tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60291125859194573972024-02-26T01:02:10.783-06:00A Life in OrdinaryShades of Greige and Cups of CoffeeTheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.comBlogger651125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-65552009830358635412016-12-12T10:42:00.001-06:002016-12-12T10:42:57.901-06:00"Before each beginning, there must be an ending. Sitting in the rubble, I can see the stars." --Nichole NordemanThe days swirl around me--sometimes in slow motes of spiraling patterns and often in tornado-like chaos. Regardless of how quickly or slowly I feel they move, they do move and I am nudged into the next minutes of reality. <div>
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In these last six months, nothing has changed and everything is changing. Christ has continued His slow process (not slow on His own account...slow because I am often an unwilling or unable participant and must be dragged along) in me. It started with a simple command to stop it. Stop the endless cycle of self-deprecation that had become second nature. Stop the constant focus on me, me, me to end the nagging feeling that I am somehow doing it wrong, getting it wrong, being wrong.</div>
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The reality is much more beautiful than anything I could write with my own hand--Christ. </div>
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In the last half year, there has been the reality of Christ--His sacrifice, His presence and His deep and abiding love. Ultimately, what He is outweighs anything I've damaged or destroyed. There is freedom in that reality. </div>
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I've been most struck by that insistent love during our family Advent reading. With two toddlers, the whole tradition is a mess. They bring pillows and wrestle and repeat what their father reads or beg for more juice or wander around the living room. I'm not sure how much story they get, but I'm also not sure it matters. We keep telling it.</div>
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Thank God for the retelling. It's an opportunity to sit in the reality around me--the mess--and wonder at God's Holy presence in the midst. He is not finished. We are not finished. </div>
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But the expectant hope is He has promised Christ as the author and finisher of our faith. And the rest of what swirls around us--quickly or slowly--has already been conquered by the Savior. He is enough. His promise is enough. </div>
TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-13284891902634705052016-05-29T22:11:00.002-05:002016-08-17T06:23:37.191-05:00"This is the Unmaking--the beauty in the breaking. Had to lose myself to find out who You are." --Nichole NordemanI walked up the stairs and heard a little voice say, "Mommy? Will you come check on me?" It's the same routine we've developed over a course of months. I run and he waits for me to finish so I can check on him.<br />
<br />
I closed the gate on the stairs and walked into his room. Immediately, he holds up Sarge--now detached from Filmore. (Filmore is his lovey--a fox with a baby, Sarge, attached to its front.) He searches my face and declares, "He's still...he's still wuvable!"<br />
<br />
And before I can stop myself, I fiercely declare, "Of course he is. He is perfectly lovable. Broken things are still lovable."<br />
<br />
That ferocity is born out of a need to believe broken things are lovable because I am deeply broken.<br />
<br />
A few months before I put him to bed with a puppy gifted to us after the loss of our fourth child. We had nicknamed him Baby Captain Hook, and in homage to that nickname, the puppy was made out of Captain Hook material. <br />
<br />
Because little boys are wrecking machines, he came to me an hour later with Captain Hook's eye in his mouth--chewed up and irreparable. "Can you fix it, Mommy?" he asked, believing in special mommy-power.<br />
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"No, baby. It's broken. Sometimes when things are broken, they can't be fixed." My breath caught in my throat and emotion worked its way through my system. Tears started running down my face.<br />
<br />
"Oh, Mommy. Are you sad? Are you sad about Baby Captain Hook? I'm sad, too."<br />
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I nodded my head n response, but I didn't have words in that moment. He didn't need them anyway.<br />
<br />
"It's OK, Mommy. He's still wuvable. I still wuv him."<br />
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I choked out, "Yeah, Buddy. Broken things are still lovable."<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
--------------------</div>
<br />
That sweet honesty has replayed in my mind for some time. Brokenness isn't unfamiliar territory, but something about this season of brokenness has felt foreign. It was unexpected...suffocating...and a crash of realization. We'd spend the last five years building--praying our efforts were for God, but knowing that many of them were for ourselves. We needed recovery, community. And so we threw ourselves into those things and pursued them fervently.<br />
<br />
Then we found out we were expecting. And again. And we built a family. We prepared as much as we could for that life shift. Our last pregnancy came as easily as our third, and ended exactly the way our first did. And I looked at the ashes around me and realized most of my investments were empty.<br />
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<br />
This summer spreads out in front of me--an open buffet of possibility. I won't be doing much--not in the way of building, anyway. My unmaking has lead me to a season of participation--in my relationships, my communities, but namely with my Savior. <br />
<br />
Less doing.<br />
<br />
More being.TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-27211961897960343322016-03-01T11:17:00.002-06:002016-03-01T11:22:06.850-06:00"What happens now--when all I've laid is torn down? What happens next--when all of You is all that's left?" --Nichole NordemanNo one in scripture infuriates me the way Paul does. I like to think we would have a <strike>volatile </strike>interesting friendship--one that starts with heated arguments on the quad and ends with us drinking coffee and casually disagreeing in Starbucks. Maybe that's a flippant way to discuss one of the more important players in the New Testament. Or maybe it's an honest way of telling you Paul would make my blood pressure skyrocket, but he'd also challenge me to analyze my own motivations or the things at work in my life for evidence of Christ.<br />
<br />
The whole "to die is gain" thing is a perpetual issue (Phil. 1:21). There are days I wish I knew if that particular resolution was a constant in the missionary's life, or if that day he really felt joy in either life here or life with Christ and struggled with that same sense of joy later. (Even later that day. Like...the minute after he said it. You know, the way I would.)<br />
<br />
I just want to have those conversations with him. I want to know if that Damascus conversion was the line in the sand that eradicated his ability to be half-hearted in any endeavor. <br />
<br />
I guess it's probably more likely Paul was the type of guy to jump in with two feet. He was wholly devoted to persecution and then wholly devoted to Christ. So maybe he and I don't have much in common after all.<br />
<br />
Which is why 2 Corinthians 12:15 is this soul-crushing, I-can't-breathe sort of admission for someone like me. Paul says, "And I will gladly spend and be spent for you, though the more abundantly I love you, the less I be loved." Hello nails. This is chalkboard. Get to know one another.<br />
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Maybe it's embarrassing to admit, but building was <strike>often</strike> sometimes for the purpose of doing something meaningful--not for Christ or others, but for myself. I just want to do something that matters--behind the scenes or whatever--but <em>meaningful </em>work.<br />
<br />
I guess the real issue is where I weigh meaningful, because when Paul gets to that part about spending for people and loving them abundantly and those fools not returning the favor? Yeah. I'm out because HELLO...I NEED SOME FRIEND SUPPORT OR SOMETHING. Who wants to give and give without having it returned? And even worse, who wants to give and give only to see these people love the exact opposite of what you're working toward?<br />
<br />
This is where spiritual warfare is hard. Actually, you know what? Forget warfare for a second. This is where "love your neighbor" blows--not because it's supposed to be easy, this love business, but because there's supposed to be some sort of reciprocation, right?<br />
<br />
But sometimes there isn't. A very renown doctor was onto something when he said, "Except when you don't. Because, sometimes, you won't." Dr. Seuss goes on to talk about the bang-ups and hang-ups that are an inevitable part of life, or, potentially, spending for others and realizing you aren't loved more for your efforts. Or maybe you aren't loved as much as you wanted to be for your efforts. Or maybe you aren't loved at all. <br />
<br />
Or maybe you were involved for entirely the wrong reasons.<br />
<br />
And when all of that is completely demolished and you're sitting on half a chunk of concrete wondering what the hell happened, you'll have plenty of time to weigh the enoughness of Christ.<br />
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Turns out He isn't redirected by weeds, dust and demolition.<br />
<strong><em></em></strong><br />TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-68388672687774287712016-02-17T11:20:00.001-06:002016-02-17T11:20:28.042-06:00"Every stone I laid for You...as if you had asked me to. A monument to holy things, empty talk and circling. Isn't that what we're supposed to do?" --Nichole NordemanI finished my apology and felt a little gutted that I'd let something slip that was obviously causing such a rift. Then she said a word that finished the entire process: arrogant. The whole exchange, while honest, still stings a bit because I thought I'd been successfully avoiding the very thing I'd been becoming.<br />
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Why is it arrogance seems easier than humility?</div>
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The heart of arrogance is me. I'm not saying I'm the sole purveyor of the concept, just that any focus that consistently comes back to self or self gain is, by definition, arrogance. And for the sake of being honest, it's my Achilles.<br />
<br />
While I can't remember a ton of significant achievements from my childhood, I can remember the fact that I talked well from a young age and that particular skill followed me through high school. I qualified for state in speech my freshman year and my senior year. Those achievements led to a job offer at a local radio station, and while it wasn't particularly prestigious, it was still a pretty cool accomplishment. In addition to those things, my first college scholarship was based on my ability to talk to other people and sell them on the finer parts of a local college education.<br />
<br />
<em>My</em> skill.<br />
<em>My </em>ability.<br />
<em>My</em> achievements.<br />
<br />
I kept looking for those things to define something about me that felt undefined. I needed to be good at something--recognizably good. It became this endless competition of sorts between me and whoever was "better" at whatever we were doing.<br />
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I loved character acting and was cast in some pretty big roles in college productions. But the time I wasn't? It was a gut punch. It seemed like a personal slight and how dare you take this <em>from me</em> when this is <em>who I am and what I do.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
It isn't enough for me to be a good teacher. I have this cavernous hole that requires copious amounts of acknowledgement that I am <em>the best</em> teacher--creative and capable.<br />
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I don't need my name listed on the marquee, but I don't want to be unacknowledged. There's this unspoken desire to be heard and valued for <em>my </em>abilities and <em>my </em>accomplishments.<br />
<br />
For me.<br />
Me.<br />
Me.<br />
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Lent is a season of penitence--of quiet reflection and refocus. As I'm working my way through these scriptures and really seeing Jesus again, I'm asking Him to see me. To help me realign my goals until they point to Him--or even until my biggest and only desire <em>is </em>Christ. Not Christ in me. Not Christ before me, behind me or beside me. Just Christ. <br />
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To, once again, show me what it looks like to remove myself from the equation so I can stop getting in the way.<br />
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I thought I'd done that. But the ruts here are deep and my wheels gravitate toward building for Him without bothering to include Him at all.<br />
</div>
TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-77485490030575578772016-02-10T12:43:00.000-06:002016-04-10T08:16:16.947-05:00"All the debris and all this dust--what is left of what once was. Sorting through what goes and what should stay." --Nichole NordemanI have this thing with integrity. Or maybe I have this thing with duplicity. Ugh. This is a hard paragraph to start. <br />
<br />
So I have this thing where I expect people to be consistent with their actions and attitudes but I struggle with that same thing myself. Term it what you will.<br />
<br />
Being honest about who you are and the things that have made you who you are is difficult. There's so much history built into every decision--connections or disconnections that have to be considered, current climate, personality tendencies. So attitude in the midst of emotional baggage might look a whole lot different than the attitude that emerges when one is whole and healthy.<br />
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I've said on multiple occasions that I really don't care what others think of me. That statement isn't untrue, but it isn't the truest statement I've ever made either. I very much care what <em>some</em> people think. I want their approval. I want their love and attention and I need reassurance of it on a fairly regular basis. That's a hard admission for someone who needs solitude to survive.<br />
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Or really, maybe "hey, I'm needy" is a hard reality regardless.<br />
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And since I'm laying things out here, allow me to state clearly that I'm not writing from a place of security now. There are so many arenas where I have no idea where I stand and that's making me weirdly shaky (which is making typing a bit more difficult that it usually is).<br />
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When I started pulling out of things to assess them, I realized a couple of things:<br />
<br />
1. I stayed in some arenas because I was scared what people would say about me if I wasn't around.<br />
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That sounds healthy, doesn't it? Does it mean my relationships with all of those people were bad relationships? I don't think so. But letting go of it means I may not know what's happening in the inner circle and that's hard because of the speculation--that something is being said about me, or, on the other side, that I removed myself because I think less of someone else.<br />
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2. Sometimes I'm afraid of what certain people think about me or how they are presenting me to others even when I don't value the opinions of those people.<br />
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Which, inevitably, means I end up obsessing over that person's opinion. Or tip-toeing around the people we share. Which, also, super duper healthy.<br />
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I did it to build. I wanted to be a part of those groups because I wanted to feel like I belonged. After all these years and all the progress Christ has made with me, I still struggle with wanting to feel like I belong to something <em>even when I know I belong to Him</em>. I'm making my peace with the enoughness that is found in Christ--slowly.<br />
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I think this is a step in that direction. With a million more to go.<br />
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<br />TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-90236302438249503592016-02-07T15:45:00.000-06:002016-05-30T11:39:07.100-05:00"This is demolition day" --Nichole NordemanBuilding is admirable. Art and architecture lovers know this statement inherently. Music lovers appreciate its results. Writers agonize through its struggle. And church-goers? Perhaps they see best of all the necessity of building, of multiplication.<br />
<br />
The issue is not with the building itself, but rather the focus in the process.<br />
<br />
Because I'm in education, most of the last two years have been heavily focused on this concept of building. Growth, after all, is our major goal. Can't show growth? Then you probably don't belong in the classroom. At least, that's what every evaluative statement I've heard in the last year has indicated.<br />
<br />
And so we build.<br />
<br />
I don't think one person would begrudge us the building that's taken place in the last few years. By the grace of God, we've build a family and thrown a lot of time and energy into that family. We are in the lifelong process of relearning how to be the church and build a church. These are, like I said in the last post, admirable tasks. And had we not walked through another season of loss, I probably would've continued to swim through what I labeled a small feeling of dissatisfaction.<br />
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Through the season of Advent, I went through a real longing for Christ's presence. You're probably thinking, "Um...yeah. That's what the season is for?" But it wasn't a requisite longing. It was the deep sense of dissatisfaction--like I'd forgotten who He was or how to find Him.<br />
<br />
Until finally...<br />
<br />
I'd committed myself to being in the Word in 2016, and that commitment has taken an odd turn. What started as dedication to write scripture every day came to a head when I started a Lent devotional early. I've been thinking about that verse in Hebrews: "...just as the builder of a house has greater honor than the house itself." It's only a partial sentence, but I almost choked on my yogurt when I read it because in black and white, I found myself. I found my reverence to the building--the process and the structure--and I've given each far more reverence than the builder Himself.<br />
<br />
A hundred pieces fell together with that meditation. <br />
<br />
I felt a gentle reminder that what I pour into and what I allow to pour into me has a direct correlation with my life in Christ. Where am I looking? To what/whom am I giving honor?<br />
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Tearing into some of these things has been difficult--lonely, sometimes. But my Christ has been gracious to me. When my pastor reminded the congregation of Romans 2:4 this morning, I knew Christ was reminding me of his tenderness. It really is His kindness that leads us to repentance.<br />
<br />TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-79280986176323363532016-02-04T11:03:00.002-06:002016-02-04T12:11:30.000-06:00"This is Where the Walls Gave Way" --Nichole NordemanMinimalism has become so en vogue lately that it's difficult to get on the world wide web without some mention of decluttering or Konmari-ing. From capsule wardrobes to the tiny house movement, everyone and their brother has presumably found some value in letting go, paring down and pushing back the materialistic culture. Why wouldn't we want to participate in something that has a 4.5 star review on Amazon after more than 7,600 people have weighed in? Surely having less stuff and thinking about having less stuff is admirable--desirable, even.<br />
<br />
So we run through the process one more time. We get rid of what isn't working. We reassess, reorganize and take out the trash. We keep only what has value or value to us, anyway. And we build.<br />
<br />
Building feels like the hardest part. It requires a look at the land, an assessment of the structure and new...well, new somethings. That part depends on what you're building. In the past few years, we've built a house. Built a small group. We built relationships and a family. We built our finances and pieces of furniture. Then there was our credit, and my understanding of healthy eating. We built groups on Facebook and I built a lot of information about washing machines, detergents and cloth diapers.<br />
<br />
We built.<br />
We built.<br />
We built.<br />
<br />
<em>Because that's what we do.</em><br />
<br />
But when the process is disrupted--when it slows or stops, or even worse, goes in reverse--I lose sight of myself. Who am I, after all, if I'm not building?<br />
<br />
That's what I'm aiming to discover. Perhaps there will be a lot of writing. Maybe very little. Maybe after this particular discussion I'll find I have nothing else to add to the conversation. But maybe there's something to our endless need to build and maybe that says something about who we are or who we became somewhere along the line.<br />
<br />
Or maybe it just says a lot about me.TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-27506744014088264372016-02-02T12:22:00.001-06:002016-02-02T12:22:10.862-06:00I Used to WriteI used to write.<br />
<br />
They aren't long words or fancy words or profound words. But they are words and they belong to me.<br />
<br />
I used to write.<br />
<br />
Never about anything important or amazing or particularly beautiful. But it was my life and where I was and what I was learning. Sometimes I would go back and read something and think about how incredibly ridiculous the whole thought process was. Sometimes I would go back and relive my "dark nights of the soul" or the shifts that changed the lay of the land for the rest of my life.<br />
<br />
I used to write.<br />
<br />
I don't know if I ran out of things to say or if I stopped thinking or if I came to the conclusion that none of these words mattered anyway, but I stopped putting them out here. Maybe because I didn't want someone else to read them. Maybe because I didn't want to read them.<br />
<br />
I used to write.<br />
<br />
When I had time. Or more time. Or me time. Or used my time more wisely. Or used my time at all.<br />
<br />
I used to write.<br />
<br />
It was an exercise. In stretching. In seeing. In feeling. In futility.<br />
<br />
I used to write.<br />
I used to write.<br />
I used to write.<br />
<br />
And I will again.TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-26740763766311885362015-05-13T12:19:00.000-05:002015-05-13T12:19:26.113-05:00Things You Should WatchAnd things that influenced my previous blog post...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/iCvmsMzlF7o/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/iCvmsMzlF7o?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<br />
And the one I watched today...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/psN1DORYYV0/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/psN1DORYYV0?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
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<br />TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-62284097379354436452015-05-12T15:09:00.001-05:002015-05-12T15:09:20.276-05:00On Vulnerability<div class="MsoNormal">
Over and over, I keep coming back to one section:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Then I asked him how long it generally took for him to from
the act of looking at porn to satisfy himself to returning to the foot of the cross
to receive grace from God and be reminded that he was already forgiven and
accepted. He said it sometimes took
days. I asked him whom he was putting
his confidence in—whom he was worshiping—during those days in between. He said, ‘Well, I guess me’” (<i>Saturate</i>, Vanderstelt 60).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Specific issues aside, this particular story brought to mind
a statement I’ve asked my students to evaluate every year: You live out what you truly believe.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve had a niggling in the back of my mind every time I’ve
discussed that statement—one that told me my belief system wasn’t strong enough to label myself with a million other
people. I was doing the community an
injustice. I was a fake. I was a fraud. And the one sentiment I think every human
being understands: I was doing it wrong.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve written so much over the last five years. I’ve let people into my struggle with
infertility and my belief system without actually giving them to opportunity to
see me. I wrote with a heavy hand on the
delete button and my mind firmly positioned in EDIT.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Feeling like I’m not enough has become a condition. For someone who did some really good things
at a really young age, I feel like I’ve never quite measured up…always
mediocre. At best, middle of the road.
(And at worst, worthless.) I keep trying
to earn acceptance and approval from the people who make up my little world without
appreciating the very thing that allows for joy is the thing that also makes me
susceptible to disapproval or ostracism:
vulnerability.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Believe it or not, the lack of vulnerability is why
Venderstelt’s story has replayed in my mind for the last week.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Any time I chose something other than Christ, I’ve worked
for that forgiveness. I refused to let
the inner parts of me be seen. I’ve
worked to be sorry. I’ve hidden and
pretended that I’m A-OK when I’m not and hoped at some point that something I’ve
done may be enough to bring me back to a place where grace can be for me. But that’s not belief at all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I feel like it’s some new revelation that belief means I’m
willing to come to the foot of the cross and ask for forgiveness and trust that
God is enough. He is enough for my
forgiveness. He is enough to change my
heart. He is enough. He is enough.
He is enough. I don’t have to be.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For these thirty some odd years, I keep talking about being
broken without actually letting people see I’m, you know, broken. It’s embarrassing. I’m ashamed of my downfalls. My slips.
My choices. I get red-faced over
the things I’ve said. The things I’ve
felt. The attitudes I’ve cultivated. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I doubt those things are unique to me, but fear is
alienating. It makes us believe others
will hate us or disregard us if we put ourselves out there. We keep trying to work to be whatever it is
that will allow us to be accepted instead of understanding what’s available is
imperfect and, well, broken. And that’s
not unique to us.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So here we are. I’m not
enough.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
And I’m working on understanding that accepting my “not-enoughness”
is exactly the thing that opens the door for authentic relationships—with others,
with myself and with Christ.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thoughts?</div>
TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-18435702163354718412015-03-02T13:29:00.001-06:002015-03-03T14:38:03.851-06:00I Don't Recommend BumGenius or Cotton Babies: The Why<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Like
women who planned weddings long before a fiancé was on the horizon, I planned
for the children I didn’t have long before I knew they were a possibility. In the worst days of infertility, I read
multiple blogs written by women who had survived and speculated about the types
of decisions I would make for my nonexistent little ones.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And then
my reality was blown to smithereens by a surprise pregnancy and I had to decide
where the rubber would meet the road with some of these decisions. After several conversations about the
feasibility, Favorite and I decided we would try cloth diapering. Based on what I read, AIOs (all-in-ones) were
the best choice for our lifestyle and the number one recommendation for AIOs on
any blog I read in the time period I was waiting? BumGenius.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">So I
bought six OBGEs (old BG Elementals) and six FT (FreeTimes) and thought I would
determine which were our favorites after Ryan made his grand entrance. And after two years of cloth diapering, I
feel like I have a responsibility to share my experience. So here it is: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">If you
are considering cloth diapers for your children, avoid Cotton Babies and
BumGenius. Please hear me out on my
decision not to recommend this company because I haven’t made it lightly. But after several months of waiting, I no
longer have faith in this company, their business practices or their product.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">This
weekend, stores sold second quality prints for above retail based on what they
were calling fair market value via the buy, sell, trade pages. Because CB has said they have no stake in the
pricing on the BST sites, consumers and the biggest fans of their company
exploded (mostly in their Facebook fan group: Cotton Babies: The Cloth Diaper Flash Mob).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Before I
get into the other things that will keep me from recommending CB and BG, let me
address the Mob. The group is, of
course, high drama. Normally, I can
overlook all of the random posting, but the thing that got my attention last
night was the fact that admins of the group, Whitney specifically, told angry
consumers “It’s time to move on” as though their concerns regarding the recent
upcharge on seconds didn’t matter. In
addition, #CEOMom, Jenn Labit writes in her most recent blog post, “It’s just
diapers and it wasn’t worth it.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Wait,
what? The fact that fans of the brand
are upset doesn’t matter because we’re just talking about diapers?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">That
statement alone makes me feel undervalued as a consumer because I chose
BumGenius. Every time I put a dollar
into their product, I was associating myself with their name. And now?
I feel like that faith was misplaced.
The fury of the mob *could* be excused, but for the CEO of a company to
write “And I heard the mob got crazy.
Which is crazy. These are
diapers” makes me believe my concerns over company actions will consistently be
minimized.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Frankly,
they aren’t just diapers. They are
decisions parents have made for the best interest of their family. It’s faith we’ve put in a company—a company
we promote every time we put your product on our children’s behinds. So when the CEO of the company comments, “we
may decide to price used diaper prints higher than you’re used to seeing in our
stores…However, in the future, Cotton Babies won’t be selling seconds, ever
again, at a price that is higher than original retail” I guess I’m supposed to
feel better because used diapers will cost more but seconds diapers won’t cost
*quite* as much as a brand new diaper.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Excuse
me?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">This
whole mentality is enough to prove to me that CB is actually feeding the prints
frenzy they claim they don’t promote.
Labit’s comments about selling <b><u>used</u></b>
limited prints for above retail are proof positive of that fact. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">If that
wasn’t enough, here’s another way the company is feeding the frenzy around
prints: A friend of mine warrantied a
Jules. The reasons are really
unimportant here, but she sent her diaper in under warranty and was told she
would receive a Jules in return or another print if Jules was running low. She received a solid—Sassy. The whole exchange would be a non-issue
except Jules was rereleased not long after her diaper was warrantied. Essentially, the extras were saved so there
could be another hysterical buy-out of a diaper that would be unavailable in
thirty seconds.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">But the
company doesn’t promote the crazy activity surrounding their limited edition
prints? Please.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Honestly,
though, there are more functional reasons I cannot recommend BG. I am not a print fan and owning an entire
rainbow is no priority of mine. If you
don’t value prints or the rainbow either, why should you avoid BG?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I had
been diapering with my BGs for four months before I joined any other mommy
groups with cloth diapering moms. I had
bought my BGs six months previous (2 months before LO was born) and I was
excited to hear other opinions about a diaper that was working well for
us. Imagine my surprise when I
discovered the elastics are a joke in the CD community. I thought it must be a fluke and there were a
few customers who received diapers with bad elastic. No big deal.
Every company deals with a fluke from time to time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">But the
more I read, the more I realized it was no fluke. Consumers were consistently reporting issues
with BG elastic—3 months and 6 months after use. My diapers started relaxing after 8 months,
but I wouldn’t realize the extent of their damage until my next little one came
along and needed to use the same diapers.
Of course, the elastics can be replaced, but the bigger issue is that
the company has yet to address these concerns almost two years later.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">On a
recent Mob post, Jenn Labit herself asked what we as consumers would most like
to change about the company. Time and
time again, moms responded, “ELASTICS!”
In the last day, Ms. Labit made another appearance to talk down angry
consumers over the LE prints issue and was asked, again, when BG intends to
address the issue of crappy elastics. She
responded that it takes a while to turn a big ship, but there are things in the
works.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I’m
bothered by those comments because <u>the elastics issue isn’t new</u>. By the time I joined the cloth diaper
community, it was an already accepted phenomenon that BabyCity diapers
delaminate quickly and BG elastics relax early.
Even hardcore BG lovers didn’t argue the point. So to state that it takes a big ship a while
to turn and openly profess that there have been things in the works for the
last six months (a comment from Labit again) is an acknowledgement that the
company has refused to listen to its fan base for the last year and a half that
I’ve been diapering (at the minimum).<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Feeling
undervalued as a customer yet? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">No? Then let’s discuss the preorder nonsense they
call a system.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Before
Stellar and Jolly came on the market, CB promoted them for preorder. I saw Stellar and was in love. I love solid diapers and that deep blue? Well, my boys needed it. So I preordered four diapers in September
with the understanding they would be shipped in early December..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">When
December rolled around, there was still no update. Honestly, it happens. There was an issue with the diapers and the
delivery date was pushed back. Fine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Then, I
got an email from CB stating their brick and mortar stores had been stocked
with the new colors. People should stop
by and get them! They’re so cute! Those emails were accompanied with
pictures—WALLS of Stellar and Jolly just waiting to be purchased.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And
where was my preorder from three months before?
STILL PENDING.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">It
wasn’t until I took my issue to the mob and multiple other people made the same
comments that the orders began updating.
My diaper made it in my hands almost a week after the stores had been
stocked with the preorder product and more than three months after I had
paid. How is that good customer service?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">There
are probably skeptics who are reading and discounting most of what I’ve said to
this point. It’s cool. You should critically evaluate everything you
read. So let’s assume the preorder issue
was a lack of organization, the elastics issue is a fluke, and that the CEO of
a major company and her employees didn’t attempt to silence customers when they
shared an opinion of recent actions.
Heck, let’s ignore the print craze and the fact that the company
supports it completely. With all of
those things taken out of the argument, I still wouldn’t recommend the company
on one simple issue: wash routines.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I’ve spent
a fair amount of money with BG—far less than I would’ve spent on disposables,
but a good chunk of change nonetheless.
Because I was conscious of my investment, I chose to care for my diapers
according to the recommendations of the manufacturer. I bought Rockin’ Green and washed my
diapers. And washed my diapers. And washed my diapers. I used ¼ cup of bleach once a month, and
outside of the recommendations to bleach again for stink (which was frequent)
and rashes (which were frequent), I stuck to the recommendation of a tablespoon
of detergent and lots of rinsing.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Despite
my meticulous care of the diapers, 12 of them delaminated. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Because
I was pretty naive, I didn’t realize what had happened. My sister-in-law told me if my son’s clothing
was wet, it sounded like the diaper’s PUL wasn’t in tact. My response: “Huh?” To test them, I poured a bit of water on each
diaper and watched it soak and eventually drip through the water resistant
outer layer. Crap. Twelve diapers—$220—that are nothing but
garbage.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I
contacted customer service. My
representative was kind, but explained that only the diapers still under
warranty would be replaced. I
understood, filled out the paperwork and waited to see if my claim was
accepted.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">It
was—for six diapers. I asked what
happened in order to avoid facing the same issue again and the customer service
representative told me that Rockin’ Green had been removed from the recommended
list because it was causing diapers to delaminate. (Despite the fact that Rockin’ Green and BG
“detergent” have the same basic ingredients.
Thought I’d throw that in here for posterity.)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Uh,
what?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Never
once did I receive notification from the company. Never once was I told that the recommended
detergent list had changed. Never once
did I learn that my diapers could be impacted by a decision that was previously
approved. My cost? Six diapers that will not be replaced even
though customer service told me it was likely the detergent that was
responsible since I was following the recommended wash routine.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I’ve
since scrapped BG’s wash recommendations.
Frankly, if they aren’t going to replace diapers that malfunctioned
because of their recommendations, what’s the point in following those recommendations? And when they don’t warranty my current
diapers? Big deal. They didn’t warranty the six that delaminated
under their instructions <i>even though they
stated the detergent was responsible.</i>
And I’ve learned that it’s not uncommon for BG diapers to delaminate
juuuuuuusssstttt outside that 1 year warranty.
I’ve speculated it’s lack of a quality PUL, but the company has been
fairly closed about answering any questions I’ve had.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">My BGs
fit well, and unlike many angry mommies, I won’t be destashing them because I
can’t afford to lose the majority of my diapers with two in cloth (and wait for
new diapers and prep new diapers, etc).
But I can guarantee I will give no more money to a company who clearly
doesn’t value my input or my needs as a customer.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">When I
shared my concerns, hundreds of women on the Mob implied that I would be the
first to buy the print that is rereleased to draw attention away from this
issue. The fact of the matter is they
are wrong. I won’t give another penny to
Cotton Babies until I feel comfortable that all of these issues have been
addressed adequately.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Even
then, there is so much water under the bridge I’ll have to take a long hard
look at the revisions before I change my stance. (And frankly, I’m a bit skeptical there are
changes on the horizon). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">So for
now, for your sake and the sake of your babies (and their bums), buy something
else. I’d be glad to make
recommendations.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-23070032865997434512015-01-12T12:38:00.000-06:002015-01-12T12:38:02.489-06:00The WordsWords are a large part of my life. In the last three years, the words that I've had a pressing to focus on were Obedience, Peace and Gratitude. I can look at each of those words and immediately understand that God was/has been trying to education me through the circumstances of 2012-2014. They are words that are still applicable, but I feel like I've missed their efficacy.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'd like my word for 2015 to be Rest. I'd like to rest in all the things I've prayed for and the whirlwind of change these last few years have been. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In some cases, I've felt like I couldn't talk about these things because 1. some people have it worse or 2. it makes me sound ungrateful (or maybe I <i>am</i> ungrateful...that's open for interpretation), or even worse 3. I sound like a catty bitch. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Maybe those are accurate descriptors. I think it's just time I laid down some of the baggage I've been carrying so I can finally let it go. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Baggage #1</b></div>
<div>
I'm not entirely over our unscheduled exit from our previous church.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's hard to know people your entire life and then realize that many of them really didn't like you and were not sorry to see you go. Not long after we left, I pulled up emails from another church member who prayed regularly for me over a period of several years (via email). I was nostalgic and needed some reminder that I was loved and cared for despite current circumstances. When I reread those emails, I realized that almost every email for a few years included some sort of criticism from this man's wife. She commented that she didn't like something I did, or the attitude I had or something I was wearing. This is the same person who blames me for my family's exit from the congregation. I thought her feelings toward me were new, but turns out, I had overlooked the fact that she never liked me and was quite vocal about that dislike to her family. That was a hurtful realization, and it made me realize there were a number of people I've known my whole life who looked at the floor or the ceiling so things wouldn't get uncomfortable. I'm not over it because I'm still angry with these people. Thankfully, I've learned that their opinions of me are worth as much as a paperweight in space. But I'm still angry.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In addition, I miss some of the groups from that church. I don't want to sing Praise and Worship, but I miss the camaraderie that came out of that group--even though we ended up with an unwelcome fourth member. I haven't been able to cultivate the same spirit that was in my previous Bible study groups and I miss the wisdom and acceptance that came from those women. I miss the accountability and I have no idea how to get back to that place or prepare the ground for a new, worthwhile planting.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Baggage #2</b></div>
<div>
I am angry that the pastor of the church we moved to is a liar and a thief.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Favorite and I carefully visited churches to try to figure out where we could grow. Ultimately, we wanted to be part of a community that wanted to be part of the community in which it resided (not an insular community). That's what we had where we landed. We built relationships. We were involved in multiple service projects. We felt like a team.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And then we found out it was a lie. We discovered reality more than a year ago and I'm still angry with him for promising us a place to heal while knowing he had created a fantasy. None of it was real.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Maybe that should resolve since justice has been done and he's going to prison. But it doesn't change those who are left in his wake.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Baggage #3</b></div>
<div>
I'm still pretty resentful of the fact that we carefully chose and things were completely upended when this man was arrested. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
We had a small group we loved. We were learning and growing and healing. The arrest happens, my best friend leaves and then our small group is disbanded because our leaders looked for employment elsewhere.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The open, informal atmosphere changed completely. If we were choosing today, this likely isn't what we would've chosen. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Will saying that out loud piss some people off? I'm sure it will. I'll be told I can leave or make the best of the circumstances we are in. And that's fine. You're welcome to tell me anything you want. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Fact of the matter is it isn't always easy to just pick up and leave. Previous circumstances made that abundantly clear. In turn, we are all limited in many ways when it comes to making the "best" of the current situation. You may not believe I'm doing much on that front. I don't really care what you believe because I probably don't trust you and I probably like you less than I trust you. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Baggage #4</b></div>
<div>
One person who left had every reason to feel abandoned, upended and alone, but I'm bothered that she never seemed to care about the people who <i>also</i> suffered as a result of this man and his alternate reality.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And she need not give me that garbage about standing beside her because I would've supported her to the ends of the earth. You weren't the only one hurting. It wasn't all about you. It still isn't.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm laying these things down here so I don't have to pick them up again. It's time to rest and find something new in the future. It's time to apply those lessons of obedience, peace and gratitude. It's time to openly embrace the gifts I've been given along with the emotional ruckus.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Hey, 2015. It's good to see you. You've got a lot of healing to do so let's get on with it.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-71431121692653338492014-12-09T09:26:00.000-06:002016-12-17T17:59:19.174-06:00On the Occasion of Your 4th Expectation Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">(I acknowledge to remember the joy and the grief that is always present while not necessarily debilitating. We are so grateful for the lives that have blessed and influenced us. Because we are no less grateful for this one's existence, we remember and acknowledge the significant dates that surround his sweet presence and the fact that we will miss him until we are finally reunited.) </span>TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-90346783504199434902014-10-20T12:09:00.001-05:002014-10-20T12:11:48.118-05:00Putting the Reins on Passion<div style="border: 0px; font-family: Vollkorn, 'Times New Roman'; font-size: 16px; letter-spacing: -0.01em; line-height: 1.5em; margin-bottom: 0.9em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
Benjamin Franklin once said, "If passion drives you, let reason hold the reins." I've thought about passion frequently in the past few days because I encountered it in situations when I least expected to see it. And when that happened, I had to second guess a few things, ask a few questions and find a way to soothe my hurt feelings. Franklin adds reason to the equation purposefully--because passion invokes strong feelings that can be difficult restrain.</div>
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Most of the time, I consider myself a fairly passionate person. I'm passionate about what I do. I love most of my students and I believe in the value of education. I'm a strong supporter of public education (though I'm not against homeschooling or private education) because I know not every student has the resources to receive education otherwise. I get my panties in a twist when people (in general) suggest it would be in our best interest to eliminate the public school system entirely. </div>
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I love being a Mommy and I have strong feelings about being a good one. The problem is my interpretation of "good" Mommy and someone else's interpretation are vastly different things. I found that out when I joined a Mommy Group. I know; I know. I probably should've stayed out of the Mommy Group arena, but here's the deal: we cloth diaper. That's not a big deal, but cloth diapering companies give you these wash instructions that encourage you to treat them like they're precious porcelain...the thing your kid poops in. So when KnickKnack found this Mommy Group that helps tweak wash routines for cloth diapers, I was all about it.</div>
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And they <i>have</i> been helpful. I enjoyed having some insight into this parenting thing. Then I made a mistake. One Mommy made a comment that she was having difficulty getting her kid to sleep through the night without nursing him to sleep. I commented that we used <i>BabyWise</i> and that helped us get our kids on a reasonable schedule so they knew how to react when it was time for night-night.</div>
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And then the hail rained down from heaven.</div>
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I receive a barrage of comments regarding this book and how it has led to failure to thrive, child abuse and a multitude of other things that clearly indicated I was the world's worst mother. I felt defensive and upset. The comments that were made regarding this particular text were far from accurate, and I felt like these women were indicating that my children were suffering at my hands. After that, I learned that if you stick around in Mommy Groups you'll also learn people are passionate about the following:</div>
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<li><span style="letter-spacing: -0.01em; line-height: 1.5em;">Breast feeding (Apparently you're a monster if you don't or if you can't--there's no differentiation between the two. And if you can? You should until your kid is 10.)</span></li>
<li><span style="letter-spacing: -0.01em; line-height: 1.5em;">Vaccinations (You're a monster if you do. You're a monster if you don't. Good luck on that one.)</span></li>
<li><span style="letter-spacing: -0.01em; line-height: 1.5em;">Car seats (Don't keep them rear facing until they're teenagers? Clearly you want your children to die.)</span></li>
<li><span style="letter-spacing: -0.01em; line-height: 1.5em;">Circumcision (Why would you mutilate your child in that way?)</span></li>
<li><span style="letter-spacing: -0.01em; line-height: 1.5em;">Co-Sleeping/Cry It Out (The latter is also called CIO. On my Mommy Group, people err on the side of co-sleeping. Co-Sleepers think all other people are CIOs and don't want a close relationship with their kids. CIOs or non-co-sleepers think all Co-Sleepers are crazy hippies with no regard for their marriages/relationships. Again, best of luck to you.)</span></li>
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Basically, on any given day, you're pretty much failing as a Mom and the good majority of these women will be glad to tell you exactly why you're failing as a Mom.</div>
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So I've been thinking about where others encounter my passions. And I've been afraid to think that I've made someone feel like a little less because I feel so strongly on those subjects.</div>
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This morning, I heard Selah's "You Amaze Us" and for the first time, I started contemplating what it means for Christ to consume us wholly. I used to talk about the concept in college, but I don't think I really grasped the enormity of those words. Truthfully, though, I need something to direct all the passion--for something to hold the reins when I purposefully or accidentally make someone feel a little less than. </div>
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That's where my prayer will start tonight--for Christ to consume me. Maybe that will direct my passion for my community, my school, but most of all, my family. Directed passion...what a concept.</div>
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TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-57477255008836887302014-10-15T13:49:00.002-05:002014-10-15T13:49:16.580-05:00I'll Love You Forever<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I never anticipated that I would love <i>The Great Gatsby</i>, but there's something achingly beautiful about a book that acknowledges our need to move toward the future while often and unexpectedly being drawn to the past. And while it's true that dwelling creates an unhealthy emotional environment for the dweller, it is also true that remembering can sometimes soothe the dull ache grief hollows in our hearts.<br />
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Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Day. <br />
<br />
Today so many of us are grateful that we had the capability to "beat on" but we will never forget what was and what might have been. We whisper names that were never written. We look at children living and wonder what similarities and differences would be obvious at this point. <br />
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And while I've been blessed to hold two in my arms, I cradled three in my womb.<br />
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We never forget, but today we remember aloud those who are missing and the continual ache that comes from that absence.<br />
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And just as much as I mean it for my living children, I also mean it for the one I never had the chance to hold: I'll love you forever; I'll like you for always.<br />
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MommyTheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-59380583528211327022014-10-14T08:18:00.003-05:002014-12-17T12:05:16.885-06:00Guest PostI took a stab at answering Elizabeth's questions about being a working mom. Feel free to check her out <a href="http://www.samandscout.com/working-mom-day-14-crystal/">here.</a>TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-50132786491722853282014-10-08T09:19:00.002-05:002014-10-08T09:29:23.977-05:00#PayItForward<span style="color: #222222; font-family: arial; font-size: x-small;">On her blog, <a href="http://www.samandscout.com/">Teaching Sam and Scout</a>, Elizabeth Chapman has been interviewing working moms. There are several questions she's asked them to answer, but the one that sticks out to me the most was this one: What's the best thing about being a working mom? What's the worst or hardest thing?</span><br />
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When I answered that question initially, all I could think about was missing milestones in Ryan and Eli's lives, but now that I really consider that question I would answer it differently. The worst thing about being a working mom is likely also the worst thing about being a mom in general: anxiety.</div>
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I can only wish that I would be able to capture the minutiae of anxiety the way William Styron writes about depression in his work <i>Darkness Visible</i>. Unfortunately, no amount of wishful thinking makes me a writer, so I'll simply tell you what I know: anxiety is a sneaky bastard.</div>
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There are a hundred things I enjoy about being a mom and teacher. These titles are the things I like <b>best</b> about myself. But there are days when I can only focus on the piddling things that surround these designations. </div>
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Eli wakes up happy almost every day. He smiles at me and tracks my movements as I walk through the kitchen to gather my stuff before I leave. He talks and coos and giggles, and I try my best to soak it in because I know he won't be little for long. I'm pretty successful most days. Then the sucker punch: the diapers have a smell they shouldn't have; my living room is a mess; I don't have time to read/grade papers; I haven't had time to meal plan; I need to go to the grocery store; my milk supply seems to be decreasing; I don't exercise regularly; I'm still struggling with the baby weight. </div>
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Any one of those things is completely manageable, but there are days one of those issues or any combination of those issues will knock the breath out of me. I cannot get my mind off of the fact that maybe I'm not washing diapers correctly or I won't be able to nurse Eli the way I had hoped (which is made harder by the fact that I couldn't nurse Ryan). I get snagged in the threads of detail and I cannot manage to untangle my feet from the mess. And the bigger picture? Completely invisible in those moments.</div>
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They attack without warning. On the best mornings--the ones where I'm feeling the best, that things are going well and I'm doing a good job at most things in my life--they ambush me from a corner. And because I don't like to cry in front of people, I spend those mornings gritting my teeth and attempting to occupy my racing mind with something other than the knotted thread tied around my brain.</div>
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That is the worst part of being a working mom. Actually, now that I think about it, that's the worst part of being a human being. I can remember the same issues in the days I didn't work and I can certainly identify them in the time period we waited to become parents.</div>
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But this anxiety made me think about another question Elizabeth asked: "What items or tips do you recommend to help 'make it work'?"</div>
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I responded that we all need someone in our lives who can help keep things in perspective. That's true, but I think working moms, moms, and people in general need encouragement. On the days when the anxiety is the worst, I need someone to pat me on the back and tell me I'm doing a good job. (Which is weird given that words of affirmation aren't really my thing most of the time.) </div>
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Because of that, I wonder how many of us are willing to choose one person, <i>just one person</i>, to encourage every week for the next month? And what if we asked each of those people to pay it forward? What kind of change would we see in our families, our workplaces, our own demeanor?</div>
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Would you join me in a pay it forward campaign? Feel free to share ways people have encouraged you #payitforward</div>
TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-63730074063153071882014-10-04T21:23:00.002-05:002014-10-04T21:23:20.187-05:00The Next MonthI've spent the better part of the last two years pregnant. After eight years of attempting to align my mind to the belief that we wouldn't have kids without IVF, it's been a bit of an adjustment. What kind of adjustment? Well, the one where I attempt to trust my body and believe it can actually do good things.<br />
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I mean, clearly it did. It housed and birthed two beautiful boys. (Ryan in three pushes and Eli in one push. I think that's pretty amazing for a girl who has next to no ab muscles.) But in spite of that fact, it is still largely unpredictable. Most of the time, only other women with PCO believe me when I say I eat between 1500 and 1800 calories a day. They get me when I say that my weight will not budge despite this fact. They are the ones who understand when I say I'm tired all the time. They know what it's like to keep a carb count at a certain level and still look in the mirror and see something that refuses to change no matter how much you want it.<br />
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They get it. I wish I knew a few more of them.<br />
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My frustration hit a new peak when I had my thyroid tested last week. Like all confusing elements in my life, it came back completely normal. So why haven't I been able to lose weight postpartum?<br />
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Your guess is as good as mine.<br />
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But I know that I can't stay here. So I'm going to try something new.<br />
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I'm putting this out here for the world to see in hopes that it's going to create a bit of accountability:<br />
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<b>I'm going to do a <a href="http://whole30.com/whole30-program-rules/">Whole30</a>.</b></div>
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Go ahead and click on the link and read. I'll wait. <br />
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Maybe it seems a little drastic, but I feel like I'm out of options. If calorie counting and carb restriction isn't going to cut it, then I need a complete revamp of my eating habits. <br />
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For the next week, I'm going to be making grocery lists, meal plans and searching for compliant recipes online. I'm going to be gritting my teeth and thinking it's cruel for them to discount alcohol when that'll probably be a necessity about three days into this program. And I'll be modifying my meal plan to include one yogurt a day. I'm nursing, so I think it's a good idea to keep some milk in my diet.<br />
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And people who say that's not a real Whole30 can suck it. Seriously, I'm tired of naysayers. One yogurt a day (especially yogurt without artificial sweeteners or real sugar) for a nursing Mommy is not the equivalent of blowing the entire program on a Blizzard from Dairy Queen. (Which, for the record, I will probably eat tomorrow since they'll be a no-go in the near future.)<br />
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I'm giving up black beans, and I'm sad about it. I'm giving up all grains. That's not a huge sacrifice with the exception of quinoa. I'm giving up cheese, and no oatmeal for the duration of the program. Those are the things that make me a little sad. <br />
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But the possibility of getting my body back? Feeling good again? Being able to keep up with my boys?<br />
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Yeah. Those things make it worthwhile.<br />
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So pray for me (and the people who have to interact with me) for the next 37 days. I don't have a ton of faith in my ability to complete the program, but if there's anything my body doesn't lack, it's tenacity.<br />
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So here we go.TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-67739680014928941492014-10-02T09:39:00.002-05:002014-10-02T09:39:48.100-05:00On Value<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">At small group we've been talking about our stories--about the things and the people who have defined who we are. Favorite and I laughed because we've become those people who talk about their children incessantly. My Instagram feed is all kids all the time, and I've found myself fitting Ryan and/or Eli into every conversation I can.</span><br />
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Maybe most new parents can relate to that sentiment. I'm just not sure I'm ever going to get over the wonder of being a mom--in large part because that wasn't supposed to happen. Maybe it's weird to keep defining myself with loss and infertility in mind, but those experiences color the way I see my current reality. They changed the way I approached Christ and the way I interact with others.</div>
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That said, I do not believe those experiences mean I value motherhood more than the woman who got pregnant very quickly and birthed a healthy child with no complications. My experience colors my interactions--not the way I see yours. Stick with me here because I'm going to try to share these thoughts as diplomatically as possible starting with my own experience: I do not believe my experience is more spiritually significant than someone else's. And I'm tired of people who seem to believe otherwise.</div>
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As a member of the Christian community, I believe in the idea that life is precious, but I refuse to promote the notion that one life is more precious than another. It stands to reason that I would be offended by people who imply that adoption would've been far more laudable than giving birth to Ryan--and not because I fought tooth and nail for that pregnancy. It's offensive because it implies one life or action deserves to be honored above another. That one sacrifice matters and another does not.</div>
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One thing I would often repeat to myself on days I was really struggling is a quote from John Donne: "Other men's crosses are not my crosses." It wasn't just a reminder that we struggle differently; it was a reminder that my struggle may lead to a different outcome than someone else's. My situation definitely helps me keep things in perspective on the days I have two very fussy boys, but I would never Jesus Juke another Mommy with that information. (You know, when people say things like, "You should really appreciate what you have because some people can't have it." Or another variation of that statement. Or imply some people would/have paid an arm and a leg for the same privilege, blah blah blah.)</div>
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For the life of me, I cannot understand why we attach value to human beings because of how/when/why they came to be in our lives. Ryan and Eli have value to me because they are mine--regardless of how they came to be in my life. But their <b>real value</b> comes from the fact that Christ loved them first--before they were born or imagined in my heart. That's where all value originates. Not in our experiences (difficult or easy, expensive or cheap) but in the heart of a Saviour to gave Himself for us before we were even in existence. </div>
TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-53451499702024024482014-09-05T20:49:00.000-05:002014-10-02T09:42:02.223-05:00In Which I Attempt to Make Sense of Priorities<span style="font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px;">I've been a mom of two for approximately three seconds so I obviously need to put some thoughts out there about what it is to keep all my balls in the air. </span><br />
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Really, though, I've been considering priorities. Ok. That's stretching the truth a bit. I've actually been thinking about my thighs.</div>
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So, turns out that when you have two kids in two years, your body changes. Obviously, I gained weight. But that information aside, my whole body changed. I carry weight where I didn't used to. Pants that fit at a certain weight no longer fit at that same weight. I'd like to say that I've taken this information in stride because, for the most part, I have. I haven't stressed about weight loss, and I knew that it would take a while for everything to go back to normal--especially considering everything that's happened to my figure in the last two years.</div>
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But I'm starting to stress.</div>
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Like anyone else who wants to lose a few pounds, I've been logging my calorie intake in MyFitnessPal. I make sure to make lunches and breakfasts ahead of time so there are no surprises. I'm careful with my evening calories. I make sure to include a large portion of vegetables and then hedge my bets with Greens First. Oh, and I calculate my carb intake at each meal to make sure it's between 45-60 grams. (That last part is a PCO necessity.) I've even reminded myself to stay calm because I know weight loss is difficult for me. One pound at a time, you know?</div>
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The major difficulty in my current equation is exercise.</div>
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First of all, I know I need to exercise. I have never argued otherwise. Secondly, I wouldn't mind exercising. I'm not avoiding it like the plague or attempting to give all the reasons exercise isn't a benefit. I know how beneficial cardio is for PCO. I miss running a tiny bit. I also miss the community I had when I was running on a regular basis. But when it's the topic of conversation and I share this information, I often hear things like, "Get up at 5 am." or "You make time for the things that are important!"</div>
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I agree. So help me find the balance.</div>
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4:30--5 am: Eli wakes up so I get up to nurse him. After I nurse him, I try to pump for 15 minutes to make sure my supply doesn't diminish while I'm working. If he wakes up at 4:30, I may get to lay down for another 30 minutes before I have to start on my morning routine. But that's rare. On the mornings it does happen, I am groggy and know I will not be starting an exercise routine. Judge me if you must.</div>
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5:45-6 am: Finish feeding/pumping and get in the shower. Attempt to get ready for work in 45 minutes.</div>
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6:45-7 am: Leave for work.</div>
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7:15-3:30: Work. I've been asked if I have time to exercise at work (like on a lunch hour), and, unfortunately, the answer is no. My planning period is 4th hour (10:44-11:32). I pump during that time and try to work on grading, etc. Then, during my lunch (12:28-12:58), I eat and pump again. There is little time for anything else.</div>
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4 pm: Monday & Wednesday I head straight to Mom and Dad's and nurse Eli right away. Tuesday, Thursday and Friday I head straight home so I can nurse him promptly. On Monday or Wednesday, Ryan and I (and Eli) usually eat with my Mom and Dad because my Mom has been awesome enough to cook dinner. Between nursing and dinner (and playing a little bit with Ryan), we usually stay until a little after 6 pm because Eli will likely want to nurse again at 6. </div>
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On Tuesdays, I try to find something to cook for Ryan and I so we can eat dinner. Often it's something simple like sandwiches.</div>
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On Thursday, Chris is home. We either go out for dinner or cook something quickly at home so we can be at small group by 6:30.</div>
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On Friday, Chris is home. We try to go out and spend some time as a family.</div>
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6:45-7:30 pm: Put Eli in his bouncy seat and get Ryan in the bathtub. After his bath, I get Ryan in a clean diaper and jammies, go through his night-night routine and put him to bed.</div>
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7:30-8:30 pm: I had been waiting to start Eli's night-night routine until 8, but it seems to work better to start nursing him at 7:30. It usually takes 30-45 minutes to nurse him at this feeding (so he gets enough to sleep through the night). We spent a little bit of cuddle time without wrangling big brother, and then he gets a clean diaper, jammies and a swaddle and I put him down for the night. Sometimes I fit a bath into this time period.</div>
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8:30 pm: I attempt some light cleaning--picking up toys, cleaning off the counter, putting a load of laundry in, loading/unloading the dishwasher, hanging up/putting away clothes, making sure the cloth diaper situation is under control, getting my lunch/water together for the next day, cleaning out the diaper bag. I've given up almost entirely on sweeping and dusting.</div>
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9:30 pm: Sit down and pump for at least 10 minutes. If my supply has been dwindling, I may do a power pump (10 minutes on, 10 minutes off for an hour). On the nights I don't power pump, I consider starting an exercise routine. I've scolded myself for NOT starting one. But frankly, I'm tired. So I usually go to bed. When I do power pump, it's 10:30 and I know I only have about six hours before Eli is up and I have to start all over again, so I usually go to bed.</div>
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On the nights Chris is home, I do most of the same things from 7:30-9:30 with the exception of power pumping. Usually, Chris and I will talk and/or watch whatever TV box set we are into at the time. Sometimes we have time to go for a walk after we eat, so we fit that in if we can. Since Eli is starting to stretch his nursing routine a little, that's more of a possibility than it used to be. And on Saturdays and Sundays, I have more flexibility. Those days aren't an issue.</div>
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As it stands, I'm struggling to find time for regular Bible study, exercise, grading and general cleanliness during the week. My house is in disarray most of the time and I feel like I never quite catch up at work (well, except for now. But it's the beginning of the school year. The grading pile is coming.) and I miss sitting down to dig through scripture.</div>
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I appreciate the people who seem to find the time for everything. I'm also a little jealous of them. But since I'm a variation of a single parent Saturday--Thursday, some things are a little more difficult to schedule. So forgive me when I want to egg your house after you tell me I need to prioritize in order to lose weight. Honestly, I don't think I'm wasting a lot of time on unnecessary things. (But in all sincerity, I'm not jealous of your progress. I think whatever anyone else does to be healthy is fantastic.)</div>
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Here's the other problem: when I say these things, I feel like I'm being ungrateful for the gifts I've been given and I SO do not want to give that impression. Ryan and Eli are among the most extravagant of blessings--the ones I never thought I would get. If having them meant I had to stay this size for the rest of my life, I would gladly endure it. I remember what it was like without them.</div>
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I guess I'm just trying to figure out how a healthy lifestyle fits in my new normal. I've committed to doing an exercise video on Saturday and Sunday because I know I have the time. I can usually get Eli to sit in his swing for 30 minutes. It's the other days I'm having trouble with. Am I doing this wrong?</div>
TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-72772991249581341192014-08-23T21:51:00.003-05:002014-10-02T09:41:16.118-05:00Mean GirlsI usually attempt to craft some sort of opening that will catch my readers' attention because I like to pretend I'm a writer. But since having kids, my thoughts are significantly less streamlined. They look a little more double-helix-y these days--one thought connects to another thought connects to another thought--until I have no idea where I started or how I started concentrating on this subject.<br />
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In fact, Favorite likes to play this game with me: he'll ask what I'm thinking about in that very moment and I have to tell him and then trace how I got to that thought in the first place. It's often an odd set of associations that have ultimately reassured him he will never understand the way my mind works. </div>
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Ladies, this is why we should feel a little sorry for our men.</div>
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But the bigger thought on my mind is how our men usually end up taking the blame for something I think we've perpetuated on our own. Namely? Mean Girl Syndrome.</div>
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I can't exclude myself. I am horribly judgmental--particularly when it comes to other women. Which is odd given that I would prefer to avoid close relationships with women because of The Drama. (Of course I capitalized it. And I'm willing to bet all of you know exactly what I'm talkin' bout.) Like most things, though, it took blatant observation to call my hand on my own hurtful stereotypes.</div>
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We stare at women who don't look the way they used to--the ones who've gained a little weight, a few wrinkles or other physical imperfections. Many of us use those visual sessions to reassure ourselves that we are (thinner, prettier, younger looking, less blemished) than the model we see in front of us.</div>
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But the thing I've noticed more than labeling physical appearance? Some inherent need to call other women crazy.</div>
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I can count on two hands the number of times I've heard someone refer to a man as crazy. One of them was when a guy I knew snowed a large group of people and stole money from a non-profit organization. Another was when a friend's husband spent the 8 years they were married constructing a life that was more fairytale than anything else. In both of these instances, it was clear that the people involved did not have strong footing in reality.</div>
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The number of times I've heard a woman described as crazy? Incalculable.</div>
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Here are the instances I can think of right off the top of my head:</div>
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1. She's not married but she wants to be.</div>
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2. She doesn't have a baby but she wants one.</div>
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3. She thinks another girl's boyfriend is cute.</div>
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4. She doesn't agree with me on a subject.</div>
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5. She's not the kind of girl I would hang around with.</div>
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6. She's marrying someone I have a close relationship with and I don't much like her.</div>
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7. She doesn't like the same things I like.</div>
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8. She doesn't have the same hobbies I have.</div>
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9. She talks about working out all the time.</div>
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10. She talks about her struggle to lose weight.</div>
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11. She is very passionate about her family.</div>
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12. She holds grudges.</div>
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13. She refuses to discuss certain subjects.</div>
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14. She doesn't openly share her life story so we can understand her.</div>
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15. She shares too much of her life story.</div>
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16. She spends too much money.</div>
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17. She refuses to spend any money.</div>
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18. She focuses too much on one subject.</div>
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19. She's very confrontational about subjects where she has no experience.</div>
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20. She's stupid and loud (which apparently also makes her crazy).</div>
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How many things can crazy mean? And ladies, what is our obsession with handing out that label like we're all psychiatrists?</div>
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In the darkest days of my life, I felt like I was sliding down some sort of crazy slide with no bottom. I couldn't control how I felt and I was terrified I would never be myself again. I can remember feeling like the world was in fast forward around me, and the number of people who treated me like I was just another nut case who needed to get my crap together was severely hurtful. </div>
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I have no idea what was said about me in the privacy of another person's home.</div>
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But I can imagine.</div>
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And more than anything, it makes me wonder why we, as women--knowing the places we've navigated--don't seem to offer a little more grace to the women around us.</div>
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We don't know it all; I don't know it all.</div>
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We can't make the judgment calls that dictate whether or not she is right for him.</div>
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We can't constantly refer to her struggle through this or that as crazy.</div>
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We can't continue to dismiss each other because our experiences or likes are a little different.</div>
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On a good day, I like to pretend that our preoccupation with weight, looks and psychological well being is due to the pressure put on our gender by men. But my experience tells me that thought couldn't be further from the truth.</div>
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I keep thinking it's time to let these thoughts inform my actions--to myself and the women around me.</div>
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This is part of grace...right?</div>
TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-53845251743307547502014-06-26T23:07:00.001-05:002014-06-26T23:07:11.921-05:00Elias CarterYou arrived without pomp and circumstance a full two days after your due date. Your delivery was so significantly different from your brothers that I almost doubt I'm the one who gave birth to both of you--and had I not been present, I wouldn't be sure.<br />
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When you failed to arrive on your due date, my doctor scheduled an induction to begin Saturday evening. They went through the usual steps and finally started Pitocin after noon on Sunday. Frankly, I didn't expect much to happen, but I was clearly mistaken because you made your grand entrance at 6:08 pm. Less than five hours of labor and I was holding you; that's a surreal experience for someone who spent three days in labor previously.<br />
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When my nurse was asking about previous labor, Daddy and I mentioned that I never would dilate, but when I finally did, I went from a 4 to a 10 in about an hour. So when Dr. Schneider came in to discuss labor with us and the nurse, she confirmed that when I got to a 4, my nurse really needed to be on her toes. She walked out of the room and that sweet girl looked at me and said, "So, as soon as you feel pressure, I need to know. OK?"<br />
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Not long after that, I felt pressure. I told Daddy and he said I should wait for a couple more contractions just to make sure I was feeling what I thought I was feeling. After two more contractions, I was pretty sure. We called the nurse who immediately confirmed I was at a 9. She called Dr. Schneider who said, "I'm on my way."<br />
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She walked into my room 30 seconds later and automatically began "suiting up." My nurse looked at her a bit panicked and said, "She hasn't dilated fully. The baby nurse is next door. They're doing practice pushes." Dr. Schneider responded, "Call her. We aren't practicing; we're actually having a baby."<br />
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Five minutes and one push later, they laid you on my chest. The baby nurse hadn't made it in time.<br />
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You are beautiful, little Eli. You are everything we've anticipated, and the sweetest blessing since we met your brother just over a year ago. Your name means "Yahweh is my God," and there's no better acknowledgement of how you came to be in our lives. Some people anticipate one blessing. Few people can embrace the overwhelming surprise of two, but that's exactly where Daddy and I are: two blessings, two boys.<br />
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I'll love you forever; I'll like you for always,<br />
Mommy<br />
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<br />TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-7877285659621534742014-06-07T20:27:00.002-05:002014-06-07T20:27:41.829-05:00On FearI can't remember a time I didn't love to read. Even when my parents strongly encouraged us (with lack of choice) to participate in children's quizzing at church, I found stories and characters in scripture with whom I fell in love.<br />
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But they weren't the Israelites.<br />
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There wasn't a time when I read anything about the Israelites that I had any faith in their ability to be anything but whiny pains in the butt. Deliver them from Egypt? They think they'll starve. Give them food and water? They'll refuse to follow directions and hoard so it rots. Follow them as a cloud and a pillar of fire? They'll build a calf so they can have a tangible representation of something to worship.<br />
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It might be fair to say I'm a bit of a smug reader. I could flip forward a few pages and know exactly how God intended to provide so I spent a lot of time smacking my forehead and thinking that these Israelite people really weren't the brightest crayons in the box. The God of the Universe who delivered you from Pharaoh was <em>clearly</em> going to feed you in the desert, morons. Get.It.Together.<br />
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If only I'd known that somewhere in my 30s I'd realize fear can be an awfully powerful motivator. Because then? I'd recognize myself in the hearts of these people who had witnessed miracle after miracle only to whine that the next set of needs could not possibly be met.<br />
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Fear is paralyzing. I know because I've spent much of the last year in that state.<br />
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Oh, let's be honest. Fear is the thing I fight on a regular basis. But it's certainly been much more debilitating this last year. After moving from a church with pastor/financial issues, Favorite and I found ourselves in a church with severe pastor/financial issues. While we weren't the only ones blindsided by the lies, we did ask a lot of questions. It's hard to discount the fact that two churches faced similar leadership issues (which one church sanctioned and one church did not) and the only common denominator was us. An entire congregation faced severe loss--in friendship, trust, unity and money.<br />
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I lost the first close friend I've had since my best friend moved to Ohio.<br />
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Let me be honest: I've been terrified. Sure, I've seen God move us in miraculous ways, but in the latter part of 2013 (and the first part of 2014), all I could see was that He led us out of Egypt to starve in the desert. <br />
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It wasn't long until things at work unraveled due to an unsettled contract and negotiations that would prove to create what is best termed as a hostile work environment for the better part of 6 months. We were far from destitute, but in each situation, terror was slowly claiming pieces of my mind. And the unclaimed pieces? Were dry from the desert sun.<br />
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Then, in the desert, I discovered we were expecting.<br />
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If Ryan was the blessing of my life, Eli is proof of God's overwhelming extravagance. But his presence did little to alleviate my fear. Suddenly, I was hoarding manna and quickly discovering God's command to take only what I needed resulted in rot and panic.<br />
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In the past 7 months, I've been terrified that Eli's birth will meet with far less excitement than Ryan's. It's hard to lose a cheerleader, and I know Courtney would have asked about every doctor's appointment and movement. She wouldn't have raised her eyebrows that my sons are going to be so close in age (or told me terrifying stories about how awful the first year is going to be) and she would've thought it was great we were having another boy. I'm not romanticizing her reactions either; I experienced them first hand with Ryan.<br />
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I'm scared to become a mom of two. Sure, women have done it before me, but I've only been in this mommy business for a year. I don't have it figure out so throwing another baby in the mix when Ryan is still very much a baby is, well, I have a hard time catching my breath.<br />
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Blessed? Sure. Beyond belief. But like a thundercloud at a pool party, fear often overshadows the blessing I know I should be feeling right now.<br />
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I keep putting my ear a little closer to the page when I read about the Israelites. I need to hear their individual voices and see God's tender hand consistently moving across those pages to touch the concerns of each person--not because I'm not blessed, but because I don't want fear to become the mitigating factor in my reaction to every situation.<br />
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Like Paul, I think most situations are about having scales fall from our eyes so we can see just a little more clearly--all the while anticipating the day when we don't see through a glass darkly.<br />
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<br />TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-80114473502068961762014-05-14T20:27:00.000-05:002014-05-14T20:27:05.373-05:00The One Where I Ramble About Being Passionate and Settling my Work ContractA hundred meaningless thoughts and less than a hundred seconds to get them into some sort of meaningful format so I can sort through them accordingly.<br />
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Ready.<br />
Set.<br />
Go.<br />
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My union settled our contract recently. This has been a huge source of relief in the last eight-months-from-hell. I know people in general have a lot of opinions about unions and contract negotiations. You're welcome to your opinion. Frankly, I struggled a bit with my opinion on this particular contract.<br />
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Actually, that's in large part what made this contract a fresh slice of hell in the workplace: there were a lot of opinions, there wasn't a lot of communication and several "personal" issues (among board members and faculty members alike) became the roadblocks to a settlement. Before we finally reached the point of exhaustion, the IEA sent representatives in to ask if we were willing to strike over the issues at hand.<br />
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Strike. The word still makes me a little sick to my stomach. Was that something I wanted? Absolutely not. I don't think any party benefits from a strike, but when there is no recourse because each side has drawn a proverbial line in the sand...then what? That's the question I kept asking myself.<br />
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The community at large believed all members of the union were stalled over a raise and insurance benefits. (In fact, one school board member's wife took to a public forum to make her opinions regarding our "posh" contract known.) And that's fine. You are welcome to believe what you wish to believe about teachers and negotiations in general. In my own mind, though, I was struggling with what feels like the constant deprofessionalization of education. <br />
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Frankly, public education is suffering under the weight of constant reform--reform that rarely has enough years in practice to see any real change or progress. So when it comes to drawing and keeping <em>quality</em> educators? I get a little passionate.<br />
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It's not about summers off. It's not about working 7.5 hours a day and throwing in the towel. It's not about babysitting or entertaining. For me, this isn't a career or a place to bide my time at all. It's a calling.<br />
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This week alone I've been reminded how important it is to hire people who are passionate about what they do because teenagers? Are often unlovable. In fact, about 40% of them spend 100% of their time acting like complete douche-canoes while maintaining a desperate need for someone to care for each of them consistently.<br />
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And consistency is hard--especially when these teenagers often lash out with personal insults. This job clearly isn't for people who are holding on for summers off. The other nine months make that abundantly clear.<br />
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So was I willing to strike for the sake of drawing and maintaining coworkers who are going to stand in the trenches with me and holler about what needs more attention, what shouldn't be ignored and push for the things that have taken a backseat to standardized tests? You bet your ass I am. Too many of my students come from homes best described as VOID. Not fighting for those students feels like a betrayal. Fighting for more money on my paycheck (while nice) when they potentially suffer at the hands of what is left for public education feels like a betrayal.<br />
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And I wish I felt as confident about my decision (which ended up not mattering since we settled) as I sound here.<br />
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Why don't I? Because THE FEAR. Oh gracious heavens, the fear.<br />
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But that's another post for another day.TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6029112585919457397.post-19356983525054302822014-04-28T20:47:00.000-05:002014-04-28T20:48:42.945-05:00The End of WinterI will never understand why we start the new year in the middle of winter. Nothing is new in January; it's all dead, dying, cold and generally dull. We should honestly save resolutions for Easter because I'd be willing to bet more people would stick to an exercise routine in 70 degree weather than a gym regimen in the middle of the coldest month in the Midwest (except for this winter when all winter months have sucked).<br />
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It caught me off guard to see Sweet Williams blooming yesterday. I should've expected their arrival given the nice weather we've been experiencing for the last few days, but I've gotten so used to the endless winter, I'd forgotten they would grace us with their presence at all. <br />
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I needed to see Sweet Williams. I think I needed to be reminded that all winters--figurative and literal--come to an end. <br />
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I'm still working on how that ending looks. I understand very little about forgiveness, grace or even gratitude, and I didn't know that until we were hit with an endless snowstorm. So that's where this season begins--a few steps, patches of purple-y carpet and the hope of glory.TheHousehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01532270244428320414noreply@blogger.com0