tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-68262727288114255632024-03-13T14:56:39.120-07:00Hello again, Montana!Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger515125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-57598348815823950522015-09-05T10:55:00.000-07:002015-09-05T10:55:30.041-07:00A twelve-year-old young lady in this house!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My word. Count those candles.</div>
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And look at that "I am going to eat ALL this steak and not share with anyone" face.</div>
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This girl is TWELVE!</div>
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And this girl is one I also find amazing for so many reasons!</div>
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She is beautiful!</div>
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She is FUN!</div>
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She loves trying new things, like skateboards!</div>
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And driving a stick shift.</div>
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And BOWL roping. Which she thinks is hilarious because it sounds so much like BULL roping.</div>
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She is a GREAT friend who makes new friends and cherishes the old ones!</div>
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She works hard at every thing she does and it shows!<br />
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This bareback picture makes me laugh. She FELL OFF during the competition and STILL took fourth place! Out of SIX! </div>
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She is the best big sister a bunch of siblings could ask for!</div>
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Even if you can tell which is which because they seem to be all mired in the muck!<br />
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She may have been the ring leader here. Notice the dog is actually the only smart one in the bunch?</div>
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She helps the little ones.</div>
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And is intent on finishing what she started. </div>
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Even if it takes all day and a change of scenery since I sent her outside to ride her horse. Because if we have them, they are GOING to get ridden!</div>
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Well, that isn't exactly what I meant! But I will take it I guess.<br />
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What? You didn't mean sit on the horse and read for hours??? Oops.<br />
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Did I mention she likes to try new things?? Like getting her horse accustomed to a rope. Bareback? Crazy kid.<br />
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Happy Birthday to the awesome-est almost teenager I know!</div>
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Keep smiling, my beautiful girl. Life is good!<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-63353901877936788032015-08-21T21:17:00.002-07:002015-08-21T21:17:27.396-07:00This boy is a HANDFUL!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In more ways than one this boy is a handful. Particularly after today since he just turned FIVE!!! </div>
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Yes, this little cowboy was very excited yesterday when he realized that "TOMORROW IS MY BIRTHDAY!!!!"</div>
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You have no idea how many times I heard that as he danced around the house chanting it. Bouncing off the furniture and walls. Literally. And to tell you the truth, I have no idea how many times I heard it either. Or how many times I have told him to stop bouncing off the furniture and the walls. </div>
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You also won't believe the list of things he wanted for his birthday. One of his most requested items was a pair of spurs. He even knew which ones he wanted. But, his father and I decided that spurs for this boy would not be making the cut this year. </div>
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However, this black cowboy hat did. I had a friend stop by today and we gave it to him while she was there. Her favorite thing about the whole evening I think was how big his eyes got when he opened that hat. </div>
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He may sleep with it on tonight. And it would be great if we could find his new cowboy boots. No idea where those went </div>
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Oh, and being the terrible mother that I am, I didn't get his cake made today. But being the loving, sweet, forgiving boy he is (at least when he isn't antagonizing his sisters, which may be one very big reason why spurs didn't make the cut this year), he let me stick candles in his pizza and we sang to him before dinner. <br />
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This kid is a handful. He is smart, sweet, fun, funny, passionate, loving, kind and just an all around great kid. I am so glad he is my boy. If I only get one, he is a great one to have!</div>
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Did I mention that he is a handsome little guy, too?? </div>
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And he is excited to start some school this year. Maybe he will even start wearing his hat the right way. At least his cowboy hat. </div>
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I love this boy. So does everyone else in this family. He is an easy kid to love! </div>
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Happy Birthday to my little man! </div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-44990751674760277652015-07-16T12:21:00.000-07:002015-07-16T12:21:25.154-07:00This girl had a BIRTHDAY!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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See this pretty girl?? This morning I asked her how my favorite seven-year-old was. She looked at me like I was crazy and told me she was SIX. <br />
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Apparently we need to work harder to make her birthday memorable. Though I thought we did a pretty good job considering the fact that we had kids and horses involved in fair this week. And grandma and grandpa and grandma were here. <br />
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I mean seriously, how can you not remember these faces?!?!?! <br />
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And this:<br />
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The girl won't ride a bike and she got it in her head that she wanted a scooter. So what better place to have a party than a park in town? We took a few hours out of the fair and grandma and grandma and grandpa made sure we had food and everything. It was a great little party and the birthday girl had a really great time I think. I mean, look at that smile. </div>
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I love this girl. Her blond hair and her blue eyes and her little bird legs and her spunk and her giggle and her toothless grin. She is awesome.</div>
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Next week she is so excited to do riding lessons just like her two older sisters. I can hardly believe how she handles that horse. Watching her grow has been so fun. And we are looking forward to continuing to watch her grow. </div>
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We love you V! Happy Birthday!!!</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-58112955037588450352015-02-26T17:15:00.000-08:002015-02-27T09:44:56.446-08:00My Valentines<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The husband came home with individual invitations to a Valentines Day celebration on the day before Valentines Day. He put them on our plates before dinner. Those of us who could read opened them and commented on the "formal attire" line. </div>
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"We get to dress up!" I said. </div>
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"I know EXACTLY what I am going to be!" Violet said.</div>
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"I am going to be SPIDERMAN!" Carsten said.</div>
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Ummm .... that isn't exactly formal, I thought to myself as the husband and I were laughing.</div>
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We did manage to get the kids dressed in their most formal attire, including a fun hairstyle for each of the girls. </div>
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Except for the shoes. Apparently they objected to shoes.</div>
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This whole thing was the brainchild of the husband. He decided he wanted to do something fun and memorable. I am going to spoil the story here and say that it was the best Valentines Day EVER!<br />
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We had fancy clothes, fancy jewelry, a fancy menu ...<br />
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and a fancy order of events. <br />
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See how fancy we are?? <br />
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He even let me crash his fancy bar-b-que and demand a selfie of our fancy selves. Isn't he handsome in that hat and tie?? I think his daughters swooned over his handsomeness. His wife most definitely did. Even if he hadn't gotten me those fancy new earrings that I love I would have swooned over his handsomeness.<br />
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Fancy table complete with fancy flowers and fancy place cards. <br />
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The sky even cooperated and showed off its fanciness. <br />
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A fancy boy with sour cream on his face. I don't think he is wearing shoes here either. <br />
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A fancy girl with curled hair and fancy new earrings.<br />
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Another fancy girl ... oh wait. That is the crazy one.<br />
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Here. Another fancy girl with curled hair and a fancy dragonfly necklace. <br />
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The oldest fancy girl with fancy hair and fancy new earrings. When did she get so grown up?!?<br />
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And a fancy grandpa. What? Who invited him?? <br />
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Oh, that's right. They were driving through and stopped for that fancy tie to wear with that "fancy" shirt. At least that is what I think they meant when they said they were stopping for some appropriate attire and would be here for dinner. The man makes me laugh. <br />
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And look! A fancy girl has captured the heart of the husband. This kind of thing just makes me melt a little.<br />
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This was hilarious. I couldn't seem to get the Heart and Soul duet thing down. And I had only had one glass of wine. So grandma took over. What does Grace do?? She starts playing double time!! Of course, grandma is good, but she tells Grace it is too fast. <br />
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Grace, being the smarty pants that she is, started playing in SLOW MOTION and just gave grandma this classic look like she is daring her to try to keep up.<br />
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I don't know where she gets it.<br />
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Oh, wait, maybe this is where. That guy with the red tie! <br />
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I didn't know that there was a slide whistle part to Heart and Soul. Apparently he is quite musical and I had no idea. This picture was right before Grace got laughing so hard she just put her head down on the keys because she couldn't play anymore for laughing. </div>
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We cooked, we ate, we laughed, we played piano, we listened to poetry, we danced (Violet had to dance with Olaf and made a big show of dancing down the stairs with him and then was just dancing to whatever was in her head while the rest of us swirled around her), and we laughed some more (when grandpa just picked Calla up to dance with her and Calla declares that dancing is really easy).<br />
<br />
And then we laughed some more.<br />
<br />
All because of this handsome guy. He managed to pull it all together and then, with a little help, we were all able to pull it off. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nb7xLJKzdFY/VOLASrRY8bI/AAAAAAAAExE/kKltpSUfGgA/s1600/IMG_8266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-nb7xLJKzdFY/VOLASrRY8bI/AAAAAAAAExE/kKltpSUfGgA/s1600/IMG_8266.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a> </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I must say, it is SO nice to be back together and functioning as a happy family again. I don't think I can describe it. But I know that it feels really, really good. And I know that this guy and I are a team. That is what made this Valentines Day so great.<br />
<br />
And these people. I love that the two adults in this picture are close enough to just stop by. I love that they do. And I love that the four kids in this picture say things like, "I hope grandma brought grandpa!" when they hear they are coming. <br />
<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-My63SR8tu5Q/VOLAU_Xd7XI/AAAAAAAAExM/LGLHVVaxnTo/s1600/IMG_8267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-My63SR8tu5Q/VOLAU_Xd7XI/AAAAAAAAExM/LGLHVVaxnTo/s1600/IMG_8267.JPG" height="400" width="298" /></a></div>
<br />
Best Valentines Day ever. Because we are all together in one place. And because we all care enough to make it work.<br />
<br />
And because we are not above having a ton of fun!<br />
<br />
This guy ... <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I love him. I know what life is like without him. And it is SO amazing to have him back! <br />
<br />
Best Valentines Day EVER!!!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-89298893482670556662015-01-31T21:19:00.000-08:002015-02-03T12:01:45.727-08:00Respect<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I want to start this post by saying that I am far from perfect. By putting this out there I am not trying to tell everyone I am perfect. In fact, sometimes I scare myself with the not nice thoughts that go through my head. Sometimes they make their way out and I am horrified and mortified. So, if you read this and it makes you think that I am a wonderful person. Don't. Please don't. I struggle every day with it. This is just what I have learned so far and my attempt to put it together into something that I can see. Not how I am actually able to live on a daily basis. I admit that I screw it up more than I get it right. </span></i><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I saw something recently that made
me really think. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">"The truth will set you
free. But first it will (tick) you off."</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">There is so much truth packed into
this little statement. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Truth. Telling the
truth. Recognizing the truth. Knowing the truth. Speaking
the truth. Hearing the truth. Really listening to the truth. Accepting the truth. Acting on the truth. But truth is hard. Really hard. Because usually
it ticks people off. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">One friend pointed something out a
bit ago about how Jesus called his disciples idiots at one point. A few
years ago when I realized that Jesus getting frustrated with his disciples was
recorded in the Bible, I laughed and laughed and pretty much used that as a
reason to say it like it is. After all, if Jesus did, why can't I?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But then I realized that some people got
tired of Jesus telling them the truth and they killed him. It didn't
matter that Jesus was speaking the truth in love and without selfish
motives. (And yes, I realize that there is so much more to the WHY of
Jesus dying, but for my purposes, we will not get into that.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Recently we celebrated Martin Luther
King Jr. Day. On this day we celebrate a man who also, like Jesus,
stood up and told it like it was. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Some people didn't like it. Someone killed him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">People apparently don't like to be
told that someone disagrees with them. I am one of those people,
actually. Most likely because I am human. And humans are funny that
way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And maybe it comes down to
respect. But what is respect? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I asked.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Five hours. It took five
hours to get two responses and three likes. I am not Little Miss Popular.
But that is pretty rare. Eighteen hours later, I had four likes and
still only two brave souls who spoke up. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Is it really that tough of a
topic? Or maybe, like one of my friends pointed out, our culture doesn't<i>
know</i> what respect is. We don't teach respect. People don’t
know what it is.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I have been thinking about respect a
ton recently. Life events, dealing with my kids as siblings and growing
children, watching my friends and acquaintances deal with tough issues and each
other. Trying to figure out if I should keep my mouth shut or say
something. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I am not going to lie. I think
I have a lot of friends. A lot of really great friends who are neat
people, and I have learned a lot about life from them. And I hope some of
them don't mind if I talk about them here. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">One response to my respect question
stated that respect is being mindful of others and how you may offend
them. Yes. And yes. Engage that filter. If we
aren't adding to the situation or ultimately building someone up, it may be a
good idea to keep it to ourselves. Though I also think that sometimes the truth needs to be stated. As I pointed out earlier, that can be <i>very</i> dangerous.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A while back another friend commented
that she really doesn't have to wonder what I am thinking. I
apparently don't hesitate to just let it all come out of my mouth. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Except I don't think that is
true. There is a lot that I do say. But I don't say all of
it. Trust me. My world is a nicer place with that stuff all still
in my head. Why? Well, because that is part of what I think respect
looks like. My filter usually works (usually). I know it is important. I usually choose
to use it. (Usually.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">One response I got is that respect
is quiet. That is beautiful. Some of the most amazing people I have
known have been quiet people. People I couldn't help to be drawn to
because I knew that when they did have something to say, it was always
significant. Like they saved up all their significant thoughts for that one
comment and packed it all in for maximum effect. But without any effort
at all.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Respect is quiet in other ways as
well. Quietly doing the right thing. Quietly making a
difference. Quietly carrying out your responsibilities that keep the
world around you orderly and happy. Yes, respect is quiet. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I would also argue that respect is
speaking up and <i>not</i> keeping quiet. And I am talking beyond, "You
have toilet paper sticking out the back of your pants," kind of speaking
up. Though I am not denying the importance of speaking up in that
instance. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">What I am talking about is the hard
kind of respect. The kind where you look at someone you love and respect
and realize that they have something going on that shouldn't be going on.
It doesn't matter why, but you know that it shouldn't be going on and you know
exactly where it is going. Respect in this instance seems to be speaking
up. Not standing by and being quiet, but speaking up and making a stand for what you know is right. Saying that
you love them and you need them to know what you see. I have several
relationships where it isn't at all a problem for our relationship for either one
of us to speak up or call the other on the carpet. They are some of my
most meaningful and solid relationships because of that. No, I am not
always happy when I am the one hearing the truth. It hurts to realize
that I am wrong. Sometimes I cry and yell and swear (also not quiet I realize). And now I have to go fix it. That takes energy. And I have to deal with the fact that I may have hurt someone in the process. Plus, I was wrong. I hate being wrong. Though I have learned that admitting the fact that I was wrong is very liberating. And I think more people should try it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Respect is also reciprocal. It
has to go both ways. If it doesn't go both ways, the relationship has
nothing to go forward on. Respect breeds trust and trust is another
foundation of a solid relationship. If there isn't trust, there really is
nothing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But it has to start with
someone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone has to be brave enough
to throw the first bit of respect and trust out there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And the other person has to be brave enough to grab it with a
smile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">But once that trust and respect is established, it has to be maintained. They are hard won, sometimes tricky to maintain and really tough to get back once they are lost. Sometimes I think that is why relationships are so hard. Maintaining that respect and trust is tough.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Respect can agree to disagree and
disagree without being disagreeable or contentious. I was trying to explain this to
someone about a week ago. Some of my favorite people in the world are
some of the ones I guess you could say I disagree with most. Frankly, if
one of my criteria for friends was that they agree with me 100%, I wouldn't
have any friends. And I wouldn't be married to the guy I am married
to. Shoot, I wouldn't even get along with my own parents. That
seems like a pretty lonely existence, actually.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I had someone tell me at his dinner
table that I was one of the few people that he felt comfortable talking to
about our religious differences without feeling like he was offending me or
like I was going on the defensive. This was at his dinner table with his
entire family around him. And dinner didn't miss a beat. Nor did
our visit. I felt like I must be doing something right. That doesn't happen much.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I have another friend that I can
honestly say I may have only agreed with about 10% of what she has done in and
with her life. But because of that reciprocal respect, I have learned
more from her than I think I have learned from any other single person that I
am not related to. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Interestingly enough, one of the
people I was trying to explain this to responded saying that my friend was
pretty tolerant to be friends with someone (me) who disagreed with the core of who
she was. Obviously it goes both ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But this person went on to say that she couldn't get there no matter how much
she meditated. What I didn't say then (respect) but what I am going to
say here is that maybe if meditation isn't working, she could consider trying
something else. And maybe it has nothing to do with tolerance (I have
issues with that term) and everything to do with mutual respect, trust, and
love. Those things don't just happen. But they all start with
respect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I was talking to another friend of
mine recently about relationships. She simply stated that relationships
are hard. I could not agree more. Every relationship under the roof
I call home is hard. My relationship with the husband is
incredible. But sometimes it is really hard. My relationships with
my children are thriving, but sometimes they are very hard. Their
relationships with each other are hard. I deal with that every day,
helping them work through all the stuff that happens between them. Not a
day goes by that someone isn't apologizing to someone else. And more
times than I like to admit it is me doing the apologizing. Sometimes not a single hour of the
day goes by that someone isn't apologizing. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Recently we had a problem and
one of the kids looked at me and said, "But it was my
fault!" That pretty much floored me.
And then I told said child that I am sure she knew what to do. It was
worked out within minutes. I went and had a moment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe all my apologizing and telling my
kids that it was my fault when it is and telling they are wrong when they are is working.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pray that is the case.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Hallelujah!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Apologies and forgiveness are so
very important to relationships. Sometimes we hurt people without meaning
to. "I am sorry if I hurt you by what I said/did. I did not
mean it that way and I hope you will give me a chance to explain." Or, "I am not sure what is going on, but I feel like I may have offended you or upset you somehow. If that is the case, I am sorry." Sometimes we go for the jugular because we are so darn mad we lose control and
lash out. But that reciprocal respect is what brings it back.
"I am sorry I said and did those things. I was mad. I hope you
can forgive me." And doing the right thing when you are still fighting mad
is hard. Just as hard as it is to realize that the other person is doing
the right thing even though s/he is still fighting mad as well. Because
the truth is, they are being the better person and that has a tendency to tick
me off. But that doesn't mean I shouldn't try to respect that. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The same friend who pointed out that
respect is quiet also made a huge connection between respect and pride.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To quote her, “To respect someone is to see
their value.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pride keeps us from seeing
past our own value.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Oh my word.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is so amazing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Realizing you are wrong, admitting it and
asking for forgiveness is stepping past pride and humbling yourself in front of
someone who may be angry with you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Even if you feel like you are being wronged as well. </span>But I
know when someone values their relationship with me enough to apologize like
that, all I want to do is wrap them in a giant hug and never let them go. It isn't about YOU! It isn't about ME! It is about the RELATIONSHIP!!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">When I was teaching high school I
caught three kids cheating on the same test.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I wrote all three of them up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t too surprised that I had caught two of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The third one nearly broke my heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But dangit if the next time the kid clapped
eyes on me in a crowded hall surrounded by all his friends he actually stopped
mid-sentence and yelled to get my attention, fighting his way through the
crowd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He didn’t even wait until he got
to me to apologize. He just kept yelling. “Mrs. D! I am SO sorry!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I should NOT have done that!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything about him was sincere and he made
no effort to be quiet about his shame. I knew his parents would probably dole
out a pretty appropriate punishment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
I also knew that telling them about the apology would likely do a lot of good
for everyone involved as well. Frankly, kids don't have that kind of character by chance or by accident. They learn it. They are taught it by people who live it. By people who value that kind of character enough to instill it in their kids.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">The other two kids?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t even remember who they were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I know I didn’t get an apology from
either of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Thinking about it now,
that kind of makes me sad.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I also learned that even if I am “less
wrong” than the other person, I can still apologize and work towards
restoring the relationship.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nobody is
completely innocent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> And it isn't ME that is important. It is the RELATIONSHIP. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">You know what else there is about apologies?? An unnecessary one certainly can't hurt. I have had people apologize because they think they offended me with something they said or did. Usually I smile and tell them that they are going to have to work harder than that to offend me. And we have a good laugh and everyone is happy and respect is brought up a notch. Or I apologize and they look at me like I am nuts because I am apologizing for something they don't even remember. And we smile and they know I value the relationship. It is all good! </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">All these moments where pride (mine
included) are put aside for the good of a relationship are very humbling for
me. They bring me back to the fact that I am really no better than anyone
else. I say and do things I shouldn't all the time. Paul talks
about it in the Epistles. He knows he shouldn't do all these things, but
he does them anyway. Because he is sinful. It all comes down to
that. This is a fallen world. We all screw up. And we all
need forgiveness.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> And we are a whole heck of a lot more likely to get it if we own up to what we did and apologize.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">As a little side note, anger is not
always bad. The Bible talks about how we should be slow to anger and to
not sin in our anger. That doesn’t sound to me like anger itself is a
sin. I hear people all the time saying that they know they shouldn't be
angry. Sometimes that is true. But sometimes anger is justified and
necessary. And sometimes it is brought on by the truth. Realizing
that we are being wronged. Or taken advantage of. Or being
disrespected. Or lied to. Having our character questioned or
slandered. Those kinds of things make me mad. Sometimes they make
me fighting mad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And sometimes they make
me walking away mad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Figuring out whether I should be fighting mad or walk away mad is always the hard part. And frankly I always feel like I choose wrong. I hate fighting with people. I hate it. I hate it with a passion. But you know what I hate more? I hate being lied to. I hate feeling disrespected. I hate having my character questioned. And I hate being taken advantage of. So, if you want to fight with me, those are good ways to get me fighting mad. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Yes, hate is a strong word. But appropriate at times.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">One of the "personal
theories" that bothers me is one that I feel like I hear all the time. "I
can say and do whatever I want whenever I want and if you have a problem with
it, that is your problem. Not mine." </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Basically, this relieves the person
of any responsibility for what they say or do. How convenient that they
get to blame everything on someone else and live in their own happy
bubble. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">It is the most selfish thing I think
anyone can do. There is not an ounce of respect there. And if
anyone dares to try and convince this person that their theory is flawed, well,
I have learned over and over the hard way that it will likely not be
pretty. Mostly because I got fighting mad when I should have gotten
walking away mad. I have come to realize that in Greek and Roman mythology some of the punishments were designed to drive someone mad. Forever rolling a rock up a hill just to have it roll down the other side. Being hungry and having the grapes always just out of reach. Being thirsty and having the water just out of reach. Frankly, I think one of the punishments should have been to try to convince someone who doesn't care to care. It is impossible. Believe me, I have tried. It just drives me mad.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">But then, dangit if I forget that that sociopathic personal theory is selfish and disrespectful and I try to make it work for me. I really don't like it when I realize I am the one who was trying to do that to someone. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Respect. It can't be
forced. It must be reciprocated. It should be given freely, but it also needs to be
earned. Sometimes it is really, really hard. Every relationship that is
worth having is built on respect. And truth. And trust. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Was it lack of respect and the
presence of pride that killed Jesus (aside from the whole prophecy thing)? And did that Martin Luther King?
And countless other people in the history of the world who had enough respect
and were selfless enough to speak the truth and admit the truth? And be
angered by the truth?
I don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I
do know that when I show respect, I generally get it back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I don’t get it back, I try to re-evaluate
the situation and see if I want to stay in it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or if I should say something or keep my mouth
shut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t always make the right
choice.
It makes the world a better place.<br />
<br />
I try to live it. I expect it of my children. I try to be someone worthy of respect.</span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-18009764280361329692015-01-25T13:40:00.001-08:002015-01-25T13:40:53.542-08:00Nine!<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
This morning I sat on the couch with this girl and told her that nine years ago she was brand new and about "this big." She also was mad as can be. </div>
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Thankfully she got over the mad part. But she still isn't very big.<br />
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We were taking pictures of her with the cake--and she has a very obnoxious photo bomber. <br />
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She wasn't too upset by the whole deal. <br />
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This girl of ours is amazing. She is smart, kind, generous, determined, creative, considerate and a whole host of other really great things packed into a small and very enthusiastic package. <br />
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I think one of her defining moments of the year was when she got a horse of her very own. <br />
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These two have already spent an extraordinary amount of time together. I have a feeling they will be doing an extraordinary amount of learning from one another. <br />
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I had to laugh at the vet when we took Lucy to get her teeth floated. The tech asked if the horse was a Christmas present. I just shook my head and told her that I didn't want to set the bar that high. <br />
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Knitting is also something Calla has really been enjoying. And she designs stuff. Like this:<br />
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A pencil cup. Why? Because she is learning to make socks and has to practice to get the gauge right. Why waste the effort? So she decreased, lined it with paper and filled it with beans. Ta-DA! A pencil cup!<br />
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This girl is thriving. She loves life. She loves her family. She loves learning. She works hard. She has a huge heart. <br />
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She is our Calla. And we love her. Happy birthday to our favorite nine-year-old!<br />
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(Note that she designed her banner and painted the flowers. Love this kid!)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-33499641674411720502015-01-17T16:00:00.002-08:002015-01-17T16:00:48.960-08:00All coming back togetherThis summer someone asked me why I haven't been blogging. I told him that I didn't have anything nice to say. We are coming up on a year since the husband took a new job. From the beginning of February until just before Thanksgiving I lived without a husband. That is SO hard. I cannot put into words how hard it was. The kids all took turns throwing up from anxiety for the first month he was gone. I stopped sleeping. We pretty much just started existing.<br />
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Then from June to just before Thanksgiving we were homeless. My parents were generous and so kind to take us in, but that is still pretty stressful. And I was still pretty much without a husband.<br />
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We worked to do fun stuff. We traveled around this part of the country. We tried to go see interesting things and do interesting things. <br />
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We did Ringing Rocks, which is literally a giant pile of boulders. Many of them when hit with a hammer will ring. Pretty awesome.<br />
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We hit the beach with people we hadn't seen in a while.<br />
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We goofed off with people we are related to. (Brent says this is proof that he is the favorite.)<br />
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We loved on people we love.<br />
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We rode horses.<br />
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And rode some more.<br />
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And rode some more.<br />
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And we visited friends we haven't seen in a while in places we haven't been in a while. <br />
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And found awesome adventures with them.<br />
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We rediscovered the sky. <br />
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Again.<br />
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And again.<br />
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We tried some new things.<br />
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Learned some stuff about birds.<br />
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Took some things to the fair.<br />
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And took advantage of the fact that we were living with grandma and grandpa. Brent and I had not been away from all our kids at once probably since Grace was born eleven years ago. Brent had a work trip to South Dakota of all places, and we ran off for a WEEK!<br />
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We saw Mount Rushmore.<br />
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And drove through the Badlands. I must say, I think we hit it at a pretty awesome time of day!<br />
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After we finally lost our light, we stopped at a crappy little restaurant to eat. On our way out of the park we realized that the stars were AMAZING. So we stopped and watched them for a while. Holy smokes the sky is gorgeous. To top it off, there was a big lightening storm on the horizon. It was perfect.<br />
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We drove the Needles Highway.<br />
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Pictures cannot do that experience justice. So pretty. <br />
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And we say this.<br />
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Frankly, I am not sure how I felt about this. But I think you have to experience it to understand.<br />
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And look! That sky again! <br />
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The kids may tire of me saying that. But then again, maybe not.<br />
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We learned about Montana history and about Lewis and Clark. We visited Bannack (the Montana Territory capital and now a ghost town) and the Lewis and Clark Interpretative center. We found fossils and went to museums and rodeos and on adventures with new friends. I don't think I am even remembering it all! <br />
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All this sounds wonderful, though, right? Well, this is the highlight reel I guess. It wasn't all fun and games. We were still without the husband and father most of the time. And we were still living at grandma and grandpas and not having much luck at all finding a place to live. Then we got hit with something we didn't see coming at all.<br />
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On August 5th, the horse that Calla called her own died. Suddenly. Very suddenly. <br />
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Brent and I had just been commenting the day before that Sweetie looked so good. The next day we got a call from the people who were boarding her. They found her in the barn. We don't know if she died and fell over or fell over and died. We wonder if it was a heart attack or a stroke or something equally as sudden. We just know she went fast. We buried her the next day.<br />
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Calla was immediately devastated. She was actually inconsolable. She cried for days. Weeks, more like it.<br />
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I would ask if she wanted to go riding. She would just shake her head.<br />
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I did get her on a horse a couple times. <br />
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She looked great up there. But he wasn't her Sweetie. And I finally just stopped trying and decided to wait.<br />
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She worked through her grief. One step was the headstone. <br />
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One step was getting her a locket with a picture of the two of them in it. <br />
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I would mention that maybe we could consider getting another horse. She would just shake her head and walk off quietly. <br />
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Her heart was broken. <br />
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And we were still homeless.<br />
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Finally, just before Thanksgiving, we moved into a place that couldn't be more perfect. It is amazing. <br />
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I think grandma and grandpa are going to be extracting us from their house for at least a year. Maybe more. Kind of like when you fall into a bush of stuff that sticks to your clothes with fleece on and spend weeks picking out all the little sticky buggers that you keep finding. Even after you are sure you got them all.<br />
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And then we found her. The horse for Calla.<br />
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When Calla met Lucy, it was the first time she smiled that big since losing her Sweetie. <br />
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And now when it is warm enough to not freeze our behinds off, or fingers or noses or ears, we jump on and head out. This picture makes me laugh because I said, "Carsten! I can't see you!" And he just popped out from behind Grace. <br />
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And I love this one of the new pair. <br />
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We have some work to do, but it is going to be good for everyone.<br />
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Hey look! Sky!<br />
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And more sky!<br />
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And Grandma??? YES! That's grandma!<br />
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And me???<br />
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Like my new hat?? It is SO warm!<br />
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And a crazy bunch of flexing people?? <br />
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I love them!<br />
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Yes, this last year was pretty tough. We tried to make the best of it (I think we did a pretty good job), but I am glad it is over. I have a husband back. I have a home. I have a little girl who is no longer completely heartbroken I have an entire family that is happily settling in and we all are making our life what we want it to be again. Which is pretty much awesome. <br />
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And here is the totally awesome couple that started all this crazy business. Yes, that guy is still wondering what hit him and how he got involved with a crazy like me!<br />
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Words cannot express how I feel about being back in the same house with this man. Words cannot express how I feel about the fact that we have three horses in our back yard again. And words cannot express how excited I am that four kids jump at the chance to get out and be with those three horses every chance they get. (Right now that means that it is probably above freezing!) We are meeting new people and have already made new friends. All these things mean home to me.<br />
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It feels so right. <br />
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And look kids! Mountains! <br />
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Hello again, Montana. You are AWESOME!<br />
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-2978992311615407822015-01-06T21:19:00.000-08:002015-01-06T21:58:17.669-08:00FORTY!<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
So, I went and turned 40.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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At first I thought it was kind of rude all sneaking up on me like
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But that was two years ago when I turned 38.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Somehow that was harder than turning 40.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or now I am just tired and don’t care.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have moved several times since then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That wears a girl out, actually.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Usually my birthday isn’t a big deal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not one to make my birthday a big
deal at least.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The people who know when my
birthday is and who care enough to tell me they are thinking of me on that day
always make a point to do so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But in all
honesty, I have no idea when most of their birthdays are and have some guilt about
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I don’t make a big deal about mine, but it is always a totally great day regardless of who does or does not remember my birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But this year my sneaky husband changed all that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He decided that the milestone should be recognized
and made some strategic phone calls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He
even went so far as to have one of the kids hijack my phone so he could get
numbers out of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sneaky man.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I got phone calls and messages and emails and all
that for the whole day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> I got some birthday wishes before my birthday and they kept rolling in for about a week afterwards. </span>Upwards of 50
people wished me happy birthday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
incredible and made me smile all day long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The husband did well.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(And I may
have told about half of them when HE turns 40!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ha!)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He also got me an incredible gift.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that is going to have to wait for now
because it isn’t ready yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It deserves its own post. It really is that good.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now what is a girl to do with this year of 40?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It happens that my birthday also falls during
all the crazy holiday stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span> I have put
some thought into it, like I usually do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One year I was
going for better every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This year, I
am going with that same theme I think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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It is going to be AWESOME.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just
AWESOME.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Awesomeness is going to rule
this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And I am dragging the husband
and kids along with me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
**Insert evil laugh here**</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have no idea what that looks like yet, but I will keep you
posted. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A couple ideas: </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Say yes</i>—not to all the little things that suck your energy and fill up your schedule (I do need to take on a few of those now that I am new again), but
to the new people and new and great experiences we have an opportunity to meet and find.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was talking to a new acquaintance
last week and she mentioned a few things that we are going to be all over—like learning
how to pack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As in put a bunch of stuff
on a horse and ride into the wilderness for a few days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And archery class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sign me
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That sounds fun! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And my kids are always coming up with crazy
ideas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Like temporary tattoo musthaches. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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So why not?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s do it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And I will drag the husband along as well. Oh wait, he is the instigator of craziness most of the time ... Hey! You all smile over there! </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Fine, be weird. But I'm taking your picture and then POSTING it!! (Maybe we are all a little crazy.)<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Be deliberate</i>--I just plain need to do this more. Not that spontaneous and last minute are bad. I have in fact survived and even gone so far as thrived on being spontaneous and last minute. But I am now wondering if being more deliberate will bring it up a notch. Maybe that comes with this new age of mine. </div>
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<br /></div>
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The husband has been bringing me flowers pretty regularly since we moved into this house. That seems pretty deliberate. And I like it. So it isn't all bad I guess. </div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2H9ta0nbHZg/VKy_eIouLuI/AAAAAAAAEhA/p3ZRNkJrqxo/s1600/roses.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-2H9ta0nbHZg/VKy_eIouLuI/AAAAAAAAEhA/p3ZRNkJrqxo/s1600/roses.jpg" height="300" width="400" /> </a></div>
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And if we are going to have these horses, we are going to have to ride them. A lot.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1_Yn47wSlFg/VKy5TUiojeI/AAAAAAAAEgY/6Xo3eQPbZ1M/s1600/IMG_7584%5B1%5D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1_Yn47wSlFg/VKy5TUiojeI/AAAAAAAAEgY/6Xo3eQPbZ1M/s1600/IMG_7584%5B1%5D.JPG" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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</div>
<br />
<br />
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even when there is snow on the ground!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Be creative</i>—Is there a better way to get something
done?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is there a more fun way to get
from point A to point B?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s figure it
out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And drag the kids and the husband
along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because that is AWESOME. Right now for history Brent is reading the kids some really great historical fiction. They are loving it, he is loving it, and I am loving it because it makes my life easier because the kids are learning and I am cleaning up the kitchen. That is creative! And I want to make a timeline that wraps around a room in our house that the kids can add historical events to when they learn about them. It is accessible and all in one place. That is AWESOME!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am sure that I will come up with a few other ideas along
the way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And part of this whole awesome
thing is getting back to feeling better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I’ll be honest, this last year was tough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was really tough in a lot of ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Living without a husband makes me not
sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And when I don’t sleep,
everything goes downhill fast for me and everyone else along with me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, I am working on getting back to feeling good and being good and making life
good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> And dragging everyone along with me back up that hill. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Except we are going to surpass good
and jump right to AWESOME.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>And I know all the
way to the core of my being that it is going to be AWESOME.
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-7377624252629195652014-09-01T18:42:00.000-07:002014-09-01T18:42:50.057-07:00Eleven!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
This girl. </div>
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<div style="text-align: left;">
Eleven... </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Grandma said, "Grace, what do you want for your birthday dinner?"</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
"Steak, baked potato, and lots of sour cream."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Grandpa told her that SHE took the steak HE wanted. She looked at him and said, "Sorry." </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Then she kind of rolled her eyes and amended, "Actually, I am not sorry at all."</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Birthday girl was staking her claim on her birthday steak. It was so funny.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
She is growing up. She knows what she wants, plans how to get it, says what she thinks (no idea where she gets that), has a dry sense of humor that is mostly sarcasm (no idea where she gets that, either), and she is gracious and kind to everyone she meets. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Love this girl. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-12870038707850969642014-08-11T10:55:00.000-07:002014-08-11T10:58:18.875-07:00An anniversary to rememberOver the last seven months I have had many experiences I have never had before. Most of them have been life changing. But frankly, I wasn't looking for anything life changing. I also wasn't looking for the amount of stress I have experienced. <br />
<br />
Our house finally sold. This came after seven months of living without a husband. It is a relief to finally be moving forward with that. We stayed at our place in Idaho so the kids could finish school and a few other commitments before we took off for Montana. Especially since we didn't have a place to go to in Montana. I have a new respect for families that live apart. It is definitely not my preference.<br />
<br />
The first three weeks he was gone at least one kid threw up every day. I finally realized it was anxiety since it kept going around and it was only once and they were done for a few days. It also made sense that when a pack of kids whose dad is super awesome and super involved in their lives suddenly find themselves without a dad on a daily basis could experience some anxiety. But still it was not fun.<br />
<br />
It was not fun for us adults either. I have had that man around for long enough that he is now a part of me. And neither one of us have been apart for more than a couple days or a week at a time. People ask how he is managing or how I am doing with the kids and I can't put it into words really. I am not worried about him taking care of himself or me getting the garbage taken out. He can cook and clean do laundry and take care of himself just fine. I can take the garbage out, feed, cloth and bathe four kids, cook, clean and do laundry, and haul them and their horses around the country. I can even unplug a septic system if I need to. (Yes, I do know that to be a fact since it has been tested and proven that I can wrestle the lid off a septic tank, diagnose that the potty-training boy needs to not use a wad of toilet paper as big as his head, and fix the problem with a hose and a giant metal rod that weighs almost as much as I do.)<br />
<br />
I already knew I have awesome friends and neighbors. But they have also been tested and proven. I have been sour and angry and not my normal self. They have taken my children, brought food and coffee and beer, helped pack, fed cats, checked the house, returned routers, mowed the lawn, and just about everything else that I could not do from where I was. They have saved my sanity by calling even from clear across the country just to check on me even after I lost my sense of humor and felt like a needy pile of angry and emotional liability that lives with her parents. In short, I have not been a pleasant person lately and they all loved on me anyway. I am so thankful.<br />
<br />
Yes, at thirty-nine and married with four kids, I am living with my parents. Here we are a good four hours closer to the husband and the horses are just down the road. I am super thankful for that as well. <br />
<br />
Yesterday we had two trailers packed beyond capacity with our stuff, four kids and a dog and headed out with our two old vehicles that have over 400,000 miles between them over two mountain passes in 90+ degree weather. I have never pulled a trailer that heavy and that far following my husband with four kids and a dog. But I had told him I would do whatever he needed me to do. I trust the man and would obviously follow him anywhere. <br />
<br />
Still, I was praying for an anniversary miracle at 60 miles an hour. <br />
<br />
The trip was absolutely uneventful. I am beyond thankful.<br />
<br />
Over Lookout Pass I felt my sense of humor start to loosen a little. I decided that Lewis and Clark probably went faster on their way back home than we were going. But that didn't make me go any faster. I don't think I could have if I even wanted to. <br />
<br />
About half an hour from our destination the husband called me. He had a smile in his voice and something to say. <br />
<br />
"Do you realize that eighteen years ago we had all our belongings packed and we were headed <i>out</i> of Montana? And today we have all our belongings packed with four kids and a dog and we are headed <i>back</i> to Montana?"<br />
<br />
He was right. We were freshly married, as in hours married, and headed out for Oregon and ultimately Washington. I don't think I would call it irony. But somehow this whole adventure feels right again. For a while it just felt like a miserable holding pattern, not an adventure. In fact, I resented that term "adventure" for a really long time. When we made the decision to move, I remember it felt like we were supposed to be doing it. And then we hunkered down without him and waited. And he hunkered down without us and waited.<br />
<br />
We were all lonely and miserable. There was even a point in February that we didn't see him for three weeks because the weather kept him away. It was a really long three weeks. <br />
<br />
I finally figured out that we were waiting for something to happen. I have no idea what we are still waiting for, but after that I could feel my hope returning and a new confidence that things were bound to just click into place if I was patient enough. My sense of humor was coming back, and I could use words like "adventure" to refer to our life again.<br />
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Through it all I have realized a few things. Being separated from my husband is miserable. And it isn't about not having him around to back me up when I could use some help with the kids or take out the trash or even take care of a septic system gone backwards. It's about him coming home every night to his family and just being there. It's about having him available to talk things through and muse about our days and the kids and the kids being able to pile onto him and get what they need from their dad. It's about having him being able to just grab me while I am in the kitchen and kissing me and hugging me just because he can and he wants to. It's about having him in my bed every night and waking up to him every morning. It is about being able to stop by his office while we are in town and just seeing him and knowing he is close. It's because we have a good marriage and without him I am literally missing a huge piece of who I am and who we are and how we work.<br />
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Without him there is a giant void that cannot be filled. It is HIM that we miss. And being with him makes life so much better. Being without him is miserable. So miserable that I believe that I can say without a doubt that I understand why some marriages don't make it through this kind of upheaval we have experienced. This has been the hardest year of our eighteen year marriage. But I believe that what doesn't kill you does make you stronger and knowing what I have makes me want to hold onto it even tighter and cherish it even more deeply. Time and again it would be horribly tense up until that moment he walked through the door. And that moment I saw him all that miserableness would just melt away and suddenly it was all okay and I just needed to hold him and be held. <br />
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Someone asked me a few weeks ago why I haven't been blogging. I answered him quite honestly that I haven't been blogging because I really have nothing nice to say. I am too angry and I don't want to put that out there. It is not who I am and apparently I have to deal with it a little more quietly than some people.<br />
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Actually, I don't deal with anger quietly. But I don't deal with it publicly. Maybe that is more accurate. <br />
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But even with all that has been going on, I think the kids are having a good summer. We have been riding horses (even me!) and they are doing the summer reading program and the summer explorers down at the Grand-Kohrs Ranch. We went Oregon to visit family, to Eastern Idaho to see all our great friends down there and we have seen their daddy quite a lot. We have begun exploring Montana and have a list to continue. They all have the tan lines to prove that summer has been great fun. And we can't discount that it is the summer at grandma and grandpa's. What kid doesn't love living with grandma and grandpa for a summer?<br />
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It has definitely been a year of many changes. But now we are moving in the right direction. And we have a new appreciation for what we have. And really, what we have is each other. Definitely an anniversary of note in our lives together. I may even go as far as to say that the anniversary itself is a miracle. So we had two miracles yesterday. And I am so very thankful. <br />
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The adventure, to be continued . . . <br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-45505994012369778632014-07-15T09:11:00.002-07:002014-07-15T09:11:13.839-07:00Happy Birthday Violet!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Little Blondie Pants turned SIX yesterday. She was SO excited.<br />
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I don't know if she was more excited about turning six or about
getting a Snackeez. She has been asking for one for MONTHS, actually.
Ever since she saw the commercial. When she was opening her very last
present, she declared that "I hope it is a Snackeez!"<br />
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Good thing her mother pays attention to these things. Her birthday may have been ruined had it been something else. <br />
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daddy even surprised her and made it home for dinner (He is working out
of town.). She had been asking him if he would FaceTime during dinner
so he could share her birthday dinner with us. (She chose ham and rice
and peas.) He told her he would do his best. Then he just strolled
around the corner with a dozen roses behind his back. She saw him first
and launched at him exclaiming, "DADDY!" It was precious and I may
have just sat there on the verge of tears.<br />
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There is a lot going on in our lives right now, but a little blond girl's birthday is really important. And as far as I can tell, with a horseback ride in the morning and her daddy showing up for her dinner and her uncle and aunt and cousin and grandma and grandpa and mom and siblings helping her celebrate by eating homemade ice cream, she is one special little girl. <br />
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She is also a beautiful little girl. Inside and out. We love our little Violet. And we look forward to watching her grow into the beautiful young lady we see budding behind those blue eyes. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-66401698546666163402014-06-08T17:29:00.000-07:002020-05-26T21:26:29.181-07:00A girl and her horse: Thank you my old friend<br />
A couple weeks ago a friend and I were watching our girls ride horses. Grace's friend has this great little horse that she rides all the time. They have been together for several years now and they have a whole lot of fun together. They have that bond that only exists between a girl and her horse. The one that comes from working together and struggling with what it is to learn from each other and teach each other how it works. It is a beautiful thing to watch.<br />
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I commented to my friend that that horse is going to be a part of who her daughter is forever. That horse will always be a piece of her. I guess you can say that I speak from experience. <br />
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In the early 1980s my dad traded two bull calves for a colt, Shamere. He was a wild thing. We had to rope him to catch him, actually. He was 3/4 Arabian and 1/4 quarter horse. Nothing special in his blood lines. Nothing special to look at. Horse people would think that anyway. But he was mine.<br />
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I had no idea what I was doing, but he and I struck out in the world and finally came to many agreements. Agreements such as I don't mind a crow hop every now and again, but I like to keep my behind where I had it. And he can go fast, but on my terms, but he better cross the canal when I want him to or we will spend an hour or more coming back to it and actually be at it long enough that great grandpa notices and walks all the way out to the back forty just to check on us.<br />
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And speaking of that old cowboy, we went with great grandpa on his last ride. It happened rather spur of the moment. We had been working cows at his place and when we were done we had an extra horse that needed to get back home. I think someone kind of jokingly said, "Grandpa could ride her." And then we all looked at one another a bit surprised like. I had never seen him on a horse. But gosh darn if he didn't end up on old Peanuts and we rode the two miles home. I remember looking at him on that horse. He had that faraway look in his eyes. I still get choked up thinking about it.<br />
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Shamere and I spent all our time chasing cows or running around in the foothills of our mountains. We swam canals, jumped logs, jumped over puddles, carried calves in from the back forty, and one time we even got hit by a mad bull. I rarely had the inclination to even put a saddle on, which meant he spent some time standing in low spots and being lead around so I could find the right rock to use as a booster.<br />
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He was my friend, my therapy, and my escape. I would come home from school or finish my jobs for the day and go find him for a ride in the hills. I always came back a better person and I am positive that did my family good.<br />
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He gave rides to anyone who visited and wanted a ride. He even did a birthday party once.<br />
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When dad sold the farm, Shamere came to live with us in Washington. There he introduced our kids and their friends to riding. It was incredible. If I got on him, he would dance around and just want to go. But if we put any of the kids on him, he would just stand there and wait for us to tell him what to do. And the best story of all is when my very pregnant-with-twins friend got on him and took off in an attempt to move things forward a little. Or a lot. It didn't work, at least immediately, but it still makes for a good story! My friends and their kids love him still. The old man was touching lives outside of our family.<br />
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Then he moved to Eastern Idaho with us. And then North Idaho. Here he spent the last two years teaching Grace a thing or two about riding. She even took him to 4-H horse camp last year. She spent a bunch of time getting him into shape and they had a great time. He showed off his cow sense (which was nothing to brag about really other than he knew they were cows and had an idea of what to do with them, which was more than most of the other horses in there!). He played cowboy polo, experienced an English saddle, and got all dressed up for drill team. It may have been the busiest week of his life! But he was absolutely up for it and it was an incredible week for us all.<br />
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Later that summer the girls took the horses swimming. And wouldn't you know it if the old man was the only horse that would actually swim! That's a long way from the young guy who wouldn't cross the canal and always shied away and dumped me off in puddles. He probably just thought it was fun. </div>
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I think the most impressive is that he and Grace were winning ribbons those two years. I didn't do anything like that with him and the idea that he was out there winning ribbons with my kid was a bit unbelievable. <br />
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That bond was forming. I loved watching it.<br />
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Last summer Grace got a new horse. Thanks to what Shamere taught her, she is teaching that horse a thing or two about what she expects from a horse. The bar has been set pretty high. Just this week I was watching her with that new horse, Custer. He was feeling his youth and giving her a bit of a hard time. And she lit into him and made him pay attention and start behaving. I stood on the deck just watching and swelling with pride.<br />
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With the new horse for the older girls (we got a little old lady mare for Calla and she is in LOVE!) Shamere started getting more attention from the five-year-old girl. We would saddle him and throw her on and they would ride around and around in the field out front. She loved it. He loved it. He had a new girl.<br />
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But just like everything else, my old boy was getting old. Last summer the vet told me he was running out of teeth. It is really hard to eat without teeth. And he was suffering from what she calls "the curse of the gray horse." Basically, they start to get melanomas growing all over their bodies. But he still looked good and was eager to please. In fact, at one of Grace's shows last summer, he scared the daylights out of her when he gave her a little crow hop in one of the events. Apparently he forgot that he was almost 30. I got it on video.<br />
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Last summer at camp, he actually bit Grace. Up to that point, he had never bitten anyone. Looking back, I think that cinching him up that particular time actually hurt. This spring I realized that he hadn't wintered well, at all. He seemed weak and had lost a lot of weight. And he wasn't gaining any of it back.<br />
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The vet agreed with my assessment. His teeth were no longer much good. The melanomas were bigger and were around in his neck and mouth and were beginning to disrupt basic functions. He wasn't suffering yet, but he wasn't far from it and he was not going to get better. <br />
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I guess I knew it was coming. <br />
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Our family has amazing friends. And this horse touched them as well. When we made the decision to have him put down, things just fell into place. One friend offered his final resting place. One family offered to make it ready for him. Several families offered to take the kids if we needed it. Everyone was thinking about is and praying for us. My dad even showed up. I was overwhelmed by it all.<br />
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I don't know how it went down nearly 30 years ago when he traded two bull calves for a horse, but I don't think my dad could have had any idea how many lives that horse would touch. And change.<br />
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I blame that horse for the fact that I after having sworn not to drag kids and horses all over the country, I have spent the last two years doing just that. And loving every minute of it. I blame him for that, too. I also blame him for the fact that I am looking forward to it for years now. I blame him for the fact that my oldest girls are confident and actually pretty good at handling their animals that are over ten times their size. I blame him for the fact that I get to watch them, heart swelling, as they smile excitedly and tell me what they did with their horse or as I watch them try new things with determination. I blame him for the fact that I look forward to the same thing for my two younger ones as well. I blame him for a lot of things.<br />
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But the truth is, he is a part of who I was. He is a part of who I am. And he will always be a part of who I become. And he is a part of who our family was, who our family is, and who we will be.<br />
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A girl and her horse. It is always a beautiful thing.<br />
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We miss you already old boy. Thank you for being so awesome.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-11110271459553907532014-06-05T21:09:00.000-07:002014-06-05T21:10:08.303-07:00A heart-warming story of love and rejection and not giving upConfession: I stole this post title from my friend. Because it is perfect. <br />
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A few months ago Violet (5) announced at dinner that she met the boy she thinks she is going to marry. Upon exploration of the subject through some questions posed to her by her father and me, we learned that said boy was in some of her classes at our home school co-op and he wore striped shirts a lot. And pants. He always wore pants. (We decided that was a very good quality in a boy.) Unfortunately she didn't know his name. We told her it might be a good idea to figure that out and sent her off in the world with that assignment.<br />
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Now, I had a suspicion that I might know who this boy was, but I could never quite nail it down. And a couple weeks ago we invited a fellow homeschooling family over, which we should have done long ago because they are awesome. And what do you know? The boy she thinks she is going to marry hops out of the car. She was elated. We will call him Mr. C.<br />
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We hung out all afternoon, went on a walk, ate lunch, let the kids run wild (because that is what home school is, right) in the woods (with pants on of course), and just enjoyed the day with them. (Have I mentioned that I don't like moving and leaving my friends that I have just freshly settled into? Again?)<br />
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At any rate, Violet and Mr. C were pretty much attached at the hip the entire time they were at our house. It was adorable.<br />
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His mom and I are thrilled.<br />
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Later that day Violet announced that she asked Mr. C to marry her. And he said no. She didn't seem too broken up by it, but I did call his mom to let her know what was going on. It seemed important.<br />
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At dinner that night Violet was talking to her dad about her proposal and how he turned her down. (They are breaking him in early I think. He can have these conversations now without turning unnatural colors and looking like he might pass out.) While this conversation is taking shape I got a text from Mr C's mom that said, "Richard just asked Mr. C why he said no. Mr C sighed a little and said, 'Well ... there's someone else ...' We died laughing."</div>
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I confess I had my phone close by and laughed quite heartily myself! Violet's reaction was even better. She sat there for a bit and then said, "Mom, when me and Mr. C get older can we go on dates and stuff, like to movies and ice skating?" </div>
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The kid is not giving up very easily. I admire that in a girl. She knows what she wants and she is going after it.</div>
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So then today we were at a function with this same family and there were about six families worth of home school kids running wild outside (because isn't that what home school is all about? With pants of of course.). Violet came in after another cupcake and someone said that she had been trying to sit on Mr. C's lap. I kind of looked at her sideways and told her she needed to make sure to give him his space. She just giggled a happy giggle and ran out the door. It was adorable.</div>
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I like the kid. I like his mom. (I haven't met his dad, but I am sure I would like him, too.) I like his siblings. Violet has good taste in friends. Oh, and when we were visiting today, we discovered that Mr C and Violet have names that mean the same thing. It was meant to be!</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-56140159160338822762014-01-25T11:04:00.000-08:002014-01-25T11:04:04.972-08:00Birthday girl!And, she is EIGHT!<br />
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I must say, she is my favorite eight year old. I love the little girl that she is and I love the young lady she is becoming.<br />
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Yesterday she got her ears pierced. She waited over two years to get it done. She was a champ. And then we went to one of this places that has a bunch of inflatable bouncy castle things. Her grandma commented that our little adventurous Calla is still alive and well in there.<br />
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Look out world, here she comes! I warned you, but in all honesty, I have no idea how you could prepare for the force of nature that is now eight.<br />
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Good luck! <br />
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<span id="goog_1900503843"></span><span id="goog_1900503844"></span><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-28300757450305163962014-01-07T14:17:00.002-08:002014-01-07T14:18:22.312-08:00You know that thing I said I would never do again?This fall the husband took Calla to soccer practice. I took a different kid to a different sports practice. The husband texted me this photo.<br />
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His message with the photo was something like, "ut-oh."<br />
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Anyone who knows us and our last six years knows that rainbows generally mean something. Something big. Started<a href="http://idaheidiho.blogspot.com/2009/04/promise-on-both-ends.html"> here</a>, then<a href="http://idaheidiho.blogspot.com/2010/08/i-love-rainbows.html"> here</a>, then<a href="http://idaheidiho.blogspot.com/2011/06/i-want-to-see-rainbow.html"> here</a>. Since the first one we have moved five times and had another baby. While I don't generally go into a lot of details, I guess it will have to suffice that it really is a big deal. Rainbows are a promise. God gave Noah a promise with a rainbow. Apparently he uses them with us, too.<br />
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Anyway....<br />
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You know the cliche about how God opens doors for us to go through and if He doesn't open a door, we should maybe start looking at the windows? Well, I have not been looking for doors and windows that are open. And if I thought they might be open or I sensed any hint that they <i>might</i> open, I promptly secured and locked them. Because I have been just happily going along with this whole settling in thing and getting my kids all involved in activities like basketball and soccer and piano and dance and 4-H and other stuff that we all enjoy. We have met some awesome people and started to feel like we could just live here and be in a great church and have great friends we love hanging out with. And I get to have my husband home every night and on weekends and recently we started our annual winter movie series and we are just happily bouncing along in our family and marriage and all. It has been so nice.<br />
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And then God blew the whole side off (forget doors and windows) and shoved us through.<br />
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At least that is what I feel like. <br />
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We are moving.<br />
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Again.<br />
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Yet again.<br />
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Yes, again yet again. This will be SIX times since Violet was born. She will be SIX in July.<br />
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So now after the husband and I agreed that he should apply, had an interview and was offered and accepted the job, all while I was in my little corner praying that God would say something like, "Oh, just testing you, you know like Abraham and Isaac ... " and after I have felt every emotion from shock, anger, fear, hope, hopelessness, and grief. But mostly shock. After crying on the phone with my mom, confiding in my friends, crying in my kitchen with the husband, crying in my friend's kitchen, and attempting to tell everyone I felt shouldn't hear it on the streets, we are officially moving to somewhere around Bozeman, Montana. <br />
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And we are doing it sometime between now and, well, when it happens. <br />
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I am officially ...well ... I don't know what I am or even what I should be. I am no longer an emotional, panicked, crying mess. I have pulled it together and now I am feeling like moving closer to my parents and back to my home state and bringing five more people, three horses, and a dog is probably a good thing. And looking back over the last six years (which feels like more than that, actually), I can see that God has been steering us towards this. It is an incredible opportunity for us. In particular it is an incredible career opportunity for the husband. For him this could be the career opportunity of a lifetime. And frankly, the world would say that he deserves it. He is the hardest working guy I have ever met.<br />
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I realized something last night. I realized that even if the husband decided we need to move to some third world island nation and raise goats and coconuts, I would probably follow him. He is my husband after all. And he is a good one. The best actually. He loves me and his girls and his boy with the kind of love that would require him to throw himself in front of a train if it meant saving any one or all of us. It is the least we can do to make the best of this situation. So far that attitude has not failed us on our other recent adventures. <br />
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Dear 2014,<br />
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Bring it on!<br />
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Love,<br />
Heidi<br />
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p.s. I guess a move to Montana will require a blog name change. <br />
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Dear Lord,<br />
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Please let this be the last time.<br />
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Please.<br />
<br />
Love,<br />
Heidi<br />
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p.s. Thanks for the incredible opportunity for the husband. What a blessing. And I look forward to seeing what you do with and through him. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The first rainbow. I still remember the exact feeling I had standing there looking at it. This house has since burned down. And every job the husband has left we cannot go back to because none of them even exist anymore. But every move has been SO right. Honestly, I like the feeling of ultimately being NOT the one in control. Especially looking at this and all that has happened since. </td></tr>
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Writing is good therapy. I should probably do more of it. Forces me to think things through and in doing so I gain perspective. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-12227674297203808872013-09-06T18:36:00.002-07:002013-09-06T19:59:15.458-07:00Against the world at ten-years-oldLast week this girl turned ten.<br />
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8VANWOVl72A/UipyNBonoKI/AAAAAAAAESs/X6NadwSWm_o/s1600/Grace1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8VANWOVl72A/UipyNBonoKI/AAAAAAAAESs/X6NadwSWm_o/s400/Grace1.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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TEN. That is double digits. She is actually growing up and starting to *get* things. Things about life that make her dad's head spin. She is smart, beautiful, gracious, and kind. <br />
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And she is absolutely confident when she is on a 1,300 pound animal with a mind of his own. There is something about a girl and a horse. This mama totally gets it and it does my soul good to watch my baby out doing what she does with that animal. My mom says that the outside of a horse is good for the inside of a girl. Yes, it is. And having watched her go from being in tears of frustration last year to charging forward and challenging this new beast of hers (yes, her own horse), I can't help but swell with pride. She is getting a lot of things.<br />
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Now, one thing about growing up that sucks is the whole losing of the innocence thing. It happens when we start to *get* things I think. We start to understand that people just suck sometimes and even when we do nothing to provoke it, sometimes we are hurt by the world.<br />
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I confess that I listen to country music. And I listen to it a lot more than I probably should. What does this have to do with anything? Well, country music is maddening I think. One song I'm laughing, the next I'm nearly in tears, and then the next one has me seething because if anyone ever did that to my kid I would be furious.<br />
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One particular song caught my ear recently. The song itself is actually quite pretty. Until you listen to the words. Tyler Farr's Redneck Crazy.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Gonna drive like hell through your neighbourhood<br />
Park this Silverado on your front lawn<br />
Crank up a little Hank, sit on the hood and drink<br />
I'm about to get my pissed off on<br />
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I'm gonna aim my headlights into your bedroom windows<br />
Throw empty beer cans at both of your shadows<br />
I didn't come here to start a fight, but I'm up for anything tonight<br />
You know you broke the wrong heart baby, and drove me redneck crazy<br />
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Wish I knew how long it's been going on<br />
How long you've been getting some on the side<br />
Nah, he can't amount to much by the look of that little truck<br />
Well he wont be getting any sleep tonight<br />
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I'm gonna aim my headlights into your bedroom windows<br />
Throw empty beer cans at both of your shadows<br />
I didn't come here to start a fight, but I'm up for anything tonight<br />
You know you broke the wrong heart baby, and drove me redneck crazy<br />
Redneck crazy<br />
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Did you think I'd wish you both the best, endless love and happiness<br />
You know that's just not the kind of man I am<br />
I'm the kind that shows up at your house at 3am<br />
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I'm gonna aim my headlights into your bedroom windows<br />
Throw empty beer cans at both of your shadows<br />
I didn't come here to start a fight, but I'm up for anything tonight<br />
You gone and broke the wrong heart baby, and drove me redneck crazy<br />
You drove me redneck crazy, oh
</i><br />
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So basically, this guy rods through her neighborhood at 3am, parks on her lawn shining his headlights into her bedroom window, cranks his stereo and throws beer cans at her house. He also judges the other guy by the size of his truck, which I admit I kinda laughed at.<br />
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Now, the girl doesn't sound much better, stepping out on him and all. She may be a piece of work all her own. But I kind of wonder about his emotional health to begin with. Maybe
this girl was just scared to break up with him for fear that he would go
crazy.<br />
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Without knowing the whole story I can't go defending her or her actions, but doesn't his response sound illegal?<br />
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Oh, and he's not looking for a fight, but, you know, if something happened, he'd be up for anything.<br />
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I pointed this whole situation out to my husband one day. He pointed out the whole stepping out thing. Yes, she was not all innocent and this guy is responding to an injustice. I get that. And who doesn't want to defend themselves to a certain extent? But I think this guy goes WAY too far. <br />
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So after this discussion with my husband I went about my business and suddenly realized that I was at one point in my life a little redneck crazy. When I was in high school I broke up with a guy and then found out that he had been participating in activities that would have most definitely resulted in the end of the relationship much sooner. Then one day not too much after the break up I was reading the local newspaper and found a little blurb stating that he had been arrested and put in jail for driving under the influence and writing a bad check. I found this very interesting and cut it out. Then I found the nearest copy machine and enlarged it so it fit perfectly on an 8.5"x11" piece of paper. Then I wrote a smart-ass comment on it, put it in an envelope and mailed it to him.<br />
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My husband thought I was horrible. But, that is NOT illegal. And I pointed out that I hope if our kids find themselves in situations like that, they have the guts to stick up for themselves, even if it is after the fact. And in a way that is NOT illegal or dangerous. Nobody needs to put up with being treated like crap.<br />
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Now, with my girl turning ten I have been thinking a lot about how we are going about teaching her and the rest of the kids this. I have concluded that the best way to do that is by example. And apparently, I am kind of ashamed to admit, we have been doing a fine job of it. <br />
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I love my husband. I do not doubt my husband loves me. And we have a great marriage. We have a solid marriage that I feel good raising our kids in. But we live in a fallen world and neither one of us is perfect. And sometimes we find ourselves in a bit of a tiff. Sometimes I find myself so angry at him that I can barely see straight. I am certain that he feels the same way at times. I am not proud of that. And I am also not proud of the fact that the kids see it.<br />
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But, on the other end, they also get to see the resolution. They see the apology, the reconciliation and the moving forward in forgiveness and love. <br />
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I am now old enough to have friends that have lived through divorce. One day I was visiting with the mother of one of my divorced friends about another friend who was going through a divorce. This mother commented that my divorcing friend called her divorced daughter for advice. (Still with me?) I was actually kind of angry at that because it seemed like maybe she should have been calling someone who was MAKING a marriage work. And I told her as much. Later I realized that both these friends experienced divorce and abandonment early on. I can't fault them for that, but I was talking to yet another friend of mine about it later and she told me that one thing her father always said was children growing up in broken homes don't see the reconciliation. They just see the end of the fight. That really hit home for me and I will never forget it.<br />
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With that in mind, this summer we were all out in the yard as a family working to clean up a tree we had someone cut down. It was a huge mess and a lot of work. In the mean time the kids found a headless baby bird under the deck. In an effort to find resolution I told them to go out back and bury it. So the three youngest and the neighbor kid got the bird (that I wrapped in a paper towel) and a shovel and started back.<br />
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Before they even made it through the back gate, they were fighting. Why? Because Carsten wanted to carry the shovel, carry the bird, AND dig the hole. None of the other kids were taking that news very well. And there was yelling. I commented to Brent, who was across the yard working with Grace, that I didn't know if this was normal, kids fighting over who gets to bury the dead baby bird.<br />
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Something was said as to why they were always fighting. I told him quite frankly that Carsten, who was nearly three at the time, can be "a little shit."<br />
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Brent looked up and said, "I'll bet you say the same thing about me."<br />
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"No," I said. "You are the big shit."<br />
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But then Grace piped up from where she was listening and said, "Mom, I thought he was an ass?"<br />
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We laughed. And we laughed. And we are still laughing.<br />
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Now, I am not proud of the fact that my kid has heard me call her dad an ass. But she also sees me kiss him in the kitchen a whole lot more. She sees him kiss me back. She sees him go to work every day and work hard so we can have what we have. She sees us laughing at the dinner table. She sees us working out the weekly schedule with everyone in mind. She sees him take days off so he can spend them with all of us. She sees him take time out of what he is doing to teach her how to use the tools he is using and patiently explain why and how he is doing it. She sees him out watching her with her horse with so much pride that he is beaming at her. And yes, he treats all the kids with the same fatherly concern and admiration that so many kids in this world are missing.<br />
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I want my kids to grow up well rounded. I want them to have a good education and feel like if they want to do something, it certainly isn't going to hurt to give it a shot. And if it doesn't hurt, they aren't any less of a person. But I have concluded that if my kids marry spouses that are the same caliber as their dad, I will be eternally thanking the Lord. I pray for the kids God has picked for my kids. I pray that they are gracious and kind and considerate and godly. That they are good spouse material and good parent material. I pray that they seek reconciliation and resolution and aren't afraid to admit when they are wrong and stick up for themselves and anyone else when they aren't.<br />
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Life is tough. Like I said, sometimes people suck. Sometimes we have to look sucky people in the eye and tell them the truth. And if the truth is that they are being an ass, I hope that my kids can all stick up for themselves and say it like it is. But I also hope that I can teach them that sometimes it's them being the ass. And like their mom, they will have to look someone in the eye so they can admit it and apologize. And then life goes on and we try to do better because hopefully we can learn from our mistakes.<br />
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Yes, all of this because my big girl turned ten. Can you tell I'm feeling a little pressure to get this right? I've been thinking a lot about what I want my kids to be. Sometimes I wonder if it's something like a midlife crisis--except I just realized my kid is half-way out of my house.<br />
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Probably. But then again, the little one is only three. I hope and pray that I am up for this. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-4226557357770723892013-08-21T20:36:00.003-07:002013-08-21T20:36:58.321-07:00Birthday boy!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The boy. <br />
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He's three. <br />
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He's crazy. He's fun. He's funny. He's smart. He's definitely a boy. <br />
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He just told his dad that "I love you just as much as you love me!" <br />
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He won't tolerate a pair of jeans, or shorts for that matter, that doesn't have belt loops. He's on his third cowboy hat. He totally wore out the boots he got for his birthday last year. <br />
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He changes his shirt four times or more a day. Or he doesn't wear a shirt at all because it's summer and he gets hot. <br />
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He has no trouble keeping up with his sisters and antagonizing them to tears. But to his credit, they let him. <br />
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He is still totally powerless against the power of babywearing. <br />
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He struts. He tells his mom and dad not to fight. He loves his grandparents. His best friend is the neighbor boy.<br />
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He uses words like gigantic, delicious, incredible, and humongous. <br />
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The nursery is still evil. And he has no desire to go to preschool. <br />
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He loves blue and "lellow." <br />
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He is excited to go to the radio this weekend, but really it's the rodeo. And when daddy is working to get him to sleep at night, he wants the rodeo on. Except that's really the radio. <br />
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He constantly rides the arms of the living room furniture. And constantly gets bucked off. But he gets back on, which is good.<br />
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He introduces himself to cute little pig-tailed girls with an enthusiastic, "I'm Carsten the Cowboy!" <br />
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He's my boy. <br />
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He's my cowboy. <br />
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He's three. <br />
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He's awesome. <br />
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I hope we survive it. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-91016443502149601672013-07-14T21:31:00.001-07:002014-06-05T21:29:30.900-07:00And she is FIVEAfter most of a day in pre-labor shopping for a dishwasher that we never bought, and a trip to the chiropractor at which I ordered him to put me into labor, Violet was born after a mere three hours of active labor.<br />
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Today she turned FIVE. My sweet Blondie Pants/V/Vi/Cutie Patootie turned five.<br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dwAECUU9TO4/UeN6CMTDgdI/AAAAAAAAERo/3gxyZEK17jg/s1600/violet+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dwAECUU9TO4/UeN6CMTDgdI/AAAAAAAAERo/3gxyZEK17jg/s320/violet+5.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Yesterday I asked her what she would be today. She didn't miss a beat. "Your favorite 5-year-old!" <br />
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She is so right. Such a great kid. Her preschool teacher loved her and with good reason. She has such a sweet spirit, is bright and has an easy smile. Those blue eyes are certainly something else as well.<br />
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Happy Birthday my sweet Violet! You get more beautiful every day!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-69382367153531598162013-05-01T09:06:00.000-07:002013-05-01T09:06:22.661-07:00IdiotLast week I turned left onto the highway into the closest lane like one is supposed to. There was a motorcycle behind me and when I went to move to the right lane after giving plenty of blinker time, the motorcycle, which had been far enough back for me to move over, gunned it and sped past on the right.<br />
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Frustrated, I muttered something about an idiot and let him go by.<br />
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Violet, who is four-and-a-half, asked from the back, "Mom, what's an idiot?"<br />
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"An idiot is someone who isn't very smart."<br />
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"Oh."<br />
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So we kept on down the highway and pretty soon she says, "I'm watching that idiot." <br />
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Later he turned off the highway and she says, "Where did the idiot go?"<br />
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And that was the end. <br />
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Except yesterday we pulled up to a stop light and there was a motorcycle beside us, which I noticed was parked just inches behind the car in front of him. Violet pipes up from the back seat, "Is that another idiot?"<br />
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"I don't know. But I guess it is possible."<br />
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Maybe I'm the idiot, but it makes me laugh. I'm sure her preschool teacher will find it humorous, too, when she hears about it from Violet.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-12429578632250115732013-01-25T09:48:00.001-08:002013-01-25T09:48:24.988-08:00Happy Birthday, Calla! How about the flu for your birthday?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Today this kid is SEVEN. Yes, SEVEN. But she's about the size of a five-year-old. She's finally cracked forty pounds, actually.</div>
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How do I know this? Well, for her birthday she got the flu. Influenza B to be exact. And when we took her to urgent care they weighed her. Poor thing also had a fever of 104. And a nasty, croupy cough as well as a breathing issue. Yikes.</div>
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Grandma and grandpa showed up this weekend, too. Because of that, both the husband and I were able to go with Calla and dinner got taken care of at home without us. Violet asked at dinner if Calla had thrown up. Except since she knew she shouldn't be talking about throw up at the table she got up, walked away from the table and asked grandma, who was still sitting at the table, if Calla threw up. Then she announced that if I was there she couldn't even do that. </div>
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Anyway, Calla was pretty droopy and now we have her properly drugged, so her birthday shouldn't be totally miserable. I would take a picture of her, but she is pretty sorry looking still. The above picture will have to work. I love it, though.</div>
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Happy Birthday dear, sweet girl. Get well soon. And we pray that you continue to grow straight and strong and healthy. </div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-36604522790229959652013-01-24T16:08:00.001-08:002013-01-24T16:08:33.925-08:00She's on to me!This morning I was making pancakes for breakfast. It's a little treat we do sometimes. Cottage cheese pancakes. Eggs, cottage cheese and oatmeal. Except sometimes I substitute cashews for the oatmeal. Stick it all in the blender and it's yummy. The kids love them with butter and sugar. Sometimes powder sugar. But I don't like powder sugar because I always end up dusting everything while I'm at it and get irritated because then I have one more thing to clean up. <br />
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So this morning as I was mixing them up, Violet, who is really coming into herself and consistantly makes me smile these days, comes into the kitchen, leisurely pokes around in the pantry and says, "Mom, can we have poweder sugar on the pancakes this morning?"<br />
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And being the mom that I am, I respond, "Maybe."<br />
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She gives a little impatient huff, there is a little pause....<br />
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"Mom?"<br />
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"Yes, honey."<br /><br />"Can 'maybe' mean 'yes' today?"<br />
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A few minutes later the husband appeared from a far corner of the house asking me what I was laughing about. <br />
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And yes, they did get powder sugar with their pancakes this morning. <br />
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And yes, I did just wipe up the last of it a few minutes ago. <br />
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Oh well. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-1060297575275863272012-12-08T09:24:00.001-08:002012-12-08T09:24:40.590-08:00What's the matter with Violet?Yesterday one of my friends posted a poem and I immediatly had a new favorite poet. And I had to email it to the husband. This is how the conversation went:<br />
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<strong>ME: </strong><span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><em>Apparently Violet and Mary Jane have the same problem....though this offers no solutions, unfortunately.<br /> <br />What is the matter with Mary Jane?<br />She's crying with all her might and main,<br />And she won't eat her dinner--rice pudding again,</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><em>What is the matter with Mary Jane?<br /><br />What is the matter with Mary Jane?<br />I've promised her dolls and a daisy-chain,<br />And a book about animals--all in vain--<br />What is the matter with Mary Jane?<br /><br />What is the matter with Mary Jane?<br />She's perfectly well, and hasn't a pain;<br />But, look at her, now she's beginning again!--<br />What is the matter with Mary Jane?<br /><br />What is the matter with Mary Jane?<br />I've promised her sweets and a ride in the train,<br />And I've begged her to stop for a bit and explain--<br />What is the matter with Mary Jane?<br /><br />What is the matter with Mary Jane?<br />She's perfectly well and she hasn't a pain,<br />And it's lovely rice pudding for dinner again!--<br />What is the matter with Mary Jane?</em></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><strong>BRENT: </strong></span><span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;"><em>Yeah, those symptoms really do seem to correlate to Violet’s condition, although at times Violet’s seems a bit more severe. Perhaps that author has written a subsequent description offering Mary Jane’s solution. We should check into that.</em></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;"><strong>ME: </strong><span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><em>Correlate? Subsequent? Are those work words? You are smart at work, mister. Not that you aren't smart here. You know.....</em></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><em></em></span></span></span></span> </div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><strong>BRENT: </strong></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-family: "Tahoma","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;"><div class="ecxMsoNormal">
<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;"><em>Good Morning Heidi-</em></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;"><em>I really appreciate your sending the below narrative and thoughts as we consider Violet’s condition and explore ways assistance may be provided. In accordance with our parenting responsibilities vested as of the date of Violet’s birth (July 14, 2008), I concur addressing this issue (“crying with all her might and main”) is a high priority. </em></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;"><em> </em></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;"><em>Your insight in connecting Violet’s condition with Mary Jane’s is great work and your observation on work words and status is, well, right on. Let’s ponder the Violet/Mary Jane scenario that a bit more… Perhaps exploring whether or not Mary Jane successfully resolved her issues will provide some meaningful insight as we move forward. I propose we add this to our agenda for discussion when we meet later today. </em></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;"><em> </em></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;"><em>I understand Violet’s current condition is challenging at times, however, your work in this area is not unnoticed. You are (and have been) a great partner with this program as evidenced by successes gained with all the children, smiling faces and full utilization of the programs limited available resources. I look forward to opportunities whereas we can continue to partner together.</em></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;"><em>Thanks Heidi; have a great afternoon.</em></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;"><em> </em></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;"><em>-Brent.</em></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><em><span style="color: black;"></span></em></span> </div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"></span><span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><em><span style="color: black;"></span></em></span> </div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;">I love this husband of mine. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span> </div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt;"><span style="color: black;">Oh, and the poem is by A.A Milne and it's called Rice Pudding. </span></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-90850344535776898422012-10-22T22:55:00.001-07:002012-10-22T22:55:51.282-07:00Sneaky Sheep and a funny boyCarsten is two. And I find him hilarious. He speaks in complete sentences, says the darndest things and does the darndest things. He rules his world.<br />
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For example, complete sentences. Last week we were dropping Violet, whom he calls by her French name of Why-Le, off at preschool when he spotted his dad walking down the hall. My thought would that he just says, "DADDY!" But no, he gets a goofy grin on his face and says, "Hey! What are YOU doing here??" <br />
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And yesterday he was sitting at the table and fell out of the chair, catching himself just in time but not in enough time that he could actually right himself by himself. He needed help. But instead of crying or saying, "Help!" he yells, "Hey! I need you to come help me!" And not just once, but several times while hanging off the table wedged between two chairs.<br />
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Today he did the same thing. I said, "Carsten!" in an attempt to get his attention. And instead of saying, "What?" he says, "What do you want, mom?."<br />
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He's a goofy kid.<br />
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He's a goofy kid who loves hats. In fact, he owns five hats. A bear hat from Glacier Park, a dinosaur hat I got for him in Washington DC this summer, a John Deere hat, a baseball hat he got for Easter, and a cowboy hat his great grandma gave him for his birthday. <br />
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And he wears them all. In fact, he picks which one he will wear depending on he outfit he is wearing--an outfit that HE picked out. He also knows that he can't wear them at the table or to church. It's funny. <br />
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My personal favorite is the cowboy hat because he looks so cute when he wears it and he won't wear it without his cowboy boots, also a gift for his birthday. and his cowboy boots make him strut and apparently make him put his hands in his pockets. Plus, I like to call him "cowboy" and he reminds me of my great grandpa. <br />
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To illustrate my point:<br />
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But I also will admit that he isn't ALL perfect. He's kind of a pill in church and I would love it if he would let us put him in the nursery. But he won't have any of that, so one of us usually ends up out with him while he talks too loud and makes all kinds of odd observations. </div>
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It would be so much more convenient if he would just go in the nursery. Especially on Fridays. I take the kids to a homeschool co-op every Friday and while I only signed up to teach two classes, I ended up with three. Now, I love this whole teaching gig. I really, really love it. And I was thinking, and I have since realized that I was quite mistaken, that I might actually get to do it as a teacher and not as *mom*. But Carsten would have none of that.</div>
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The first week I went to the nursery they provide, which is quite convenient because you know all of us crazy homeschool moms who drag all our kids with us everywhere we go. But Carsten would have NOTHING to do with it. In fact, I still heard him screaming when I exited the building after I went down TWO hallways and around three corners, up some stairs and out the door. </div>
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He was absolutely hysterical. But I didn't feel like I had a choice. I didn't know who I felt more sorry for: him or the nursery workers or the other kids in the nursery.</div>
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You think I'm exaggerating. But I'm not. The next week was even worse. He cried hysterically until I finally called Brent and told him to come get him. By the time Brent got there Carsten had cried himself to sleep.</div>
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The third week I pretty much decided that I did in fact have all the tools necessary to not feel like I had to leave him in the nursery. And I felt like I was emotionally damaging him if I forced him to go in there any more. He told me all week that he didn't want to go in the nursery. All week long. "I don't want to go in the nursery." And his little lip would stick out and he would look like he was going to cry just thinking about it.</div>
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So the next week instead of sticking him in the nursery, I got him out of the car and threw him on my back in a carrier. He told me he didn't want to go in the nursery a half dozen more times before we even got into the building. I told him he was going to stay with me. And he did. And he didn't scream like I was handing him to ax murderers. That was nice.</div>
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He did pretty well in class. Not too distracting and all the girls totally think he's the cutest thing ever. Which of course he is. And by second hour his was back in the carrier and headed for a nap. He slept for an hour and a half. </div>
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We have since repeated this several times. Brent also has every other Friday off, so he takes Carsten when he can. That works out nice, too. </div>
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The kid also likes to read. Sometimes I will realize that I haven't heard from him in a while and when I find him he is sitting with a pile of books just looking at the pictures intently. And it is obvious that he has been doing it for some time. He is quite mesmerized by them, actually.</div>
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One of his favorite books recently is a book we got from the library called Sneaky Sheep. It's about these two sheep that are constantly trying to sneak away from the flock to go up to the high meadow because they are convinced it is lovely. But the sheepdog always finds them. </div>
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One day they manage to make it pretty far and they run into a wolf.</div>
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Now back to Carsten. This evening he was sitting on the floor mesmerized by the book and then he got up and brought it over to us. It was on this page where Rocky and Blossom find themselves face to face with the wolf. </div>
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Carsten pointed to the wolf and told us it was the wolf. I asked him, "What does the wolf want to do?" <br />
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"He is hiding."<br />
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"Yes he's hiding. What does he want to do with the sheep?"<br />
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"Put them in the nursery."<br />
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Yes. Apparently he would rather get eaten by a wolf before he will ever step foot in a nursery again. <br />
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I was laughing so hard I actually was rolling on the floor with tears in my eyes. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-53040193606327645062012-10-02T21:20:00.000-07:002012-10-02T21:20:11.986-07:00Stupid fundraisersToday Violet came home with a note about Box Tops for Education in her folder. Yes, she is in preschool. She LOVES it. I adore her teacher. It's wonderful all around with the tiny exception of the social nightmare that is other preschool parents. Apparently there is some unwritten rule that you are not to make eye contact, and if you do, you are glared at. Whatever.<br />
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Back to my tirade. I hate fundraisers. I always have. Particularly fundraisers where I have to save labels from horrible soup, tops of boxes from horrible food, buy coupons or coupon books I won't use, or purchase over-priced cluttery things that I don't want. I distinctly remember Grace, my ever on top of things kid, coming home and explaining to me in detail that we needed to save these things and why. Even at the store I cringed when she got excited about them and felt we HAD to buy that box. Eeek! All this simply out of guilt or some other sort of motivation.<br />
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I told Violet's sweet teacher as much today. I told her that the whole premise was ridiculous and I intended to just write the school a check for $10 rather than seek out horrible food to feed my family and a chance to give the school mere pennies. I may have shocked her some, but she was very gracious. Did I mention I love her?<br />
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Now since then I have made a vow. I have vowed that if ever I am blessed with the opportunity to organize a fundraiser for some sort of youth program, I will buck tradition (surprised?) and probably shock a few people in the process. Hopefully I will start some sort of a trend.<br />
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My idea is that I will make up a pledge sheet to give each child. It will say something like:<br />
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<em>Because I realize that nearly every fundraiser I have participated in has been some marketing scheme by a rather large company selling me a product disguised as food with a promise to give mere pennies to my school, and because I really have no need for trinkets or coupons or any other form of clutter, I pledge ($5 $10 $15 $20) to the above program with the understanding that I get nothing in return other than the comfort that 100% of my donation will be used for the purpose stated above and I am free of clutter and guilt. </em><br />
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And then there are a bunch of lines for names and amount donated. (Yes, that is one huge sentence. But it's effective, don't you think?)<br />
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If someone came to my door with something like that, I'd sign up in a heartbeat. So refreshing. And honest, dammit.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6826272728811425563.post-15115695685385312382012-09-08T18:02:00.000-07:002020-04-27T11:25:16.946-07:00Kayaks!My parents and two brothers (with their families) came over this weekend. And since we haven't been enjoying summer like we normally like to (trips, moving, etc. take a lot of energy! And I'm embarrassed that I haven't blogged more than once a month for the last four months!), we thought we'd go enjoy the lake.<br />
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Mom and dad have a new kayak. And a great friend of ours loaned us three of theirs. Since mom and dad hadn't used theirs yet, they actually debated breaking a bottle of beer across the bow to christen it. But they decided not to waste the beer and saved it for after we got home.<br />
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Brent and I went on a date.<br />
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Actually, it was something like 30 minutes paddling around the lake. </div>
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But hey, that's about as close to a date as we've had since all the kids were in Sunday School or sitting with grandma at church for 15 minutes two years ago or something.</div>
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We take up a lot of shore line. So nice to go enjoy the sun!</div>
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Daddy took Calla out in the kayak. She was pretty scared at first, but decided it was fun. </div>
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At least until daddy lost his hat and tried to reach it and almost tipped over.</div>
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Grace took every chance she could to get in and on the water. She was all over it and had a great time.</div>
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Speaking of kayaks. How about a YAK? </div>
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What?</div>
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Doesn't everyone bring their YAK to the lake with them? </div>
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No? </div>
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Oh, well this guy must think pretty highly of his yak.</div>
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It's name is McCloud. And it apparently likes to get in the house too. I only know that because I asked, sarcastically of course, if it slept in his bed. </div>
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Oh, and he has something like four dozen yaks.</div>
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And if you google "yak" you get a lot of "kayak." </div>
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I'm thinking that kaYAKing is a once in a lifetime experience.</div>
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And a date with your husband after four kids is a once in a blue moon or so experience.</div>
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I love this guy. He even let me go shopping with my mom and sister-in-law while he stayed home with everyone else and started dinner. I found a great sweater and a new purse to replace my awesome red one that Carsten broke the zipper on. <br />
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KaYAKing. HA! I'm going to laugh about this for a LONG time. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1