc_VcdrZZUeHlwfmw9nsQNS_FizZ_e89NM9Wyyojwhe/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5Yl_y_HPriU1gE14rg0xTc-Rp-cx4QkENOfm38Hdg822Gm-sXBLURxcWIYOaChsQ_DpeasoAxuIj2r-_3ZT4SWawnCEc_VcdrZZUeHlwfmw9nsQNS_FizZ_e89NM9Wyyojwhe/s1600/photo.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com32tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-52496555948013398822014-01-05T14:42:00.003-05:002014-01-11T11:00:41.047-05:00Beautiful Grief<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I saw him today. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">His picture, that is. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I went to my husband's computer to find a picture of a dear friend who just passed away, and there it was. I tried not to see it ever again, but I did. At first I thought it was Jackson or Annabeth in a hospital bassinet, but when I looked closer it was a baby with olive skin and black eyes wearing a white hat. I had put the Baby Gap hat in my purse to take home from the hospital and wash and then I never got to go back. It sits in a drawer in the stripped-bare nursery. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Half a second later I was crying. Most of the time when I cry, it comes on slowly. But now it comes in a blink. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Last night I visited a precious friend I've known for as long as I can remember. Her name is Vicky. She and her husband Louie were part of the core team of our church plant. They were one of a handful of older couples who showed us great mercy by joining our team. Their daughters are my friends and are close to my age. Louie passed away suddenly on Friday. He was sweet and hilarious and an adoring husband, daddy and grandpa. He loved Jesus. The quiet of his absence will be very loud for this family. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">While I was visiting with Vicky I thought about the demand our culture puts on us to be okay. I wondered if she was already feeling it. I wanted to stand between her and the Lie and slay it. I wanted to yell, "This is the worst thing she's ever gone through! There's no way she could be okay right now. This is terribly sad!" </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I wanted to fight for her. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">But a few days ago I wanted to fight myself. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I was drying my hair in front of a mirror. I was having a sad day. A mad day. The expression I saw in my eyes was one of self-hatred. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I hated myself because I could not control my emotions. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I hated myself because I was rejected. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I hated myself because I'm supposed to sing "Blessed Be the Name of the Lord" with my hands lifted to heaven and smile through my tears. I'm supposed to say how sweet and intimate my fellowship with God has been since I was crushed on October 14, 2013. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">It's not going down like that. I'm glad it does for some people. Those people have been given very special grace. There have been some moments like that, but largely this has been ugly and brutal. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Perhaps I witnessed someone having a Beautiful Grief Day and I thought that's how it's always done. I read the amazing testimony she wrote and thought that's normal for every day. Why would I expect less from myself? I'm in ministry, after all. This Beautiful Grief should be natural for me. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Um, no. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">This is not how I wanted to grieve, God. I wanted to be good at this. I didn't want to be mad at You. I didn't want to lash out at my husband and kids. I didn't want to use words that would shock people and let them know how rotten I felt. I didn't want to be cynical. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">The bright spot in this season is that I am really, really in touch with God's grace. I'm freshly aware that my relationship with God depends on His Son's perfection and not my own. This was something I came to know when I was a college student trying to get my very sinful life turned around. Now I'm a 34-year-old pastor's wife, just as relieved to be given grace as I was then. She who has been forgiven much loves much. Thank You, God. Help that love outweigh my questions and confusion in infinite measure. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com64tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-70153415025241410262013-12-26T14:28:00.001-05:002013-12-26T14:37:00.236-05:00Christmas Week 2013<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It seems every Christmas someone gets The Winning Gift, which is something that the gift giver has either put a lot of time, thought or money into. This is the gift you remember the year by. For example, over lunch yesterday we recalled the year Papaw gave Memaw a diamond bracelet he'd attached to a vacuum cleaner. We'd all thought it was strange that he'd given his beloved a vacuum - so unlike him! And then we saw the bling. One year my mom gave me a huge tub of my old baby clothes, which reduced me to tears. This year Curtis and I agreed that we would be very low-key in our gifts to each other. He asked for some tools and a record, which I delivered. I asked for nothing because I have been funky as of late. And wouldn't you know...the winning gift came to<i> me!</i> I, dear reader, am typing on said gift. My new MacBook came with a letter from my husband encouraging me to keep writing - that he had missed my words and was glad to be reading them again. That Curtis Jones is a good man. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I've never blogged very much about Christmas because we're immediately on the road and by the time we get home I'm sort of over it. This year we're home and here I am, typing in my bed while Annabeth sings on her new Sofia the First microphone, Jackson watches TV, and Curtis makes a hospital visit.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The days leading up to Christmas were memorable. Annabeth and I joined some friends and their girls for The Nutcracker Ballet at The Wortham. I had not seen this in many, many years and it was beautiful. They had a gingerbread house and a giant tree in the lobby to take pictures with. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpp3QcG-O1Vl86H-Rm7shyphenhyphen6K7JAAbmdH9RyAepCf2qnXB7Ya-FueRnWC_7A9FE0IWk-MHk-Bj5luf59FE8KSdhpR5hRilsCG41UqRazmLT4XCDCrSJMr1kvfSz4WfLTxv5Kfxo/s1600/IMG_5724.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpp3QcG-O1Vl86H-Rm7shyphenhyphen6K7JAAbmdH9RyAepCf2qnXB7Ya-FueRnWC_7A9FE0IWk-MHk-Bj5luf59FE8KSdhpR5hRilsCG41UqRazmLT4XCDCrSJMr1kvfSz4WfLTxv5Kfxo/s320/IMG_5724.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv6Yux2tZRQPClWyu7SX2Qyf7i-A1qCKnzkUXmoof6LmeE30TjNHAnGnDRedj3MhJWIx9TmR6CqRY6kHz4C2DU4X3K7um72KFqf2VWnMMVAKAOewbD0Zdl-WOghv07hdp2qsmU/s1600/IMG_5725.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv6Yux2tZRQPClWyu7SX2Qyf7i-A1qCKnzkUXmoof6LmeE30TjNHAnGnDRedj3MhJWIx9TmR6CqRY6kHz4C2DU4X3K7um72KFqf2VWnMMVAKAOewbD0Zdl-WOghv07hdp2qsmU/s320/IMG_5725.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsO-FNSURTI_9C_dTVrOsEBg3PFCD_MWw-KojS-Z8Z57Zc5xa3veVJ3YUxov3uu6mv3Za58Y4KQxmmwbZ0BiE6mvlKDWZCm_QPQ6o5TwdNCUTNRi6qDf7t09ojLq4tzXwIjkyj/s1600/IMG_5733.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsO-FNSURTI_9C_dTVrOsEBg3PFCD_MWw-KojS-Z8Z57Zc5xa3veVJ3YUxov3uu6mv3Za58Y4KQxmmwbZ0BiE6mvlKDWZCm_QPQ6o5TwdNCUTNRi6qDf7t09ojLq4tzXwIjkyj/s320/IMG_5733.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Afterward we went to Lakewood Church to hear our friend Christine Caine preach at the Saturday night service. It was an awesome day from beginning to end. Here is my mom covered in kiddos, which is her favorite thing. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhytkWov7VlKL8vbVnjXFQ4x94757rzhD2MNXObbhgz9xjKOeDPc6jRMU54zL8Ptds8Q4FJwuZBu_syEoBVao4DKNottQ6p7dj-GBIiA-aJwx8y5GipIQKm5qr54hVOw6Astpd1/s1600/IMG_5742.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhytkWov7VlKL8vbVnjXFQ4x94757rzhD2MNXObbhgz9xjKOeDPc6jRMU54zL8Ptds8Q4FJwuZBu_syEoBVao4DKNottQ6p7dj-GBIiA-aJwx8y5GipIQKm5qr54hVOw6Astpd1/s320/IMG_5742.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The night before Christmas Eve, we took our Australian friends to see Santa's Wonderland. The hayride ends with these scenes.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBUtlymiFMhHrCUJJFsyENhGgBcGAlZsaia0UlbcKhQ4jVEvmENjIJTjwLpDzxU-uXlrv3W4erfjZSIf6Y3cBMQAy70ZaWSzhAX1LwDrTjLAdd_Gjt6sVyxDoeagXkdVSwmFx-/s1600/IMG_5754.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBUtlymiFMhHrCUJJFsyENhGgBcGAlZsaia0UlbcKhQ4jVEvmENjIJTjwLpDzxU-uXlrv3W4erfjZSIf6Y3cBMQAy70ZaWSzhAX1LwDrTjLAdd_Gjt6sVyxDoeagXkdVSwmFx-/s320/IMG_5754.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj86cFnC00WABVNEJ7zeJQVUIvrg2fpzv4AXq10neg2_HzQOVbjIG8ZP65OriZ4Yvqo5lHkpWpEun7AKvJtx6foWP7ZuIjrLAi6LchSve_KVIUbsSn0FEPfenM73_hPGOiTawCm/s1600/IMG_5755.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj86cFnC00WABVNEJ7zeJQVUIvrg2fpzv4AXq10neg2_HzQOVbjIG8ZP65OriZ4Yvqo5lHkpWpEun7AKvJtx6foWP7ZuIjrLAi6LchSve_KVIUbsSn0FEPfenM73_hPGOiTawCm/s320/IMG_5755.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPKlZ7MyPo5iOeuyeYIgHASG08n-ae-Nxl9O8lASJtvU_3EdoD4iEYC4citcaYGEa4urkmRdRCsjiueYZ5JekpIIMs-wQ2D0dXmg7YxB8-d15EHxGP_tbS9mXFPjVMo3CucYog/s1600/IMG_5762.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPKlZ7MyPo5iOeuyeYIgHASG08n-ae-Nxl9O8lASJtvU_3EdoD4iEYC4citcaYGEa4urkmRdRCsjiueYZ5JekpIIMs-wQ2D0dXmg7YxB8-d15EHxGP_tbS9mXFPjVMo3CucYog/s320/IMG_5762.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">This picture shows you how COLD it was. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj21fXPr-kwflOC36K40Pbj342uhArG5MeMyNeXV87OK55JljwmuPvoWxCk9kEUpaxRcDXLdcgplgrnhpvIu820Ux_1-brskIkOhj-z8mk8mb7eEfME-ip-lD9_GoYuQV7HPGQs/s1600/IMG_5763.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="245" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj21fXPr-kwflOC36K40Pbj342uhArG5MeMyNeXV87OK55JljwmuPvoWxCk9kEUpaxRcDXLdcgplgrnhpvIu820Ux_1-brskIkOhj-z8mk8mb7eEfME-ip-lD9_GoYuQV7HPGQs/s320/IMG_5763.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">On Christmas Eve we joined our dear friends, the Merrells, for the Second Annual Reindeer Games. The games involved eggs, shaving cream, flour, and water. In Texas you can get away with such messy outdoor shenanigans in December. Barely. The big kids made this event very, very fun for the little kids. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhqEkI7rFDkDihX_uao0fIb7_RtEJUBqX_eJrJOS7LrgK7qC1NvL9uz9mswgXKndSgzq1eRefl9OTOTh2u8YJfGZv3TUjDNVoZJeqLvVgyLasPXY63uB7Xjk9yoMaZEgdTyB4x/s1600/IMG_5786.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhqEkI7rFDkDihX_uao0fIb7_RtEJUBqX_eJrJOS7LrgK7qC1NvL9uz9mswgXKndSgzq1eRefl9OTOTh2u8YJfGZv3TUjDNVoZJeqLvVgyLasPXY63uB7Xjk9yoMaZEgdTyB4x/s320/IMG_5786.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I took great joy in Jackson and Annabeth's matching PJ's before they went to bed.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_x_TQj4eQ02UukTRGuFWiP8tbt4Aov7bR04eRQHRdKY2hTTk3mPSXx4O7ljdYgzeQIWsHn7pM-218Lb293Zep_3usIZP14xxHgnqBS8IhdhOS3IefD4w0JtpwjWebpr3JnQmQ/s1600/IMG_7268.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_x_TQj4eQ02UukTRGuFWiP8tbt4Aov7bR04eRQHRdKY2hTTk3mPSXx4O7ljdYgzeQIWsHn7pM-218Lb293Zep_3usIZP14xxHgnqBS8IhdhOS3IefD4w0JtpwjWebpr3JnQmQ/s320/IMG_7268.jpg" width="213" /></a>'</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We got up at 7 AM and read the Christmas story and opened our presents. I made pancakes to hold us over for our late lunch with my parents.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu0tyv3Pa8vqUge5cjP7nzfjZSOCEMEoQudeWt1LUYQ4-8pGc3O6JYZng2VTRy4VhP3a1AAO1ZglL9yETWr89hwjLHk0Mg2k3P7ERWzSmf_lQ86KJIw-00kSLE8AG6Z86dsp6c/s1600/IMG_7281.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu0tyv3Pa8vqUge5cjP7nzfjZSOCEMEoQudeWt1LUYQ4-8pGc3O6JYZng2VTRy4VhP3a1AAO1ZglL9yETWr89hwjLHk0Mg2k3P7ERWzSmf_lQ86KJIw-00kSLE8AG6Z86dsp6c/s320/IMG_7281.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJpd9MrzHc1ivDQlya36dSNDTWx3aFQvIrubxB7hhBkxI4AysjfbzDIpd9gXPqQv2Jg2iBwnpAM-lhBpwN-50-TeoJyrKZxDFuLFkHYEgzkrTVh5dItUsFT87Sm1DJB5flMgZe/s1600/IMG_5798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJpd9MrzHc1ivDQlya36dSNDTWx3aFQvIrubxB7hhBkxI4AysjfbzDIpd9gXPqQv2Jg2iBwnpAM-lhBpwN-50-TeoJyrKZxDFuLFkHYEgzkrTVh5dItUsFT87Sm1DJB5flMgZe/s320/IMG_5798.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Their spots were marked by their mini Christmas trees.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjqhb5AVDR1u9U_rZceNY1mItLaXfynWNhcqkgHdAmXyK-JPlFwZg4zVwbl3Nxz2h_dLMJGHuUxQ3ijsFoIvgVJuIDl8Gv928nwmfH6Rl0B9Xy9KALvKt7sbqxSSf8Sn4We5fi/s1600/IMG_7289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjqhb5AVDR1u9U_rZceNY1mItLaXfynWNhcqkgHdAmXyK-JPlFwZg4zVwbl3Nxz2h_dLMJGHuUxQ3ijsFoIvgVJuIDl8Gv928nwmfH6Rl0B9Xy9KALvKt7sbqxSSf8Sn4We5fi/s320/IMG_7289.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj2bUXB_fDj25dKhUgbb4ik-trRmupj6mV5dFOv8c4QbYF-UwTxnI32jMnaDIo0Ywn9x9gQmqYWWcCo9PRQqmE6aL3BZ8lhD8oySlhOyCgLGozNpyY9ltgjXqVEY8lFs4xYgXl/s1600/IMG_7290.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj2bUXB_fDj25dKhUgbb4ik-trRmupj6mV5dFOv8c4QbYF-UwTxnI32jMnaDIo0Ywn9x9gQmqYWWcCo9PRQqmE6aL3BZ8lhD8oySlhOyCgLGozNpyY9ltgjXqVEY8lFs4xYgXl/s320/IMG_7290.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We gave Beckham this chew and he immediately started whining and pacing back and forth. He was desperate to take it outside. Bless his heart.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZlk9vnKSkU9kuOgU76mlb2yPF_FNPCS1a5eSNeWXUD9w6182RnTpSz16_op6EZSmtAEE1yHuDrSLC_J0Ej1acKtDGG2sQfcpyNh43yXgVwyn4HP9CkZ2mW_ELbJUMpyEOeutr/s1600/IMG_7294.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZlk9vnKSkU9kuOgU76mlb2yPF_FNPCS1a5eSNeWXUD9w6182RnTpSz16_op6EZSmtAEE1yHuDrSLC_J0Ej1acKtDGG2sQfcpyNh43yXgVwyn4HP9CkZ2mW_ELbJUMpyEOeutr/s320/IMG_7294.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">This is THE funnest kid to give anything to. His joy is amazing. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOUzHJNTo01fj3AYxFOhfbYGElDGmvl5HwPiCfydB4ZsanS373A1RObt08NRvqoKpUwZPU3etBch0RY-zASd1Q1lfv8Mkv6JEpqxUIq6R2MAzUfbiH7ab7Zy-fTlrahbdMxI03/s1600/IMG_7296.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOUzHJNTo01fj3AYxFOhfbYGElDGmvl5HwPiCfydB4ZsanS373A1RObt08NRvqoKpUwZPU3etBch0RY-zASd1Q1lfv8Mkv6JEpqxUIq6R2MAzUfbiH7ab7Zy-fTlrahbdMxI03/s320/IMG_7296.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Sis had a lot of flair all day. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj728-yXZvJ7cuTdZLZJC5OkAK6CALTEEPkx2MvpFpy_dPUyrKD9fg_-04-fh9bzWRBiqEFNzc9-nKerNN4x5jX2e6k7CL5jsoGTbSGeftXznrrM8uYg9Fl0TKsu5mpjScdX-nu/s1600/IMG_7305.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj728-yXZvJ7cuTdZLZJC5OkAK6CALTEEPkx2MvpFpy_dPUyrKD9fg_-04-fh9bzWRBiqEFNzc9-nKerNN4x5jX2e6k7CL5jsoGTbSGeftXznrrM8uYg9Fl0TKsu5mpjScdX-nu/s320/IMG_7305.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyPJWUtRrfFPiYxQetmo9H6SHhKbztqOMIHBQzni1GltfFowvMzSwEBHMjih_XHmbHcYCiYFGse3LVKGbrEuUU6l41KNgOb3STOu1Eg2FL1U9aiM0P83gTWOVBc7fD1Cw5OFWh/s1600/IMG_7313.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyPJWUtRrfFPiYxQetmo9H6SHhKbztqOMIHBQzni1GltfFowvMzSwEBHMjih_XHmbHcYCiYFGse3LVKGbrEuUU6l41KNgOb3STOu1Eg2FL1U9aiM0P83gTWOVBc7fD1Cw5OFWh/s320/IMG_7313.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">We enjoyed our second Christmas at my parents' new house. I wonder how long I will call it the new house? My mom made a fantastic lunch and we had a great time with my sister and our grandparents.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEgaJo5asV14tIaZl0qiyfI5yHJxP3IsMPsHhJYlgCgEHUcVBu3qXWr42T-U74g_TKudZ87GB9u6oVnRZ2Qv7i3zPxJFfTWVX8fDHuQDuAksKMeKoxWHVhxoMr8q0Von-JcxX5/s1600/IMG_7327.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEgaJo5asV14tIaZl0qiyfI5yHJxP3IsMPsHhJYlgCgEHUcVBu3qXWr42T-U74g_TKudZ87GB9u6oVnRZ2Qv7i3zPxJFfTWVX8fDHuQDuAksKMeKoxWHVhxoMr8q0Von-JcxX5/s320/IMG_7327.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNXHaqVPkpuGcdvQ53EHk8DJbaLYvGrKGzRAZ5c_xtDgZ8dAkclkRCvnhaK_6Hi4P05GSZb37ekpy0j8yegScXBl-ZXYwYeJrEGeuxziXi4leuzGzmEqaGKG03IduP6wjvn7br/s1600/IMG_7330.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNXHaqVPkpuGcdvQ53EHk8DJbaLYvGrKGzRAZ5c_xtDgZ8dAkclkRCvnhaK_6Hi4P05GSZb37ekpy0j8yegScXBl-ZXYwYeJrEGeuxziXi4leuzGzmEqaGKG03IduP6wjvn7br/s320/IMG_7330.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD3hTHFfCInslGyAoTF742Cclu7LGOED1pT4m7fJvtH31CvzjdrRGmXLnzPAnjzn7L-X3RgnAut9xmtO9bnAbu03xEPQa7fBvWM8Plm-yEB2I203zPpHSTpmhkI9QiR9sABaIR/s1600/IMG_7335.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD3hTHFfCInslGyAoTF742Cclu7LGOED1pT4m7fJvtH31CvzjdrRGmXLnzPAnjzn7L-X3RgnAut9xmtO9bnAbu03xEPQa7fBvWM8Plm-yEB2I203zPpHSTpmhkI9QiR9sABaIR/s320/IMG_7335.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFAqaYsxseK9_9uA-358F6bPCkamXnF-VkCqxE0C3IrCuqXHaAgX3vhLXCLoMzNv9U8yssPfsZG8pLYlc4i0TsbukreaLPFKV0F47GlJey6cEpqSp2h5nS9xcYXYIbn_xVuxA8/s1600/IMG_7337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFAqaYsxseK9_9uA-358F6bPCkamXnF-VkCqxE0C3IrCuqXHaAgX3vhLXCLoMzNv9U8yssPfsZG8pLYlc4i0TsbukreaLPFKV0F47GlJey6cEpqSp2h5nS9xcYXYIbn_xVuxA8/s320/IMG_7337.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Here's my honey getting some new contraption for the garage. He is my Christmas Hero. I did not feel up to a lot of shopping this year and he joyfully faced the hordes to make everything normal and great for our family.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8P8eakaMKICFEOETy2IZdIQufREd9Em8fvNcFY6XFThBLHQf-g31QXfvBnSjfwRkHH8X78X9TqnA3AUo2XE_bp5t6Nd-CLVcLfTW2sOxrpdLP36qLF8Pv6aqdv_rWs3ekSPVe/s1600/IMG_7345.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8P8eakaMKICFEOETy2IZdIQufREd9Em8fvNcFY6XFThBLHQf-g31QXfvBnSjfwRkHH8X78X9TqnA3AUo2XE_bp5t6Nd-CLVcLfTW2sOxrpdLP36qLF8Pv6aqdv_rWs3ekSPVe/s320/IMG_7345.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I thought a lot about the little baby who I hoped would be with us on Christmas Day. I've never had a newborn at Christmas and thought it would be very special. It was hard not to have him here. I have no idea who he lives with now or how he spent his day. I dreamed about him and his sweet mom last night. They are never far from my thoughts.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I hope you and your people had a very Merry Christmas. Now, onto the New Year.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com27tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24028336.post-90352384992137594352013-12-15T19:37:00.000-05:002013-12-15T22:03:36.305-05:00You Win Some, You Lose Some, You Win Again<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It's been four years since I told you about <a href="http://babybangs.blogspot.com/2009/09/preschool-lessons.html" target="_blank">my very first school fail</a>. It was spectacular. Since then I have continued to miss the mark - usually going over or under expectations. At issue is the question of "How awesome does this need to be?"</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Annabeth is currently in her last year of preschool. A month ago she received a card stock page with a turkey on it. The directions given were to "Let the whole family help" disguise the turkey so he wouldn't be eaten for Thanksgiving. Translation: Make it awesome. Before I had a chance to explain to Annabeth what our project was, she found herself a pencil and a fading purple marker and went to town. I'm already laughing like a hyena just writing this. I had every intention of asking for another copy to start over with, but my girl ended up with the flu and I missed my chance. So her first day back at school after being sick was the day her Hide the Turkey picture was due. Fun times! </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Of course, I remembered she needed this about 10 minutes before it was time to leave for school. So I found one of Jackson's National Geographic Kids magazines and cut out a koala face. I turned that into a mask by adding a strip of black construction paper to look like a stick. It doesn't matter that a turkey couldn't actually hold such a mask. I glued that baby down and BOOM. Turkey hidden. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_r7igN6Er3qjFwGUiYfWYv4DSogeiw3cPe3RrSV7dObjcI_Il2l6ELZsyNy6D9YSTXinSns3RYsN3CHl2oIliw5QW-tUVAHV-CYi1ho_ruv20Z3hDO0R-jfRikWtsv6mRGx3/s1600/photo(16).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis_r7igN6Er3qjFwGUiYfWYv4DSogeiw3cPe3RrSV7dObjcI_Il2l6ELZsyNy6D9YSTXinSns3RYsN3CHl2oIliw5QW-tUVAHV-CYi1ho_ruv20Z3hDO0R-jfRikWtsv6mRGx3/s320/photo(16).JPG" width="240" /> </a></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My child was thrilled! She thought it was so beautiful and amazing. Curtis took her to school and later told me how happy she was to give it to Ms. Kari. Bless her, Jesus. Later I got to see all the kids' turkeys displayed (in the hallway!) and let me just say, one was not like the others. My poor child. She told me she liked hers until she saw everybody else's. Worst mom ever. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">So the Monday after Thanksgiving I was tucking my big second grader into bed and he started telling me about a CONTEST at his school in which "the whole family" must decorate a cookie (a cookie!) in the likeness of a book character (a book character!) and you could win a gift card to Willie's Ice House or to a pottery painting place. I started hyperventilating immediately. <i>Oh, dear God in heaven, thou hast not gifted me with the ability to bake tasty nor beautiful treats for my child to display proudly at his place of learning. Deliver me from this destiny, Lord! </i>He said it was due on Wednesday and there would only be two winners in the whole school. What he didn't know was I had a women's event the next night and I wouldn't even have time to come up with greatness, much less execute it. I promised I would take him to Willie's AND to the painting place, but please understand that Mommy is a terrible baker/cookie decorator and there's no way we would win. No amount of his whining was going to change my mind. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I took to Facebook to discuss my lame mom status with my friends. Some of them laughed with me and some of them were horrified at my lack of motivation to try. A teacher friend clarified that I actually had a week to come up with a plan and that there would be more than 2 winners. It was my lovely friend Faylinn who basically threatened to come down to Houston and kick my butt if I didn't make an attempt. She sent me some pictures of ideas and when I turned them all down because of their difficulty, she finally gave me an idea that the kindergartners at her school do. So I have her to thank for what happened next. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">But first I want you to see the 100th Day of School t-shirt I made for Jackson last year. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">It was an over-the-top idea...</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> (before school)</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc2buPjJk1rOH6AAXIaRJ4zyV-JlKBC6doTfXyYj0arRgrLOUFAGy7f2eufCTlcDFuGPuMgJmu_0iDTERVleaBVeDUhEY4BWyHTymp7AK7eK7-H6co5K7t0ZLpkodSJzK_Cz4V/s1600/575430_10102868638492344_881592578_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc2buPjJk1rOH6AAXIaRJ4zyV-JlKBC6doTfXyYj0arRgrLOUFAGy7f2eufCTlcDFuGPuMgJmu_0iDTERVleaBVeDUhEY4BWyHTymp7AK7eK7-H6co5K7t0ZLpkodSJzK_Cz4V/s320/575430_10102868638492344_881592578_n.jpg" width="239" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">...that performed below expectations. </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> (after school)</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMCjhcWjOZucQeuF3v8mXOi3oLa8wVzIbhTiAjFrUlFmpPAxm1opDijxB0MmOep3IOVqJF0tQmtP_TumIOu62NMxMfdwizxHQcbHo04X3IPxReCAk3Q3hq73GnpFHKlBW4bAll/s1600/579771_10102868641800714_899307883_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMCjhcWjOZucQeuF3v8mXOi3oLa8wVzIbhTiAjFrUlFmpPAxm1opDijxB0MmOep3IOVqJF0tQmtP_TumIOu62NMxMfdwizxHQcbHo04X3IPxReCAk3Q3hq73GnpFHKlBW4bAll/s320/579771_10102868641800714_899307883_n.jpg" width="239" /></a></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"> My poor children. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">Here is the idea Faylinn gave me - a hot chocolate mug made out of an iced oatmeal cookie, a campfire-size marshmallow, a candy cane hook, melted chocolate, and mini-marshmallows. The most advanced skill it required was melting chocolate chips. This I could do (after consulting Google)! </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHIg0EchP7Rbca1Z5urdJHMeTZjpJbGNBEKVXo2kTKdxk4CXTX7oQ_kLbT5T307vqxnVRDQLfrQrfGKc97Q_TuMCujsY43CHtPOBx9YI_Ner35qNPIdYp1HxFODv7gL_gBkoj-/s1600/photo(14).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHIg0EchP7Rbca1Z5urdJHMeTZjpJbGNBEKVXo2kTKdxk4CXTX7oQ_kLbT5T307vqxnVRDQLfrQrfGKc97Q_TuMCujsY43CHtPOBx9YI_Ner35qNPIdYp1HxFODv7gL_gBkoj-/s320/photo(14).JPG" width="240" /> </a></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">We printed out a picture of the mouse from "If You Give a Mouse a Cookie" and glued him onto the hot chocolate mug. The contest was inspired by the book. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_gDatHuS7zJFr4bOGD2K98z_8wj2y_I4VzEpfNjA4tjMtZxsb24SecWeKmidf42awtvAb72e4xpwjk2kQJ2viZkg5izVaVWW9XP53o5UyL-DNXNp36v6I4VITZG3bDn1LMzI-/s1600/photo(13).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_gDatHuS7zJFr4bOGD2K98z_8wj2y_I4VzEpfNjA4tjMtZxsb24SecWeKmidf42awtvAb72e4xpwjk2kQJ2viZkg5izVaVWW9XP53o5UyL-DNXNp36v6I4VITZG3bDn1LMzI-/s320/photo(13).JPG" width="320" /> </a></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">My happy son. </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghBCddNfgEAcTN3im0QVHpByTPZES_fbO6-LBwzCrNjc44SAjv4VYzKiGavc98nHHuDJDuk2sKpKboxEt1gC9UmRgTZF2pyRapPtqleXIF_m7XsGf-mQWXvJs-8nl5TYhrNU-0/s1600/photo(12).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghBCddNfgEAcTN3im0QVHpByTPZES_fbO6-LBwzCrNjc44SAjv4VYzKiGavc98nHHuDJDuk2sKpKboxEt1gC9UmRgTZF2pyRapPtqleXIF_m7XsGf-mQWXvJs-8nl5TYhrNU-0/s320/photo(12).JPG" width="240" /> </a></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">I made two of these bad boys so that if we ruined one on the way to the after-school contest, all would not be lost. I knew it ended up being pretty cute but I prepped my son that we would not win. But isn't it great that we tried? And aren't you proud of Mommy? A friend who had already seen all the cookies let me know that there were some truly amazing ones. And indeed, when we dropped it off I was amazed! At least we tried! </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;">The winners would be announced the next morning. I reminded Jackson on his way out the door not to be disappointed. About 20 minutes later a friend who works at the school called me, squealing that Jackson's name had been called out on the morning announcements as a winner! </span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">WHAT!?!?!?!?!?!?! </span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikjbrzwxZjuPhwAYlDa5SM8XrhyphenhyphenXm5UnZT3AS82u4DZChveGa_OZZk98VS_JFYJ1cBsiS6ofASlEd-X299-wKURlUpXx-1znuHdf5wTEUK5kFugwhejYrdI8FR5f4gJJW9hFFS/s1600/photo(15).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikjbrzwxZjuPhwAYlDa5SM8XrhyphenhyphenXm5UnZT3AS82u4DZChveGa_OZZk98VS_JFYJ1cBsiS6ofASlEd-X299-wKURlUpXx-1znuHdf5wTEUK5kFugwhejYrdI8FR5f4gJJW9hFFS/s320/photo(15).JPG" width="240" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It was a Christmas miracle! Our cookie was The Most Creative!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">This was one of the greatest days of my entire life. I told Curtis I was going to need to talk about it a lot. I couldn't wait to see Jackson and experience his joy, so I decided to take him lunch that day. He was so happy and filled with love for his mom. I hope I never forget the sweet look on his face when he was telling me all about it. He said his class clapped for him. When they lined up for recess he kept waving to me and as they started walking outside he was hopping up and down. This is what we call "making Jackson too happy." I thought he might run the risk of getting in trouble that day because of his extreme happiness, but he did fine. </span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">My mom expressed her great joy that generations of women in her line had been vindicated and redeemed through my triumph in the school baking contest. I had to remind her that the cookie we made actually required no baking whatsoever. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">I will leave you with this video clip of Steve Carrell in Get Smart. It best expresses my feelings about having a winning cookie. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/SvmluRCGv_s" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</span><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
Amandahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16777762608528843328noreply@blogger.com23