tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69557734277770339192024-03-05T18:00:41.442-08:00A Police Officer's WifeThe joys and trials of being the woman loving the man in blue.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger86125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-70951372886812304642013-07-17T20:48:00.001-07:002013-07-17T20:48:20.969-07:00We are the Wheelers<div class="mobile-photo">
<b>My family. Next to Jesus, they are the greatest treasures this life has to offer. I told a friend the other day that I realize I am blessed. I am married to an incredible man who adores me and God has trusted us with four healthy really fantastic children. With all our trials and difficulties, when we are together, at peace, I feel as if being with them is the closest I'll ever get to heaven, this side of heaven. :)</b></div>
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<b>Finding a photographer who can capture that feeling for me? Nearly impossible. I'm not even kidding. There are lots of very talented people out there who can take great pictures. But finding someone who can capture the very heartbeat of your family? That's a totally different story.</b></div>
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<b>When Mike's parents asked us to vacation with them on the Oregon Coast this last April, I began searching for a photographer who I hoped would be able to do just that: see my family the way I do and somehow manage to translate that into photographs.</b></div>
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<b>Xiomara was the first photographer referred to me and the only one I contacted. When she called me we talked for 45 minutes and I knew that not only had I found the right photographer, I'd met a kindred spirit. She, quite literally, had me at hello.</b></div>
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<b>Words fail when I try to explain what Xiomara did for our family on that very windy day in April. Not only did she take amazing photos, capturing each child's personality and the love Mike and I have for them and each other, she made us feel like rock stars. She had us laughing and enjoying ourselves so much that when the wind picked up and the temperature dropped, our poor kids, constant victims of my need to document life's every milestone, continued to smile and play along. Something they never do for me! </b></div>
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<b>I am trying to treasure each moment God gives me with our kids. They are small for such a short time, and life isn't often very easy. Taking the time to appreciate each child for who they are and for the unique spirit God has placed in them is not often at the top of my "do-to" list. Going away, on vacation together, helped me to slow down, remember how amazing this life God has given me is, and to really value the husband and kids God has graced me with.</b></div>
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<b>I am so grateful to Xiomara for helping us to relax and enjoy the moment. For capturing our laughter and smiles. For bringing out the best in our kids. For taking the time to capture who we truly are. For being more than a photographer; for being a friend.</b></div>
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<b>These are a few of my favorites from that very special session!</b></div>
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<b>All photography in this post by<a href="http://www.imagodeiphotography.com/" target="_blank"> Imago Dei Photography</a>. </b></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-90280331315526347662013-05-27T15:29:00.001-07:002013-05-27T15:32:03.151-07:00I just don't know<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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As some of you know, Mike and I are in the process of selling our home. It is a process, and has been a long time in the making, but once the decision to sell was made things have progressed very quickly. The first question people ask when they hear we're moving is, naturally, "Where are you moving to?" Our answer often surprises them. Or worries...or frustrates...or confuses...<br />
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<b>We do not know.</b><br />
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We have a plan, but there are a lot of factors that may sway or change our course. We're ok with that, and ultimately, we really have no clue where we'll be living when our home closes. To add to the confusion, we are doing a short sell so even though we have an offer on our home, we have to wait for the bank to approve everything and it is a time consuming process and requires a lot of waiting.<br />
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The fact is, this is absolutely thrilling for us. We've made a decision without having a solid plan in place and are stepping out in faith in what we feel is obedience to God. Not having a plan is very unusual for us but we feel as though God has spent the last few years stripping us of those things we find our comfort and security in, that are not Him. While this is exciting for us, the kids see it a little bit differently.<br />
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Last week, before church began, the kids were asking about when and where we are going to move. I told them, yet again, that <b>we do NOT know, but that God does.</b> They continued to ask questions.<br />
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"Will we take our TV?" Yes.<br />
"Will our new house have an upstairs?" Maybe.<br />
"Will we take the fireplace?" No.<br />
"Will we take our beds?" Yes.<br />
"Can my stuffies stay with me?" Of course.<br />
"But the light switches...will they come, too?" No.<br />
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So. Many. Questions.<br />
At one point, Brooklyn began to cry and wailed,<br />
<br />
"What if our new home doesn't have a baaaaaaathrooooooom?"<br />
It was comical. I tried to suppress a laugh (unsuccessfully) before I went to give her a hug and assure her that Mike and I will make sure that her basic needs are going to be taken care of.<br />
And the words just slipped out,<br />
<br />
<b>"Why can't you just trust that we will take care of you?"</b><br />
<br />
Oh man.<br />
<br />
Did the Holy Spirit totally just talk to me while I was reprimanding my daughter?<br />
<br />
Wow.<br />
<br />
The kids have never moved before so this is a new experience for them, but I honestly reached a point where I thought, "Have we taken such terrible care of you, have we provided so poorly for you, that you can't even trust us to make sure you have a place to use the bathroom?"<br />
<br />
How many times do I do that with God? How many times have I become hung up on these details that are of no consequence? How many times have I questioned His ability to care for me, or to provide for me, or to love me simply because I can't see what He has in store? When things don't go the way I expect, how quickly do I become despairing and begin to wail and moan that He isn't giving me what I think I need?<br />
<br />
I've been told that raising children is a refining process that reveals much of your own sin. Over the years I've thought this meant that I would see how selfish I am (it has) or how impatient I am (yep...that, too) or whatever other sin I <i>think</i> I am struggling with. I didn't think it would be revealed how little I trust my Father to take care of me.<br />
<br />
In that moment with my daughter, I felt a deep compassion for her and a need to just hold her. I heard myself saying,<br />
<br />
"Mom and Dad are going to be there. We'll be with you. We'll take care of you. That will never change."<br />
<br />
I could feel God saying the same things to me.<br />
<br />
I don't know how our story is going to play out. I don't expect that we will always be comfortable, or warm, or honestly, that we will always have a toilet to pee in. God has never promised us those things. But He does promise to never leave us and that He does work all things for good, for those that love Him and are called according to His purpose. I'd like to think that means having a toilet, but ... you never know. I do know He has it all planned out and I am thankful that even when I'm crying out to Him because I just cannot for the life of me figure out what is going on, He can gently chuckle and put His arms around me and whisper to my heart,<br />
<br />
"You keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you. Trust in the Lord forever, for the Lord God is an everlasting rock." Isaiah 26:3,4<br />
<br />
So, no. We don't know where we're going to live.<br />
<b>But God does.</b><br />
And by God's grace, I'm content to rest there.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-41780518955554764712013-05-06T21:44:00.001-07:002013-05-06T21:44:57.249-07:00Today was a wonderful day.To my shame, I don't often take the time to really sit back and think of all the ways God has shown up in my day. As the sun was setting today though, I realized what an amazing blessing today has been and I just felt the need to share my joy with others.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXaYVgjAiEwKRIPYvW2AB0x7rYDmhJ_fVBURDLp0wrt9mpX6R7zlm9o_lSmKVtY6pB5_nrRKjlmWLHFXZP9aRz3OX7z5TSpiG009pY9RAnw7GctX5-PlCWV4B9w8JXvLsWVvZYdnR0VHE/s1600/d0704850b69a11e2837022000a1fa4bb_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXaYVgjAiEwKRIPYvW2AB0x7rYDmhJ_fVBURDLp0wrt9mpX6R7zlm9o_lSmKVtY6pB5_nrRKjlmWLHFXZP9aRz3OX7z5TSpiG009pY9RAnw7GctX5-PlCWV4B9w8JXvLsWVvZYdnR0VHE/s400/d0704850b69a11e2837022000a1fa4bb_7.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I will never tire of these blue skies!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
1 - The sun was shining and it was warm. This kind of weather is so good for my soul.<br />
2 - Today was our last day of homeschool co-op until the Fall. I really can't explain what a blessing the women of this co-op have been to me. Each Monday of co-op, I come home feeling full and encouraged. While I look forward to having a little down time from having to get out of the house so early each week, I will sorely miss the women whom I have come to cherish so so much.<br />
3 - I left my cell phone in my friend's car yesterday afternoon. She returned it today, but I had almost 24 hours without it and I realized how much I enjoy the quiet. I am thankful for the reminder.<br />
4 - A friend whom I love dearly but don't get to really visit with often enough, had sent me a text asking if we wanted to have a play date while my phone was away. To my great joy, when I finally was able to respond, she was available still and we had a great visit! God spoke through her to get through my hard heart. I treasure her so much!<br />
5 - Mike is at refresher today and was home at 5 p.m. We get to go to bed together tonight and wake up together in the morning. A week of "normal" work shifts is wonderful.<br />
6 - We stopped for dinner and I met an amazing homeschooling mother of six. From the time our conversation first began I knew she knew Jesus and she gave me hope and encouragement that she had no way of knowing I needed.<br />
7 - My sister cleaned my house. It is sparkling and wonderful and I could kiss her (and probably will!) for taking care of me this way!<br />
8 - I got to read my Bible. I'm still working on making this a habit that I stick with, but God is so gracious and patient with me even just a few verses feed my hungry soul.<br />
9 - I'm still on a high from having spent the weekend with the women from my church. While it wasn't what I expected, it was more than what I hoped for and God affirmed the love I have for our church family.<br />
10 - The <a href="http://blog.imagodeiphotography.com/2013/05/professional-family-beach-session-on-the-oregon-coast-pictures-on-the-beach.html?showComment=1367874804346#c3002995164348027994" target="_blank">blog post from Imago Dei photography</a> of our family session went live today. You need to check it out. Xiomara did a stellar job; we were brought to tears!!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9pLkdROI5JcXTUGxznU4Tu55nKgun6NA3HkKZD5LFj81rVza45TcijTTPAZc8Ma_ri2lmw8nmp1DBy1Y0HakkauKFvCHkGjn8brFcPTmOT5zwwlubcXSR7aPywPo4ft920pJeqoSNh7w/s1600/IDP_7384.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="283" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9pLkdROI5JcXTUGxznU4Tu55nKgun6NA3HkKZD5LFj81rVza45TcijTTPAZc8Ma_ri2lmw8nmp1DBy1Y0HakkauKFvCHkGjn8brFcPTmOT5zwwlubcXSR7aPywPo4ft920pJeqoSNh7w/s400/IDP_7384.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
I'm determined to take stock of the little blessings more often. I have a feeling if I were to look, I'd see God a lot more often in my day. I'm so thankful He's always there.<br />
<br />
What are some of your blessings today?!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-89391532166206446922013-01-20T19:03:00.003-08:002013-01-20T19:03:49.084-08:00Road to HondurasOur family is going through some big changes and I wanted to share them with all of you! Head over to my <a href="http://beinggentlyled.blogspot.com/2013/01/road-to-honduras.html">personal blog</a> and check it out!!<br />
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Here's your photo hint of what the changes are ... can you figure it out??<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicPbSXet77BsimTSF7bFahaWXVDyVrYqdtU1PJW034kspHiyaYrHeLXoCN1yqhJGhHiyvz1fYfKB7FlInLuTdCj-Z9f9t32TKq2W48Lhcsy1-T_UxPdURhwxG4O4WjgmWATTVyaFeau-M/s1600/paracord2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicPbSXet77BsimTSF7bFahaWXVDyVrYqdtU1PJW034kspHiyaYrHeLXoCN1yqhJGhHiyvz1fYfKB7FlInLuTdCj-Z9f9t32TKq2W48Lhcsy1-T_UxPdURhwxG4O4WjgmWATTVyaFeau-M/s640/paracord2.jpg" width="508" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-56868108701814200812011-06-15T14:27:00.000-07:002011-06-15T14:27:32.345-07:00Benefit for the FOPI'm doing my first fundraiser for our officers! Hooray!<br />
<br />
Check out my <a href="http://beinggentlyled.blogspot.com/2011/06/for-benefit-of-fraternal-order-of.html">POST</a> and head over to<a href="https://www.facebook.com/home.php?sk=group_211135812258039&ap=1#!/pages/Boudoir-Benefit-for-FOP/119202661497582?sk=wall"> Facebook</a> and 'like' us!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDSQnpjYs5zvdZmjz-pwgPE2dmV4aaXSg9mhnt0yhPR0NDg3J-leOZ4Bgi_K-8mCciKHhZhS5bVH5oERbV9tBOIwsILsuUoZt8LGvNC2tE5L0ZalZbU6FPX4PiHiwcgZyBMWOeuiv9Nw/s1600/boudoir.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUDSQnpjYs5zvdZmjz-pwgPE2dmV4aaXSg9mhnt0yhPR0NDg3J-leOZ4Bgi_K-8mCciKHhZhS5bVH5oERbV9tBOIwsILsuUoZt8LGvNC2tE5L0ZalZbU6FPX4PiHiwcgZyBMWOeuiv9Nw/s640/boudoir.png" width="494" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-12256163003160202452010-07-21T08:21:00.000-07:002010-07-21T08:28:53.507-07:00Giveaway!In conjunction with my Getting out of Debt/Remember When Wednesdays posts I'm doing my first EVER giveaway! <br />
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Head on over to <a href="http://beinggentlyled.blogspot.com/2010/07/remember-when-wednesdays-debt-story-pt_21.html">Being Gently Led</a> for all the details!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-18319598340188486392010-07-08T14:26:00.000-07:002010-07-08T14:26:43.781-07:00What do you do??<a href="http://mommafargo.blogspot.com/">Momma Fargo</a> just celebrated 22 years with her hubby. How cool is that? 22 years off her life sentence she said. Ha! I have this feeling (call me crazy) that she actually adores that man that's put up with her for so long (snicker snicker).<br />
<br />
It seems marriage, or at least marriage long term and/or marriage done well, isn't such a common thing in police work. When Officer Hottie was in academy he was told that something like 80% of marriages don't survive the first five years after police academy. I don't know if that statistic is correct or not, but I know it sounds scary. I remember very clearly OH coming home, holding me and saying, "I will NOT let that happen to us." We're committed. We're in this for the long haul. Good or bad. Period. There's no escape plan, no exit route, no Plan B. It's us. Until death. That's it.<br />
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Honestly, I like it that way. OH and I come from a long line of committed marriages. All four sets of grandparents were only married to each other. Both of our parent's are still married to each other. Talk about stability.<br />
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I feel very strongly that marriage was created to be enjoyed; not tolerated. So I enjoy it. Very much. So far, it's my favorite. Even more than being a mom, or chocolate or sleeping in. Being a wife takes the cake. And although I would love to do an entire post on what Officer Hottie does to make sure that I enjoy being a wife so much, I will instead pose these questions:<br />
<br />
How do you keep your marriage strong? <br />
With all the failed marriages around, how do you keep it together? <br />
With failure being an option for so many, how do you keep the temptation away? <br />
What do YOU do to keep your husband coming home every night? <br />
What does HE do to make sure you're home when he gets there?<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(If you're missing me at all, or are just curious about our debt story, come check out <a href="http://beinggentlyled.blogspot.com/">Being Gently Led</a>. It's where I'm at most the time now!)</span>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-91312692189116468502010-06-17T16:00:00.000-07:002010-06-17T16:00:03.116-07:00So, here's the thing.I have this <a href="http://beinggentlyled.blogspot.com/">other blog</a> I started a couple years ago - mostly as a creative outlet but also as a place to share what I was thinking about whatever. It was often neglected as I felt crazy busy with our four kids and rarely had time to go to the bathroom, let alone sit down and write an entire blog post.<br />
<br />
At the end of October last year when <a href="http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2010221648_memorial07m.html">Ofc. Brenton</a> was killed, and then when the four <a href="http://seattletimes.nwsource.com/html/localnews/2010410076_webvigil03m.html">Lakewood officers</a> were gunned down I felt that the police wife part of me needed a place to go and write about what was going on in my head and in my heart. I had a few things I've posted that I feel have been relevant to living with a police officer, but the majority of what I write is about what I know the most about ...<br />
<br />
Being a wife. Being a mom. Being a Christian.<br />
<br />
And that's it. <br />
<br />
I've realized, while reading other police wife blogs, that Officer Hottie has worked exceptionally hard, and done exceedingly well, at protecting me and our children from what living with a police officer <em>could</em> be like. Some of the credit can be given to the department he works for and the people he works with. His department encourages family and because they are a small department don't often encounter the big politics that disrupt other departments. His coworkers, as much as they get along, go home to their families after every shift. There is no "fraternity" or "blue wall" and I know I speak for many spouses at the department when I say that being police officers is what their spouses <em>do</em> - but it does not define who they are.<br />
<br />
Most of the credit, however, I give to my husband. Even during our most trying times in law enforcement he has remained open, honest and kind. During academy when he was gone and stressed, he came home, rolled around with the boys and helped me with the dinner dishes. When his friend was killed on duty, he clung to me and our family, talking with his dad and our pastor to find comfort. When his schedule changed every month and he worked the most bizarre hours I'd ever heard of, he went without sleep so his children would know his face and his wife could have his support. When he left his first department and the treatment he received was less than fair, he never complained; he simply carried on with dignity, refusing to stoop to such a low level. He has, by all accounts, done everything within his power to maintain his integrity as a husband, father and Christian. I am proud that my husband prioritizes his family. I am thankful that I don't totally understand what other police wives seem to go through.<br />
<br />
With that being said, I have decided that the place I know and fit in best is my old blog. I hope you will come by and visit the old/new blog - maybe even become a follower - but I honestly feel that it's misleading to have a blog titled "Confessions of Police Officer's Wife" when the reality is only 1 in 10 posts actually have anything to do with being married to a police officer. After all, Officer Hottie has always been a hero to me; the badge just made him a hero to everyone else.<br />
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I will blog here every once in awhile; when, on those rare occasions, I actually have something to say as a police wife. And I plan on continuing to read your blogs because they are something I truly enjoy reading. For the most part, however, I plan on being over at <a href="http://beinggentlyled.blogspot.com/">Being Gently Led</a>. I hope you'll stop by for a visit sometime.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-2836437929262512282010-06-14T13:34:00.000-07:002010-06-14T13:49:12.217-07:00Before ... and ... After!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My apologies to anyone reading this who doesn't know me and has never been to my house. Since you never knew/saw the "Before" you probably won't care much about the "After". I, however, am over the moon excited about the "After" and so ... I share.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1DZZovHLEV-Ys0FvjKtTsOX_UpU1fBNL3hlfHvzgH_m9F6L5HybmHyMPwddC1wNHB9fP1-CEYCSEA2C0tBDKwBa7lQ5M_zRRV0NedVN5fCNsIjYRF5RI9f9tmBgrssIAw81MzA8oBmB8/s1600/Genesis+30th+Birthday+015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1DZZovHLEV-Ys0FvjKtTsOX_UpU1fBNL3hlfHvzgH_m9F6L5HybmHyMPwddC1wNHB9fP1-CEYCSEA2C0tBDKwBa7lQ5M_zRRV0NedVN5fCNsIjYRF5RI9f9tmBgrssIAw81MzA8oBmB8/s320/Genesis+30th+Birthday+015.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Say, does this butt make me look fat?</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>(*Side note...this was taken at my surprise 30th birthday party...hence the pink wings. Although I would love to wear pink wings from the Dollar Tree every day of my life. Not.)</em></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">To all my friends and family who said I looked just fine - liars - thank you for being nice to me and sparing my feelings. Don't ever, never let me get that fat again.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I honestly don't feel like sharing an "after" picture of my butt. I will say that those jeans I'm wearing in the above picture, I gave to my friend who just <em>had a baby.</em> Either I was really fat or my friend is losing her baby weight at an incredible rate. Perhaps both? Regardless, 23 pounds later, two pants sizes smaller, and I'm feeling much healthier and less ... plumpish. Thank you Jillian Michaels and <a href="http://www.myfitnesspal.com/">My Fitness Pal</a>. You saved me from a lifetime of pictures that I am embarrassed to be a part of.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Now onto the really truly very exciting Before and After's. The kitchen!! Although we aren't quite finished, it's basically done. All that is left is some finish work (trim, cabinet knobs, etc.) and I am thrilled to have construction finally coming to a halt. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Again, more apologies as I over-share our journey. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_kk72NYDaHrkRxZaS3Y3pyHP2htdQcEvmRtiikBdudKkA7rPHHvwecxPjQPuWVXRzjvwwIS_qpQBV7KsL60Hzja1_bgP_W0GbPEBU2woGcfZTfbI1oQCAyyoocdUYs_MotWZX67wkC_Y/s1600/DSC_0664.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_kk72NYDaHrkRxZaS3Y3pyHP2htdQcEvmRtiikBdudKkA7rPHHvwecxPjQPuWVXRzjvwwIS_qpQBV7KsL60Hzja1_bgP_W0GbPEBU2woGcfZTfbI1oQCAyyoocdUYs_MotWZX67wkC_Y/s320/DSC_0664.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">S and B, helping Dad clean out the shed to make room for all our other junk...er, treasures. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM7Q1IpwlQ9Zc3r5lsMdk-Huygoi8wViESExJ2MH0FzD6E4AYfr5Bw7I2KRz_4G4-uzVfN6sy2h2mD9dX1Je_xyhk8qJdSBDDkXjztTlUJwjjI3LBjqM2JgPeiFQCWFcXyONYLEisDec8/s1600/DSC_0666.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM7Q1IpwlQ9Zc3r5lsMdk-Huygoi8wViESExJ2MH0FzD6E4AYfr5Bw7I2KRz_4G4-uzVfN6sy2h2mD9dX1Je_xyhk8qJdSBDDkXjztTlUJwjjI3LBjqM2JgPeiFQCWFcXyONYLEisDec8/s320/DSC_0666.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The "Before" in the hallway.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA2zCCGNLsX776jQEZ2ZkvgYCQgS2PxIJk_RJb4SGJhYo97iCTH8QTv4J5PfL6GKuEsZp9Skr6RrYuUCRx9euQj0srIriVCEXpzTCq-mu0eGAsnHUwHs3dnkLoQC6uGPHHBXQhjga46U0/s1600/DSC_0978.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA2zCCGNLsX776jQEZ2ZkvgYCQgS2PxIJk_RJb4SGJhYo97iCTH8QTv4J5PfL6GKuEsZp9Skr6RrYuUCRx9euQj0srIriVCEXpzTCq-mu0eGAsnHUwHs3dnkLoQC6uGPHHBXQhjga46U0/s320/DSC_0978.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The "Before" for the play room.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDxcG_W7x_CoxQ8sl39_vX1lY02MoG5ieGQa5o7vbiivrZxgjw3q_Cc3uU0G_F9wdBSbY6lUVba5t7m5SGwoaezBKSWjIw6kTNR4u3PilYx4acRA0Yu5_2BsT4K29ROZXZOSdMfwHuqU/s1600/DSC_0982.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoDxcG_W7x_CoxQ8sl39_vX1lY02MoG5ieGQa5o7vbiivrZxgjw3q_Cc3uU0G_F9wdBSbY6lUVba5t7m5SGwoaezBKSWjIw6kTNR4u3PilYx4acRA0Yu5_2BsT4K29ROZXZOSdMfwHuqU/s320/DSC_0982.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">"Before" the demo, but "After" we cleaned up a bit!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsSD-V8BecCIC9G5q3OzkIlDbD101ozjQBNYVgIAxnkmuZnGMERiv7u2zRjQGUTHza8xN03nvCGGfzucl688sfB_5__lrAbb7JQXEzwi2DprS5N9gjs4AQm7464jRJRK8UGhEC5X1Xj5A/s1600/DSC_1114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsSD-V8BecCIC9G5q3OzkIlDbD101ozjQBNYVgIAxnkmuZnGMERiv7u2zRjQGUTHza8xN03nvCGGfzucl688sfB_5__lrAbb7JQXEzwi2DprS5N9gjs4AQm7464jRJRK8UGhEC5X1Xj5A/s320/DSC_1114.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My laundry room "Before". In the kitchen. And overcrowded. I am organizationally challenged.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgryhnksLJDVDWDn30hMcP75U1QozC7dq8e7ccqUGPoAp5kpWz1X_d6ADzoD1Wjj7fz1ArzPes7msG2qiKfJRqa0DuvKFO1eFvpls0I6nj24Ny5BuwaovCtbLG3mIDAP20jemblb10vph0/s1600/DSC_1115.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgryhnksLJDVDWDn30hMcP75U1QozC7dq8e7ccqUGPoAp5kpWz1X_d6ADzoD1Wjj7fz1ArzPes7msG2qiKfJRqa0DuvKFO1eFvpls0I6nj24Ny5BuwaovCtbLG3mIDAP20jemblb10vph0/s320/DSC_1115.JPG" width="148" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This is my dear sweet Father in Law. I love this picture because it captures completely the confusion he and Officer Hottie felt every time they opened a wall. I believe a good caption would be ... "Wha....???"</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKR5d1XEeRGseZ7jYQlZb5rgd-YnjIQxpS68AsJl0VCQczbWogpK-8kqF9wms3usunuH7_qGESSJwKMHoPk9PyVXk9UWLxrm1jXBBOsjN_nlf7Lk-ZUnFrztg2mSkJNfszIoZiWiWEC5Q/s1600/DSC_1596.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKR5d1XEeRGseZ7jYQlZb5rgd-YnjIQxpS68AsJl0VCQczbWogpK-8kqF9wms3usunuH7_qGESSJwKMHoPk9PyVXk9UWLxrm1jXBBOsjN_nlf7Lk-ZUnFrztg2mSkJNfszIoZiWiWEC5Q/s320/DSC_1596.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Sadly, this is my refridgerator "Before". Ugh. Double ugg. UGG!</div> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr_WCufG1PcTBTyOx7UrP3iI8DaC3PQwQx2TlsOoRIb0ixHouPnwaaZnCBJ_nfNoc19cGiy_y8rZzcaBN0tveqAicQVpoVKL7vulU7vjk7XqZf45zbA1HglGIHnJpO1dZc1C84ZVHp_yE/s1600/DSC_1990.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr_WCufG1PcTBTyOx7UrP3iI8DaC3PQwQx2TlsOoRIb0ixHouPnwaaZnCBJ_nfNoc19cGiy_y8rZzcaBN0tveqAicQVpoVKL7vulU7vjk7XqZf45zbA1HglGIHnJpO1dZc1C84ZVHp_yE/s320/DSC_1990.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The wall. "Before" Have I mentioned that I am organizationally challenged?</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKhKnMXk9xuZyz3qJfR1dZhkqyydZmFX9op2nljZ229ivrEQaB9R0uzpqF9ZPc-HVUa-HxgRGFDDXWiXqrrfaF-7wC-1gmZ1FIiIAfVMRb3AoFDcxdlF7RcoAHakHPMIgRNHnWYX2BFdo/s1600/DSC_2013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKhKnMXk9xuZyz3qJfR1dZhkqyydZmFX9op2nljZ229ivrEQaB9R0uzpqF9ZPc-HVUa-HxgRGFDDXWiXqrrfaF-7wC-1gmZ1FIiIAfVMRb3AoFDcxdlF7RcoAHakHPMIgRNHnWYX2BFdo/s320/DSC_2013.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">With a little bit of help...</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhckGIBmy8l2f24LAImXsAxwcoIC4ey2A0pombYIaGS-BF0w_jWifR8tfiOq272m1CHsUASfsYL1qAV2VOqOdgK_TmXDBu6LU5Xo9Jlk_YeOtKtjGtyHve7Uz7s-sqc91rd_TLdQRjMybo/s1600/DSC_2081.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhckGIBmy8l2f24LAImXsAxwcoIC4ey2A0pombYIaGS-BF0w_jWifR8tfiOq272m1CHsUASfsYL1qAV2VOqOdgK_TmXDBu6LU5Xo9Jlk_YeOtKtjGtyHve7Uz7s-sqc91rd_TLdQRjMybo/s320/DSC_2081.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtZoCdknqgeAUEUEA6hQV87OopWe_Sv_JRj9SPOkAb5T6ZR0uX13z33K0nCuNw-aSHnW-uprenyjU3kPRBIjsov5i9nEPnTUufffl6IskvyfiM-UkGhrrqiviQVVwzq1CM8s3_KiqU7UY/s1600/DSC_2174.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtZoCdknqgeAUEUEA6hQV87OopWe_Sv_JRj9SPOkAb5T6ZR0uX13z33K0nCuNw-aSHnW-uprenyjU3kPRBIjsov5i9nEPnTUufffl6IskvyfiM-UkGhrrqiviQVVwzq1CM8s3_KiqU7UY/s320/DSC_2174.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My hallway now looks like this.</div> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ66pKsBIJq_uor_3Yg-jkbD-Vt77QcO2Ujgq20Jrp1ifSiBDTxYTIKrayL42BZ6Z83tvcElXaILXF7V5Es4rMA4SWggSiUZ8WDOE0KJ4_CboX2xGuv5WRWTyuNvB7mTR3doXXapkO3vE/s1600/DSC_2259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ66pKsBIJq_uor_3Yg-jkbD-Vt77QcO2Ujgq20Jrp1ifSiBDTxYTIKrayL42BZ6Z83tvcElXaILXF7V5Es4rMA4SWggSiUZ8WDOE0KJ4_CboX2xGuv5WRWTyuNvB7mTR3doXXapkO3vE/s320/DSC_2259.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEegZ6DPSCb5wtGqGQIQX4tlNZEPLjY6lcC-GHHtgkgBszqHRnLRPH2R7cwVlfjZcpyAPuUmtp8TAL9BeZ-fx53Mddlo-pZwP678-ZDCB5px9hSR9vFeIgM_TB_PzbmqFuYdUyQHPxoEs/s1600/DSC_2260.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEegZ6DPSCb5wtGqGQIQX4tlNZEPLjY6lcC-GHHtgkgBszqHRnLRPH2R7cwVlfjZcpyAPuUmtp8TAL9BeZ-fx53Mddlo-pZwP678-ZDCB5px9hSR9vFeIgM_TB_PzbmqFuYdUyQHPxoEs/s320/DSC_2260.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">Still a messy fridge but at least it's out of the way and I now have a pantry right next to it! (Sorry for the lighting issues...I was too excited to post these to take the time to edit.)</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFGbS-YAF2GgF3GNojeNwVETyrf8ZasvI8foJ7e-1SkP5LMbxd1KoOAd4QUeVXSSOndtnvGBQ34zc95R054Y8eKwT-jBsEC1DeE5BtkiBnLK7t-c22o2wwSv0IugFsCcgbCbl0-r-VptM/s1600/DSC_2268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFGbS-YAF2GgF3GNojeNwVETyrf8ZasvI8foJ7e-1SkP5LMbxd1KoOAd4QUeVXSSOndtnvGBQ34zc95R054Y8eKwT-jBsEC1DeE5BtkiBnLK7t-c22o2wwSv0IugFsCcgbCbl0-r-VptM/s320/DSC_2268.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The view from the dining room. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiseJ4bO5q6MPW-5MmG9i6_fqrqLSiOyekIGFHm_c-I4dyKDUyxqc9N8e6tWxmNhrdUm4lthgiWg3rHiZxLmlU-LpAR1br9J9qghLrruF7xEV1ROkLfmjgZ1m767KFM2hfniI899YPkAmc/s1600/DSC_2267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiseJ4bO5q6MPW-5MmG9i6_fqrqLSiOyekIGFHm_c-I4dyKDUyxqc9N8e6tWxmNhrdUm4lthgiWg3rHiZxLmlU-LpAR1br9J9qghLrruF7xEV1ROkLfmjgZ1m767KFM2hfniI899YPkAmc/s320/DSC_2267.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The view from the hallway.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUw9zgLNs4ZW9OPObtL2oIlLI4bNCe8REoNc4zQqHMy9JFfLQv6lQxHnuOZmm8YzAfDBTKCMZ8o_jxsV_QdHyGBGPRACV9rx1_lolRJs7sxnmT1gm0zTIlACsRag_sv89VI5ZNrdos7o/s1600/DSC_2266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIUw9zgLNs4ZW9OPObtL2oIlLI4bNCe8REoNc4zQqHMy9JFfLQv6lQxHnuOZmm8YzAfDBTKCMZ8o_jxsV_QdHyGBGPRACV9rx1_lolRJs7sxnmT1gm0zTIlACsRag_sv89VI5ZNrdos7o/s320/DSC_2266.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimqMcui3EYUTPb_Th8Bi9KSpLMuUkeV8IMRYYyxWtzTGk1J1iZDyKQFuHEzvNzpoEe-qvA99TXQUiRR03veOi0KBDnXqLfWchY_U1MepmZd7Ha11BRuhxd_YWXKay1MfOhJMlxFdD5yTo/s1600/DSC_2269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimqMcui3EYUTPb_Th8Bi9KSpLMuUkeV8IMRYYyxWtzTGk1J1iZDyKQFuHEzvNzpoEe-qvA99TXQUiRR03veOi0KBDnXqLfWchY_U1MepmZd7Ha11BRuhxd_YWXKay1MfOhJMlxFdD5yTo/s320/DSC_2269.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">The view from the sink. Haha! My poor kids can't get away with anything now! I can see it ALL!! Mua-haha!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">Some of my new favorite features are...</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDxu2gCpM-TVverNk8DTHTxdvaXTUG46DANl7UeMscWFmoEnYQPaU-9mg3Ql0vfbmhOfPJfStHVaGhzpwm6QZc0gC8trIuAoJQGH0ds1DHc3QlDQEQdvLvx4VFbWvdlv6_b88iKzWODmI/s1600/DSC_2265.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDxu2gCpM-TVverNk8DTHTxdvaXTUG46DANl7UeMscWFmoEnYQPaU-9mg3Ql0vfbmhOfPJfStHVaGhzpwm6QZc0gC8trIuAoJQGH0ds1DHc3QlDQEQdvLvx4VFbWvdlv6_b88iKzWODmI/s320/DSC_2265.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">This prep table that OH put together for me. I love that handy man of mine.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwHanbu2Pog5zUgnRD8t6lvZOqiZdAXfmkMtT019zK6C29EdtpDbu9drQD7UNt-lw006e7GZQEz_uFr-lP1HqvBpydg2AuviEZU0xUsKpi65B9ZYtDWEXtOTM2oE4cds8WoKkmNc8a0ec/s1600/DSC_2263.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwHanbu2Pog5zUgnRD8t6lvZOqiZdAXfmkMtT019zK6C29EdtpDbu9drQD7UNt-lw006e7GZQEz_uFr-lP1HqvBpydg2AuviEZU0xUsKpi65B9ZYtDWEXtOTM2oE4cds8WoKkmNc8a0ec/s320/DSC_2263.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This little spice rack. There are a few "S" hooks that we have and I am hanging my measuring cups and spoons from them. How handy!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipOFxGW2Jd5AtMBUwsDK9lJ_ary73Avmp283PpXcjDspuvDR2n16ibRwKd-Nd03HAciAPLpA6nNIQGo7-yvSHkc9hwZrelIHutp3prO01gImePDEv0vMz02X7bj3p2OQZfapa5NHdtyiw/s1600/DSC_2264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipOFxGW2Jd5AtMBUwsDK9lJ_ary73Avmp283PpXcjDspuvDR2n16ibRwKd-Nd03HAciAPLpA6nNIQGo7-yvSHkc9hwZrelIHutp3prO01gImePDEv0vMz02X7bj3p2OQZfapa5NHdtyiw/s320/DSC_2264.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">Under cabinet lighting. Right above the prep table. LOVE IT.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">So, that's it. My "Before" and "After" post. If you are still reading you should eat a bowl of ice cream. You've earned it.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-79594105716684165882010-06-09T08:30:00.000-07:002010-06-09T15:06:24.870-07:00Remember When Wednesdays : Or ... not.<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I wanted to sit down and write an entire post about the next chapter in our getting out of debt saga ... because I'm sure you've been waiting on pins and needles. Right? Right? Hello?<br />
<br />
However ... </div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">We are in the middle of a kitchen remodel. I am so proud of the work Officer Hottie is doing - he has made me a new laundry room (er...closet), a pantry, installed new countertops and removed a wall to name a few things. In six weeks. He's amazing. And completely stressed. </div><br />
Considering his truck literally caught on fire when he left work on Sunday ...<br />
"Honey, I'm stopping by Lowe's on my way home to pick up the rest of the stuff we need!"<br />
(Five minutes later)<br />
"Honey, I need you to come pick me up because my truck is on fire. The FD is putting it out right now."<br />
... I'm cutting him some slack. The man is allowed to be stressed.<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>In my attempt to help with his stress level I told him I would paint the ceilings (which still have the paint splotches from when I painted the living room walls<em> last year</em> ) and finish the tile backsplash. I know as much about this kind of work as...well, most women, I guess. I am having fun though and it feels good to actually help my husband with a project instead of folding laundry and offering him another cookie every three minutes.<br />
<br />
So, between the car and the kitchen I haven't found time to sit down and write about our debt story. But I will. Because even if no one reads it, it is good for me to remember where we've come from, especially now that we are back down to one car and the prospect of spending another summer without a way to get the kids to the park and play dates is a little discouraging. It's time to buck up and practice what we preach...save save save!!<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>For those of you wanting to "see what happens next" I promise to get it out there soon. As soon as the ceilings are painted, the backsplash is tiled, the counter tops are sealed, the cabinets are painted and the last load of laundry has been folded and put away. Or something like that. <br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGuC2d0xKvQlFb_L3eiv2-UaTDAF8C9FDHFRkGAcj8e6QqIKlWt7CMjKTI0cmmPl2m9kA_LgpimR08htSyQAz8rkSyvXbBukAhWtS1Ot3u0O6pahEdxBLnXqrjjOX1LhZ2ZkvzlKRSmK0/s1600/stressed+kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" qu="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGuC2d0xKvQlFb_L3eiv2-UaTDAF8C9FDHFRkGAcj8e6QqIKlWt7CMjKTI0cmmPl2m9kA_LgpimR08htSyQAz8rkSyvXbBukAhWtS1Ot3u0O6pahEdxBLnXqrjjOX1LhZ2ZkvzlKRSmK0/s320/stressed+kids.jpg" width="272" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>See how stressed these poor children are? See?</em></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Seriously though, thank God for carboard boxes. Can I get an amen?</em></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-1775892862914203722010-06-07T18:49:00.000-07:002010-06-07T19:13:14.827-07:00Tidbits from a Day in the Life in the Hottie HouseholdBecause I canceled my Facebook and blogging is my last public outlet ... <br />
<br />
1. B: I'm not a tattle tale. I don't even have a tail.<br />
Me: Being a tattle tale means telling stories, or tales, about people. Yes, you are a tattle tale.<br />
B: But I don't have a tail.<br />
<br />
2. J: I just farted two times. (pauses) I mean three.<br />
Me: (Febreeze)<br />
<br />
3. Me to S: Do you want to go potty in the toilet?<br />
S: No.<br />
Me: You don't want to be a big boy?<br />
S: No. <br />
Me: So, all those underwear I just bought? Nothing?<br />
S: (farts. poops in pants.)<br />
<br />
4. Officer Hottie: I still can't believe my truck caught on fire.<br />
Me: (nervous laughter) (crying)<br />
<br />
5. L: Mom, I know a way you and Dad can never pay for a baby sitter again.<br />
Me: Really? How?<br />
L: You. You and Dad. (runs away, proud of himself.)<br />
<br />
6: Me: (glass of wine)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-32580440599536902612010-06-02T14:00:00.000-07:002010-06-02T14:20:18.997-07:00Remember When Wednesdays: The Debt Story Pt 2(To read Part One of the Debt Story go <a href="http://iheartacop.blogspot.com/2010/05/remember-when-wednesdays-debt-story.html">HERE</a>.) <br />
<br />
"I don't get it!" I exclaimed with frustration.<br />
"What's wrong?" Officer Hottie asked as he sat down next to me on the bed.<br />
"I can't seem to get this budget form to work for us. When I fill in all the blanks we come up short. Really short. It's just that we can't be that far off - there has to be something wrong with my math. There is just no way that we are coming up so negative every month."<br />
"You're probably just missing something."<br />
I sighed. "I don't think so. After our mortgage, car payment, credit card payment, car insurance, phone bill and utilities we hardly have anything left for groceries or gas, let alone tithing, gifts, oil changes or anything else."<br />
"Don't worry so much," he tried to reassure me. "I'm sure Dawn will have some insight."<br />
I sincerely hoped he was right. We were almost at the 30 day mark, and Dawn, the financial class instructor, had promised if we kept track of our expenses for 30 days she would sit down with us and come up with a working spending plan. The class had been good for me, although most of the information I already knew, I'd just never put it into practice. <br />
Dawn had said to get $1000 put into an emergency savings account. I wondered where we'd come up with $1000 when we could barely come up with the $245 to make our credit card payment. She said never refinance your mortgage and tie up your credit cards and car payments into the mortgage payment; that within one year the credit card bill would be back up to where it had been. I wondered if she'd looked at our last refi. We'd rolled a $15,000 car loan and an $11,000 credit card into our mortgage...and 10 months later we had a new car with a new payment and our credit card balance was at the $11,000 mark again. Yikes. She said to pay cash for everything. I wondered how in the world it was possible. Never use a credit card? <br />
<br />
The next week Officer Hottie and I headed over to our church to meet with Dawn. We were excited to finally get a plan for our money. I was hopeful that she would be able to find a way for us to not only make our payments, but maybe even have a little extra. <br />
I handed over all our bills, our list of expenses we'd kept track of and our pile of one-time expenses (like our dentist bill we hadn't paid yet), smiled and asked her to work her magic. Dawn was so gracious; I'd liked her the minute I met her. She had worked her way out of a mountain of debt so I felt comfortable letting her look at our situation. She seemed to have it all together and I admired that about her. Her husband had been injured and unable to work so she bore the burden of getting the debt worked out on her own. She had inspired and encouraged me and I felt that having her on our side was going to be a huge help.<br />
Quietly Dawn looked over our transactions. She paused when she got to the last one, a charge to the credit card at Claim Jumper the night before. She looked up at us. "This," she said, circling the charge with her finger, "can't happen anymore. You guys are in no position to be going out for dinner right now. You have a very tough road ahead of you."<br />
There it was, plain as day. We were in trouble and she had called us out on it. <br />
I laughed nervously as she looked back at our paperwork and began making columns. At the top of each column she had OH's take home pay. Underneath she began making lists; mortgage payment, food, auto, insurance, etc. She used a pencil and would write numbers under each column, often erasing and rearranging. She paused every so often to ask us questions: "Is this a recurring bill or a one time bill?" "Is it possible to spend less money on gasoline?" "Have you ever considered clipping coupons?" "Is this cable AND internet?" Each question, each erase, left me more and more worried. I wondered if I had been right, if we really <em>were</em> that far behind every month.<br />
Finally, after lots of math, Dawn looked up at us.<br />
"I think this budget can work. But it'll be tough and you have to be committed. You can do it though." She handed us the paper she had put together. Officer Hottie and I leaned in to read it.<br />
The first thing that stuck out to me was tithing. She had left it blank.<br />
"Wait, what about tithing?" I asked. "Where's the money for tithing?"<br />
Dawn looked at me kindly, but somewhat sadly. "If you tithe, which you can do, you won't have money to pay your mortgage, or make your car payment, or feed your children. It's up to you, because you have to follow your convictions, but I'm telling you, if you tithe, you will not be able to make it."<br />
"Can't the money come from anywhere else?" Officer Hottie asked. "I mean, I'm sure we can cut money somewhere."<br />
Line by line Dawn showed us what we were up against.<br />
A mortgage payment that was 51% of OH's take home pay. A car payment. A credit card payment that was almost as much as the car payment. Utilities. $321 a month to spend on groceries, diapers, toilet paper and shampoo. For our family of five. I kept trying to smile but reality was quickly sinking in. We had spent so long over-spending and it had finally caught up and over taken us. When everything was said and done, simply to pay our bills OH was going to have to work a minimum of one hour of overtime every pay period.<br />
"Ok. Ok. Ok." I think I felt that if I kept saying 'ok' than everything really would be ok.<br />
"You have to cancel your gym membership, reduce your cell phone plan, cancel cable, not drive around so much and get that overtime if you guys want to stay afloat. If you want to keep your home and your car," Dawn said matter-of-factly. <br />
"Ok."<br />
She sighed. "Here's what I want you to do. If OH gets <em>more</em> than one hour of overtime, you need to think of something you want to do with that money. What do you guys like to do?"<br />
"Eat," we said at the same time.<br />
She laughed. "Ok. So, if you get more than one hour of OT, you get to go out to dinner. Then anything extra you put towards your savings until you get $1000."<br />
"What about Christmas?" I asked, fearful of the answer.<br />
Before she could respond Officer Hottie spoke. "I work Veteran's Day and Thanksgiving," he reminded me. "We'll use that money for Christmas." I was relieved. I really didn't want our children to pay for our mistakes. "Plus," he added, "I get a CPI raise the first of the year, and my step raise soon after that."<br />
"Excellent!" Dawn replied. "Use your tax refund to finish putting the $1000 you need in savings, put about $500 aside for clothes, because your kids will need new clothing, and then put the rest toward your debt. It will only be tough for a short time."<br />
I felt slightly better, but it was only October and we wouldn't be seeing any raises for three months. On top of that, overtime was never guaranteed.<br />
We packed up our things, left the church and got into our car. The car I had been so proud of, so excited to start driving. I now looked at it as a weight that was sinking our family. I plopped into the passenger seat and began crying. Sobbing. How did we let this happen?<br />
Before we left the church's parking lot, Officer Hottie was on the phone. He canceled our cable, took text messaging, internet and the extra minutes off our phone plan. He canceled the gym membership. <br />
"We can't do this," I said.<br />
Officer Hottie grabbed my hand and gave it a firm squeeze.<br />
"We can do this," he stated. "We can and we will."<br />
"We can and we will," I repeated. <br />
I was so thankful one of us had confidence and I tried to remember that three months really isn't a very long time. <br />
<br />
<br />
To be continued...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-78576375055437932552010-06-01T15:56:00.000-07:002010-06-01T15:56:51.614-07:00Obsessed.I have had an epiphany. Actually, I had this particular epiphany awhile ago, but recently it has taken more of a front seat in my life. <br />
<br />
I love baking. Love.<br />
<br />
My recent baking obsession began during our trip to the Great Wolf Lodge in April. J asked if we would buy him a giant pretzel. I saw the $4 price tag and promptly stated that I could make better ones at home and he'd have to wait. He whined and begged and pleaded but I was not persuaded and when we arrived home I began my quest for making the perfect giant soft pretzel. I tried two recipes that came up lacking. The kids didn't complain, in fact, they really enjoyed them, but I knew deep in my heart of hearts, there had to be something better.<br />
<br />
Then Melissa told me about these. And I was done. I have used every excuse to make them. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">"Oh, you're pregnant! You probably want a pretzel."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwnYW7C8AC00rZRS8znRfGvi740Hmhwa1HAqxQ80uAP19g0xBSkDNQicxLuPLACguZ3xJ45XaCnum-eUVitLU68zS_UV0zZv4IrISoSbybEmkgtIndVE5jIItI735dc7ekTAmv3kpGtXg/s1600/DSC_2053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwnYW7C8AC00rZRS8znRfGvi740Hmhwa1HAqxQ80uAP19g0xBSkDNQicxLuPLACguZ3xJ45XaCnum-eUVitLU68zS_UV0zZv4IrISoSbybEmkgtIndVE5jIItI735dc7ekTAmv3kpGtXg/s320/DSC_2053.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">"Oh, you're nursing? You probably need a pretzel."</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKy7l8044gej2VskFHh86OmPUCpl6l7SILnzDBnlkY2EWTwwFzz_5wlZqlbMDD9DhA4l3fxEIii5yMuGTBpR0BmGNh6yai-RZtExNy7BPkifO3E_8L-G1r0z61859bpYZY80CXfIxVpII/s1600/DSC_2055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKy7l8044gej2VskFHh86OmPUCpl6l7SILnzDBnlkY2EWTwwFzz_5wlZqlbMDD9DhA4l3fxEIii5yMuGTBpR0BmGNh6yai-RZtExNy7BPkifO3E_8L-G1r0z61859bpYZY80CXfIxVpII/s320/DSC_2055.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">"Oh, you're on a diet? You should try a pretzel."</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZU13iSZG0asSfkLTLtBytMkYTcbrrQjCQgQy-6NXeIyscqzBUw-1km34pYtoJ95R1Wt_eLclBZyFJSsrKqT84WqPpI6ZMd6u8Uflz3YlYNrBgn9kuL356_cK7tOVisxIOrCeEmy-GxKw/s1600/DSC_2057.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZU13iSZG0asSfkLTLtBytMkYTcbrrQjCQgQy-6NXeIyscqzBUw-1km34pYtoJ95R1Wt_eLclBZyFJSsrKqT84WqPpI6ZMd6u8Uflz3YlYNrBgn9kuL356_cK7tOVisxIOrCeEmy-GxKw/s320/DSC_2057.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: center;">"Oh my gosh! You blinked. Here's a pretzel."</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwDTdAy6Q1hyphenhyphentwfFn-VeHNYGBP-BeiUetmmdSj6RlhxESStKDXRAEIDzS2O41hyphenhyphen9UkNMA2eg7QX1fEchYHvl1pbi49h0115OM5bZjAfnVQ6-Pl5z_dQO6WE-k44LeUby-nBVFpUQqLVUA/s1600/DSC_2058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwDTdAy6Q1hyphenhyphentwfFn-VeHNYGBP-BeiUetmmdSj6RlhxESStKDXRAEIDzS2O41hyphenhyphen9UkNMA2eg7QX1fEchYHvl1pbi49h0115OM5bZjAfnVQ6-Pl5z_dQO6WE-k44LeUby-nBVFpUQqLVUA/s320/DSC_2058.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Yes, it really is that bad. I tell myself they are healthy, you know, because I use a few cups of whole wheat. It's basically a health food. Basically.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>My husband has only aided in my obession by turning these fabulously disgusting counter tops ...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXHRR3mBbQL7BOxnYkwBTFcrvL81iCm-v5SIeZqa5kiknVUIzKpbjW20utBU41h0a9aD2lqNM-8KkQmMvB1_vBL42uroOMjtLpW69U4V3HugK7K41RJbjlnRSdZRe9qUIvAGcDn_rBbU4/s1600/DSC_2029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXHRR3mBbQL7BOxnYkwBTFcrvL81iCm-v5SIeZqa5kiknVUIzKpbjW20utBU41h0a9aD2lqNM-8KkQmMvB1_vBL42uroOMjtLpW69U4V3HugK7K41RJbjlnRSdZRe9qUIvAGcDn_rBbU4/s320/DSC_2029.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">Into these most gorgeous, flat, perfectly perfect counter tops. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2XWOR-BZNFcFPX1ctnR4h3Olq7859LohqUQhSlIBnYzasq9nunNrazAyUswc17WsRydOK9u6XJMyE-4sx3IbSH5rTWw4I4XGObyXLdaGigE5Df9hIfoyPm2HXNJ4X82pt4M9Jtqolreo/s1600/DSC_2059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2XWOR-BZNFcFPX1ctnR4h3Olq7859LohqUQhSlIBnYzasq9nunNrazAyUswc17WsRydOK9u6XJMyE-4sx3IbSH5rTWw4I4XGObyXLdaGigE5Df9hIfoyPm2HXNJ4X82pt4M9Jtqolreo/s320/DSC_2059.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Oh things I will use you to bake for me!! And my children. And husband. Of course.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Come to think of it, Officer Hottie hasn't done much complaining about my baking. It is possible that he is using the perfect counter tops to manipulate me into making more baked good. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Nah.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Since I like to share you can find the most fabulous recipe for the perfect pretzel <a href="http://thepioneerwoman.com/tasty-kitchen/recipes/appetizers-and-snacks/supposedly-auntie-annee28099s-soft-pretzels/">HERE</a>. The Pioneer Woman. Of course. And I realize this post should be on my very neglected food blog. Pshhh. Poor neglected food blog.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-63995463626767780862010-05-26T14:00:00.000-07:002010-05-26T14:00:02.475-07:00Remember When Wednesdays: The Debt Story Part IThe light at the intersection was red. Thankfully. Laura's words had pierced my soul and I was hoping, praying that she hadn't noticed. When she spoke it was as if God Himself had spoken; I realized He'd been trying to speak to me for a long time, but it was the first time I'd actually listened.<br />
"The light's green," Laura said. It brought me out of my haze and we continued chatting as I tried to ignore the lightning bolt that had just shot through my heart. <br />
Everything was normal when we arrived back at the house. Our husband's were playing in the yard with the kids and we started on dinner. <br />
Later, when Officer Hottie and I had a minute alone, he asked how the trip to Target went. <br />
"Um...Laura said something that really hit me."<br />
"Oh yeah?" he replied. "What was that?"<br />
"Well, you know how she's really into homebirth but she had Kaleb at the hospital? I asked her why and she said their insurance hadn't covered home birth. She said they had a conviction from the Lord to never go into debt, and that the conviction He gave them was stronger than their own personal ideals, so they decided that instead of putting his birth on credit they would go to the hospital."<br />
I could see the twinge across his face as the words "conviction from the Lord" slapped him as hard as they'd slapped me. I could see his shoulders slump a bit as he deflated. Laura and her husband, Julian, came out of our guest bedroom then (which was really just our son's room with an extra mattress thrown in) so I knew the conversation would have to be finished later.<br />
A few days later I waved to Julian and Laura and their kids as they left to go back home and I nearly forgot about how God had spoken through her. When we went to put our son's room back together we found a pile of their clothing and pillows. I laughed as I packed it up to take the the UPS store. Laura said she'd send us money but I laughed her off. "Pshhh. Shut it."<br />
The day after sending the package I sat down to balance our checkbook. After having friends here for a week I was happy to see we had some money left over. Sweet. Maybe we could go out for dinner one more time before payday? I do love to eat out.<br />
The next morning I awoke in a panic. My heart was racing and it was like God was again talking to me..."Did you pay the credit card bill?" <br />
<em>Oh my goodness. Oh my goodness. I forgot to pay the bill. I forgot...I forgot...</em><br />
Officer Hottie was already at work so I ran out to the computer to check our ledger balance...sure enough...I hadn't paid the bill. My heart sank. The minimum payment was $250 and we only had $100 left in our checking account. <br />
<em>Wait? Where did all that extra money go? What happened to all that overtime?</em><br />
I frantically looked through the list of transactions; they screamed to me as I passed each one. <br />
The Old Spaghetti Factory. <em>You didn't have enough money to eat here!</em> <br />
The Children's Museum. <em>Why would you even go here if you don't have money?</em><br />
The Woodland Park Zoo. <em>You paid more for GAS than for admission. And the lions were sleeping!</em><br />
Trader Joe's. <em>Really? REALLY? Chocolate covered ORGANIC pretzels? Really?</em><br />
I could feel the tears building up as each transaction left me feeling more panicked and angry. How did we do this to ourselves? Where were we going to find the money to pay our bill? We'd never <em>not </em>paid a bill before...the weight of responsibility and failure was heavy on me as I reached for the phone to call Officer Hottie.<br />
Through tears I explained that we'd spent our money and had no way to pay our credit card bill. Or to tithe. All that money that we'd blown through that we were going to give to our church. I felt as if we'd not only let ourselves down and been completely irresponsible but that we were also letting down God; that we had misused His blessings and cheated on Him. OH was calm and practical, promising to call the Credit company and see what we could work out. <br />
"How did we do this? How did we get here? How could we let this happen?"<br />
I thought back to a few months earlier when I'd overpaid our internet bill by $30 and it took our account negative. Why hadn't that forced us to look at our finances? Or two years before when OH started with the police department and his first paycheck was $700; I remembered the terror of the realization that we had no moeny and barring a miracle we wouldn't be able to make our mortgage payment. Why hadn't we allowed that to put a freeze on our spending? I thought about when he transferred to his new city and got a pay raise of over $300 and the first thing we did was buy a new car and get into a car payment. What else could we have used that $300 for? Certainly we had bills we were obligated to; how did we forget that?<br />
My heart was heavy and burdened as I mulled over the mess we had made for ourselves. <br />
<em>Oh God, what are we going to do?</em><br />
Little voices lifted me from my fog of self-despair. I had to turn on Mom mode and go. Change the diapers, get out the cereal, get them dressed, take a shower, go to the park ... the day moved on, each hour taking us closer to the dreaded payment deadline. I tried not to think about it, to shove it away as had been my practice for years but it was different this time. I knew things had to change, I just didn't know how we could change them, and that frustrated me almost more than not being able to pay our bills did.<br />
The next day I woke up with an uneasy feeling in my stomach. A knot. A pit. Butterflies. I'm not sure what to call it. I hated waking up and feeling dread. It was going to be a hard day. I got the kids ready for church and while they were eating sat down at the computer to check my email. Someone had responded to our ad on Craigslist for our bedroom set. The weight, the dread, lifted slightly. <br />
As I packed the kiddos into the car I begged the Lord to have the people buy the set. If we sold it, I knew we could pay our bill - we would make it another month. <br />
I sat through worship and when the pastor got up to give the weekly announcements I was hardly paying attention as I was sitting next to Mom and there's always something important for us to talk about. I heard the pastor saying something about financial classes and immediately grabbed the bulletin from my mom's hands. Sure enough there, was going to be a financial class offered for women. An answer. Hope. Help. The weight lifted a little bit more.<br />
That afternoon a couple came over to look at our bedroom set. Officer Hottie was working and had given me explicit instructions on how to load the gun and answer the door. Having a gun on my person made me more nervous than strangers coming to our house. <em>He's such a cop sometimes.</em> When they arrived I saw they were an elderly couple and quickly tossed the gun on top of our fridge; it was making my pants fall down anyway. They walked into our house, took a quick look at the set, and gave me $350 in cash. I wanted to hug them, to cry, to jump up and down. I wish they knew how they saved me that day. I briefly thought of the $1700 we'd spent on this set that <em>I just HAD to have </em>when we first got married and the measly $350 I now held in my hands but the remorse was temporary as the burden of not being able to pay our bill that month lifted completely.<br />
I carefully tucked the money into my purse to take to the bank the following morning. I was ecstatic that our bill would be paid on time. However, in the back of my mind I was already wondering how we would pay next month's bill and praying that the financial class would hold some answers for us.<br />
<br />
<em>To be continued...</em>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-25659925709856015792010-05-21T15:44:00.000-07:002010-05-21T15:44:52.804-07:00The Other Woman<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">There is another woman in my husband's life. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">She demands his love and affection. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">She will settle for nothing less than his undivided love and attention. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">She climbs into our bed and hogs the sheets.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">She thinks she is a princess and the world is her oyester.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">She is just over three feet tall and has such a pitch to her voice when she doesn't get what she wants when she wants it, the paint could peel right off the walls. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">I've seen it happen.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUlg24qjzARMYB3DSiRMP6aix9_Er7os7FZzBV9rgS445v2D6w8o4aNxuZkM1KnEI2LSEvbfZI9tXtlOZ-0bbKVd7IalZ9IDe4FD7jR9lDiBl0xenK-CrPfPHrPfeNH9APPylTOjUeV0s/s1600/DSC_1938.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUlg24qjzARMYB3DSiRMP6aix9_Er7os7FZzBV9rgS445v2D6w8o4aNxuZkM1KnEI2LSEvbfZI9tXtlOZ-0bbKVd7IalZ9IDe4FD7jR9lDiBl0xenK-CrPfPHrPfeNH9APPylTOjUeV0s/s320/DSC_1938.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVEfqln6CpjQvvfcuUNBckDrv8WPneTAunlFgQwzz66jrP-cQdkTEzmjUP1dETdXObX4FtX3WqxcfvrnRfsXO7k1nP3b2zR1QLZJU8IfC8syECv9F5V8bP3aRERAG7_ISKr20wcqeHCU/s1600/DSC_1952.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAVEfqln6CpjQvvfcuUNBckDrv8WPneTAunlFgQwzz66jrP-cQdkTEzmjUP1dETdXObX4FtX3WqxcfvrnRfsXO7k1nP3b2zR1QLZJU8IfC8syECv9F5V8bP3aRERAG7_ISKr20wcqeHCU/s320/DSC_1952.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Little stinker. Flirting gets her everywhere.</em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgznNKUCdr684asrFxUEUVIFz_UxZCv0-s2ipQK4U91YtvXCRmya3XclgoRw8MdFYv16T6AMkwuSWc8t9rIYRafKovFIdV7VApi7xUj6ylesDQkGL2l1A_iLMBNbHcIwiCMYCqBLew4QPA/s1600/DSC_1935.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgznNKUCdr684asrFxUEUVIFz_UxZCv0-s2ipQK4U91YtvXCRmya3XclgoRw8MdFYv16T6AMkwuSWc8t9rIYRafKovFIdV7VApi7xUj6ylesDQkGL2l1A_iLMBNbHcIwiCMYCqBLew4QPA/s320/DSC_1935.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>This is GG, the million dollar blanket. I wish they came in King size. Best. Blanket. Ever. (Most people call them the little <a href="http://shop.nordstrom.com/S/3089110/0~2379292~2380331~6018934?mediumthumbnail=Y&origin=category&searchtype=&pbo=6018934&P=1">giraffe blanket</a> because of the giraffe on the tag. I call it the million dollar blanket because it costs nearly that. My cousin bought it for her. God bless you Melissa.)</em></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfl0pZADqR2O_T7OOjz3Nugv7wID2CiLyW4g3joHc21lGatCf5-J9o42NoOzGpEdmrFa1u1o1RedSLqYjDdBNpI8_t7Zpvh4ebKcpiHe1kpARggSeCNw2xNOTCnX4-Hemb7ZvSPlquOC0/s1600/DSC_1936.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfl0pZADqR2O_T7OOjz3Nugv7wID2CiLyW4g3joHc21lGatCf5-J9o42NoOzGpEdmrFa1u1o1RedSLqYjDdBNpI8_t7Zpvh4ebKcpiHe1kpARggSeCNw2xNOTCnX4-Hemb7ZvSPlquOC0/s320/DSC_1936.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>She often says something like, "My finger isn't hungry so I CAN'T eat dinner."</em></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Oh? Ok then.</em></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhedacESUx3Ct91dWUrjiPuKcOdvUEJOVQKUCiHl7LSrv4XT3bnfAsq9DNFxWXM_9cQ7GehhXD22CX2L_r04XYwzz1taJgeRE5yLYKuyx8ycvTHUyhxKNtOMgrxoGZtg328V6H89sCWJH8/s1600/DSC_1939.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhedacESUx3Ct91dWUrjiPuKcOdvUEJOVQKUCiHl7LSrv4XT3bnfAsq9DNFxWXM_9cQ7GehhXD22CX2L_r04XYwzz1taJgeRE5yLYKuyx8ycvTHUyhxKNtOMgrxoGZtg328V6H89sCWJH8/s320/DSC_1939.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>And then she smiles, because she knows she got him, hook line and sinker.</em></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb8unndy3Xi_pCnj2-q5Rh2zNMblUkVrAEB622yeM1f0uH7Mt_jfcT4YB8eHM6GwN9Zo0dzYSJTU9O0i1cIOvB5JJc3hAsmQ6zvHwE-K2o75CbNoim-SOckNGM1A5ik6CpSqeXWYyXXj0/s1600/DSC_1940.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb8unndy3Xi_pCnj2-q5Rh2zNMblUkVrAEB622yeM1f0uH7Mt_jfcT4YB8eHM6GwN9Zo0dzYSJTU9O0i1cIOvB5JJc3hAsmQ6zvHwE-K2o75CbNoim-SOckNGM1A5ik6CpSqeXWYyXXj0/s320/DSC_1940.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Oh how she adores her daddy.</em></div> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgofjZv2KRm7Fhd3OuALajR0tGxmTO2fmdR-duCrW-qhJ8ZEG0p5yJc5s6G_weMeOr22EMMVkVKLQ_FJg_dT5z23d3PtzCfDfhiNbqCZtT5XXf1UWxOO-3FYRLqnkuXK2dkM-zKGb2AOic/s1600/DSC_1942.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgofjZv2KRm7Fhd3OuALajR0tGxmTO2fmdR-duCrW-qhJ8ZEG0p5yJc5s6G_weMeOr22EMMVkVKLQ_FJg_dT5z23d3PtzCfDfhiNbqCZtT5XXf1UWxOO-3FYRLqnkuXK2dkM-zKGb2AOic/s320/DSC_1942.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>He's pretty fond of her too. By pretty fond I mean over the moon in love.</em></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcyjiWT2XIcc5Aj1I2hON-krdXM7xd2YsA1owgLz2_zG9lktDHJTqqqmKP84B7Gfg86MJg0iMRE8p23jkQ9KiEFhKgr4dAAmKL2GlNukZa6F45HCSh2XjIuMGWgqMnp_JN_98SOrQ1yxA/s1600/DSC_1943.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcyjiWT2XIcc5Aj1I2hON-krdXM7xd2YsA1owgLz2_zG9lktDHJTqqqmKP84B7Gfg86MJg0iMRE8p23jkQ9KiEFhKgr4dAAmKL2GlNukZa6F45HCSh2XjIuMGWgqMnp_JN_98SOrQ1yxA/s320/DSC_1943.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>I can't blame him.</em></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-GUCVudgdkEaytfWUWPFafMlkIcaZV-05TDUW2XtbPEKYs_F2dVQ67sRgwVArtQlkYpujGh9sN-4k6vENv0y2K2ohH5xnMii_7F-No0hbu1z-edj83SyIjgY5doAqN8-I_711KzUb8l0/s1600/DSC_1944.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-GUCVudgdkEaytfWUWPFafMlkIcaZV-05TDUW2XtbPEKYs_F2dVQ67sRgwVArtQlkYpujGh9sN-4k6vENv0y2K2ohH5xnMii_7F-No0hbu1z-edj83SyIjgY5doAqN8-I_711KzUb8l0/s320/DSC_1944.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Cinnamon and sugar crumbs. Because Daddy ran out and bought donut holes. It's what his little girl wanted.</em></div> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_a2m3WqQEk-29p-PJ6uIg3yA3_RDoBHVCJo0rDYsTiUV3oMTZEQAJGy65iRSfYFL2eWBGKstQ06WHvGo3SJjoPrEqebvnDK54Df3YznfaFexa3Bvnzgdt1tB6B99fVDHp3Pz7IzN4Np0/s1600/DSC_1947.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_a2m3WqQEk-29p-PJ6uIg3yA3_RDoBHVCJo0rDYsTiUV3oMTZEQAJGy65iRSfYFL2eWBGKstQ06WHvGo3SJjoPrEqebvnDK54Df3YznfaFexa3Bvnzgdt1tB6B99fVDHp3Pz7IzN4Np0/s320/DSC_1947.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3PzSuli7z30nP-UddIWjo3zp9nNR3Go_MMcj9cwG4sFiyqGHegJfP8rCGev2pI8iPjOG95NuWtLlFY_G3KL90xmVo-nGyqkbQvk3Xqg7gCQrxcLcjFctkKz4Nbi5FQ4mcJ6De2YqPfuw/s1600/DSC_1949.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3PzSuli7z30nP-UddIWjo3zp9nNR3Go_MMcj9cwG4sFiyqGHegJfP8rCGev2pI8iPjOG95NuWtLlFY_G3KL90xmVo-nGyqkbQvk3Xqg7gCQrxcLcjFctkKz4Nbi5FQ4mcJ6De2YqPfuw/s320/DSC_1949.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>I would like to take this opportunity to say that my husband has lost 42 pounds and now has a jawline, which I find to be highly, highly attractive and sexy. Just sayin'.</em></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKRu5Ll2d3KQioUD5wgM4gnRChlOQ06ugsMOcGCB4Slcsf66zDT2pgOAX7q0ckMCNfa3TJgFxfzPzG8VHT8WAcUbItxXoPp1xumWpGP96HZQ6ObF5zMSyBrwgAjszMZtQj_PY7AqDqudU/s1600/DSC_1950.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKRu5Ll2d3KQioUD5wgM4gnRChlOQ06ugsMOcGCB4Slcsf66zDT2pgOAX7q0ckMCNfa3TJgFxfzPzG8VHT8WAcUbItxXoPp1xumWpGP96HZQ6ObF5zMSyBrwgAjszMZtQj_PY7AqDqudU/s320/DSC_1950.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>I think she tolerates him. Just kidding. She eats this stuff up.</em></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixj4UXCRQAu12O29smTNNPfGLYM2yNlXl-nKB3qhSlWb1VFKH4mJK3PjLzoJWzkMZxizv8GDlnd1a-CTr_P4hUU0WQ-b5FghsRlU3H8yZ_8hgUXSLBV1n_qScxB4TatupJqAjGxJxX578/s1600/DSC_1951.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixj4UXCRQAu12O29smTNNPfGLYM2yNlXl-nKB3qhSlWb1VFKH4mJK3PjLzoJWzkMZxizv8GDlnd1a-CTr_P4hUU0WQ-b5FghsRlU3H8yZ_8hgUXSLBV1n_qScxB4TatupJqAjGxJxX578/s320/DSC_1951.JPG" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Oh, another one? Ok, if you must.</em></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilytuDK-Gqex7ucZKAbSUmHAG2viEcg6ApfCDs3FsKkWPRSbV1wji58cDHrltWimFL4H9-3d766gUUdoCMpro6Xu8cruNCsxFjhmOjEg2KSJUb7p9MvkXEeoQbor6U1mHXokjtzOzdb14/s1600/DSC_1947.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gu="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilytuDK-Gqex7ucZKAbSUmHAG2viEcg6ApfCDs3FsKkWPRSbV1wji58cDHrltWimFL4H9-3d766gUUdoCMpro6Xu8cruNCsxFjhmOjEg2KSJUb7p9MvkXEeoQbor6U1mHXokjtzOzdb14/s320/DSC_1947.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>I think I'm framing this one.</em></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-14369091400012259442010-05-19T16:00:00.000-07:002010-05-19T16:00:03.680-07:00Remember When WednesdaysGrowing up, I was bossy. Really really bossy. Even still my brothers and sisters will let me boss them around, it's just that now my husband gets after me when I try to boss too much. But they didn't have my husband's protection when we were growing up and so I bossed and bossed and bossed a little more.<br />
<br />
I made my brothers dress up in princess clothes. I made my sisters wash the dishes. I made lists of chores for them to carry out. I even tried to tell my parents what to do. My mom says that one time I came storming into the house and exclaimed, "MOTHER! Do you <em>know</em> how close the children are to the road?"<br />
To which she replied that she was the mother and I could stop worrying. <br />
To which I replied, "Then act like it." <br />
I'm pretty sure I got a swat for that one. Thankfully I don't remember. <br />
<br />
My whole point in pointing out how bossy I was, is that I am much less bossy now. Sort of.<br />
<br />
There is this really great book I found, quite by accident, that I just had to buy my sisters for their birthday a few years ago. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNj0rw8eslbEwEw7K8D-kATdkogJvez8GlnImyIj0Ntc0qx-ua51fjrHYGh95y2v1-AhqFsnAY5mO_dFDGpiYJntCfob7jgDdOux7iw7cNSjnz-lBQPlG_q_sNYsNcNRlTjQ-7ZyKWNbU/s1600/eating+up+gladys.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNj0rw8eslbEwEw7K8D-kATdkogJvez8GlnImyIj0Ntc0qx-ua51fjrHYGh95y2v1-AhqFsnAY5mO_dFDGpiYJntCfob7jgDdOux7iw7cNSjnz-lBQPlG_q_sNYsNcNRlTjQ-7ZyKWNbU/s320/eating+up+gladys.jpg" tt="true" width="320" /></a></div><br />
It's about an older sister who is left in charge when her parent's go out. She bosses her little sisters and tells them to make dinner and not to wake up the baby. And then she falls into a pot and hilarity ensues when her little sisters refused to be bossed anymore. <br />
<br />
One of my sisters laughed and laughed and said it was the best book ever that perfectly summed up their childhood with me. (Thank you Rach.)<br />
The other sister blew me off and gave me a smirk and didn't thoroughly appreciate the novelty of the book. (Um...Boo. I'm talking about you.) I'm pretty sure that's because she always wanted to be the boss.<br />
<br />
My kids still think I'm bossy. And my husband gets after me for bossing. And recently I had to apologize to my sister-in-law when I realized she asked about what time to be at a party and I laid out step-by-step exactly how they could arrive and be on time. She's gracious and laughed (thanks Tara). I would have told me to shut up.<br />
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On this Remember When Wednesday, I would like to remind you to love your older sister, because (as my therapist told me) she's just a little Mom trying to keep you on the straight and narrow. <br />
<br />
At least, that's how I remember it.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-41721286311426034212010-05-18T13:39:00.000-07:002010-05-18T13:39:22.172-07:00My Debt Free WorkshopI had a wonderful time at Camp Gilead. I got to stay in Cabin 0, which just so happens to the cabin I spent my first summer as a counselor in. It smells the same. I came home (after one night) and washed everything I took with me. I aired my hairbrush and mascara wand out on the porch. I saw an old friend, we worked together during the summer of '99, and she so very graciously included me in her little "group" that had come with her. (Thank you Faith!)<br />
The theme for the retreat was "The Wisdom Behind the Apron" and the speakers were sharing about things they learned during transitional times of their lives.<br />
The first speaker on Friday night was a gal named Hannah. She was pregnant and blonde and adorable and too young to have done much transitioning. Except that she became a widow at 23. Her husband was killed in Iraq, during his second tour of duty, when their son was six months old. Youch. Her story is incredible and her faith is inspiring! The Lord used it to speak directly to me as, I'm sure you remember, I have lived with a lot of fear as of late. She shared some great Bible verses, which were unfortunatley tossed into the recycle bin during Officer Hottie's Clean off the Kitchen Counter Frenzy of 2010. Oh well. I came away from that session with an immense feeling of peace and hope and the reiteration of the knowledge that Christ Jesus is stronger than death and my fears. <br />
The second speakers were ok, although I wasn't as touched as I had been the night before. Sorry gals.<br />
The third speaker on Saturday was a 70 year old great-grandma. She was hilarious. She talked about loving our husbands and forgiveness. She said sex and bitchy (in church!) without wincing or pausing and I fell in love with her.<br />
As for my workshops...<br />
I think they went well. The first one was really tough as it was in a teeny room and four of the gals were Russian and had someone interpretting for them. It was just confusing. Plus, one gal asked me a really challenging question about tithing, and not being a theology major, I was kind of at a loss for what to tell her. All in all though, I think people were able to understand my story, my heart and come away with some financial hope.<br />
The second workshop went much better. The group was a little bit smaller and it was in a larger area...plus, no interpreter talking over me made for a higher comfort level. <br />
I was able to share information about debt using lots of the ideas you gave me! Thank you, by the way. Your ideas were SUPER helpful. If I were more technology-savvy I would put the pages I shared with the gals on here so you could look over them...this is the best I can do. Click <em><a href="https://docs.google.com/Doc?docid=0AUiDO5tvNGPrZGd6aDM3cF8zOGc4NGJ0Z2Ni&hl=en">HERE</a> </em>for a reality check on debt and <em><a href="https://spreadsheets.google.com/ccc?key=0AkiDO5tvNGPrdGZLVGhHbHlaUElPUmNnZEsydmpkdXc&hl=en">HERE</a></em> for a sample budget if you seem to have a difficult time setting one up. <br />
Thanks for your encouragement and prayers. It was a great time and I'm working on writing out our story so hopefully you will be inspired to see that if we could get out of $27,000 in debt in 14 months, anyone can!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-29792404446457059742010-05-14T13:30:00.000-07:002010-05-18T13:08:56.431-07:00I'm off!After a brief hiatus I am simply writing to say that I am heading out for my women's retreat where I will get to share about our journey to debt freedom. I know that story will make for a good post ... but it really is long and like most difficult things we go through in life, now that the journey is over I can only look back and remember the triumphs. Thankfully. Because if I only ever remembered the difficult stuff I sure wouldn't be willing to try many things that took any sort of effort.<br />
<br />
I am nervous because I'll be speaking to a group of women (<em>please don't fall asleep on me!</em>) but I am so excited because I feel that if we could work our way out of a mound of debt, and go from not being able to make our minimum credit card payment, to being completely debt free (minus the mortgage) and able to pay for our Hawaiin vacation and home remodel with cash in just a few short years, anyone can do it. Anyone. I just want the women to walk away with hope!<br />
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So if you think about it, say a little prayer for me. I'll update when I'm home!<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Oh, and how cool is this? The theme of the retreat is "The Wisdom Behind the Apron" and literally last week a friend (thank you dear Kathleen!) gave me a vintage apron since I've been spending so much time in the kitchen. I love it. And now I get to speak to the ladies wearing a super hot little apron that makes me feel all domestic goddess and such. Very very cool.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyGOsaBq6_CgMpZAVl39WQwHm9DZKFiYLKr3hGXvBMLDNFGu4UyCYIVlLhNh_OEgCia5bBrYA5vqNstvatAGx9B_3bfkqa7YeGhK7X55GT6fCEzB_lfpc2eMd4zpONlIhD7qULXId-Ut4/s1600/DSC_1871.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyGOsaBq6_CgMpZAVl39WQwHm9DZKFiYLKr3hGXvBMLDNFGu4UyCYIVlLhNh_OEgCia5bBrYA5vqNstvatAGx9B_3bfkqa7YeGhK7X55GT6fCEzB_lfpc2eMd4zpONlIhD7qULXId-Ut4/s320/DSC_1871.jpg" width="212" wt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Yes, I'm wearing flip flops. I love flip flops. And I really love Locals flip flops. My fond affections for them will one day get it's own post.</em></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-6925797292216766482010-05-08T14:10:00.000-07:002010-05-08T14:10:58.042-07:00Mother's Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">A few weeks ago my oldest son came up to me with a pad of paper and a pen. He proceeded to ask me a series of questions and dilgently wrote down my answers. </div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">His questions were:</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">*What is your favorite cookie?</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">*What is your favorite chocolate?</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">*What is your favorite kind of cake?</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">*What kind of frosting do you want?</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">*What is your favorite dinner?</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">*What is your favorite mint?</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">*What is your favorite dessert?</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">*What is your favorite color? (Mom, how do you spell streamers?)</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">*What kind of gift do you want?</div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">*Would you like to go to any special places?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTcBkhKWwiXjAb5mPDVmj6f9615CSqQEP5lRU-b3FAAP_Aj1WT0KJ9tiaYSx7avpZh3LwEX5BRsGBCJa53bY2gUqC4qonIDTSMuYX1JCRZYrE04-j0qO53eiPgGdQMFPPdkruDsNfR5FU/s1600/DSC_1386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTcBkhKWwiXjAb5mPDVmj6f9615CSqQEP5lRU-b3FAAP_Aj1WT0KJ9tiaYSx7avpZh3LwEX5BRsGBCJa53bY2gUqC4qonIDTSMuYX1JCRZYrE04-j0qO53eiPgGdQMFPPdkruDsNfR5FU/s400/DSC_1386.JPG" tt="true" width="265" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I'm pretty sure I'll be the most spoiled mom on Mother's Day.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">OR...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> Officer Hottie is working on Mother's Day. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">But seriously, how sweet is this kid?</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-47152626855972582712010-05-05T15:08:00.000-07:002010-05-05T15:08:13.343-07:00Remember When WednesdaysI just reached 30 followers. On Remember When Wednesday no less. I have a hard time believing that there are 30 people in this world who care to read what I write, but thank you. When I started blogging I got giddy over 3, one of which was my husband who doesn't actually <em>read</em> this blog, so I don't think he really counts. However, as more people have found my blog, made comments and invited me into their (online) lives, I've been very blessed. So thanks for following. <br />
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I've been having a bit of writers block the last little bit. I thought having something to focus on to write about, like Remember When Wednesday, would force my creative juices to keep flowing but creativity seems to be a little elusive so I hope you'll bear with me as I struggle through this!<br />
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This morning Momma Fargo posted a link to <a href="http://www.mypixiedreams.com/2010/05/04/the-stuff-nightmares-are-made-out-of/">Momma's Pixie Dreams</a>. Their 16 month old daughter was just diagnosed with cancer. That shook me up. I hate cancer; I wish there were a stronger word to describe how much I hate it. Resent, abhor, repulse...none really seem to describe how much I really truly feel about cancer.<br />
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When I was 15 my best friend died from cancer. I hated it when they said he had it, I hated it when they said it had returned after they thought it went away, and I really hated it the night he was so doped up on medication he could hardly remember me and the following morning when he died. I hated what it did to his family, I hated how it ripped a hole in the world, I hated how life goes on no matter who dies. I hated drinking guava mango juice because it had been his favorite, I hated not knowing what to say to his parents, I hated feeling empty and helpless. I hated when his family took a long vacation after he passed, I hated that I didn't like his other best friend so I couldn't talk to him, I hated going to the zoo because we'd gone there for his birthday once and the whole place reminded me of him. I hated being a teenager and instead of enjoying being 15 I was dealing with real life, I hated that I was so messed up I had to miss school and go to work with my mom.<br />
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15 years later the only thing I don't hate is that his sister is one of my dearest friends and his parents are still a part of my life. I love that they all love my husband. I love that his sister's son is just a few months older than my youngest so we spend a lot of time together. I love that we have each other and we can remember together. I love that our husbands are both police officers so we understand each other on a level we never thought we would. I love that we go to the same church so we can pray together and focus on what is most important. I love that she laughs and has joy and that time, Love and the Lord have erased many of her hurts and her own hate. I love that losing her brother has made her a stronger mother and wife, more fierce than she would have been. I love that she is tender toward those who are going through their own loss and that she remains vulnerable to those around her.<br />
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All that hate I dealt with ... and now all this love.<br />
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On this Remember When Wednesday I want to remember that love and hope are stronger than hate. That God is stronger than cancer. That there will be a time when all pain will be erased; although the journey and the way it ends may not be the way we want, the result can always be Healing and Hope, especially for these little ones.<br />
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I will remember to pray for Momma Pixie's little Monkey and for all those who are struggling.<br />
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I hope you will too.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLHp3ph9qcbGBuns1RpVUN9lF1QeuAFrjwu1BrVvcOOjk4fsnPX1cxFl20sb-q7U0Aqoge1aLEXxRN-qc9-1hUZHVth9pAlHZ7dFkCN5iNq6HN7jqWG6TgSb43EIV4pjUhtceoxbV4QZY/s1600/taylors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLHp3ph9qcbGBuns1RpVUN9lF1QeuAFrjwu1BrVvcOOjk4fsnPX1cxFl20sb-q7U0Aqoge1aLEXxRN-qc9-1hUZHVth9pAlHZ7dFkCN5iNq6HN7jqWG6TgSb43EIV4pjUhtceoxbV4QZY/s320/taylors.jpg" tt="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Love this family.</em></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-57492728720532802722010-05-03T09:43:00.000-07:002010-05-03T09:43:49.556-07:00Have you ever???Have you ever been convinced that the conversation you just had with your husband will be the last time you ever hear his voice? Or that the last time he says "I love you" will be the last time you hear him say it to you? Have you ever been convinced that you will never see your husband alive again?<br />
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I'm sure that as police wives we all go through times of doubt and anxiety. I go through that on occasion, but usually only <em>after</em> something happens. I feel nervous about letting him go to work, I get worried when he doesn't call or text me, I cry and pray a lot. But it is often a reaction to an event that has already taken place.<br />
<br />
Last week, my dad called Officer Hottie to tell him how much he loved him and how thankful he was that he was part of our family. It was very sweet. When OH and I were first engaged he and my dad didn't have the best relationship. My dad always liked him just fine, but as most young men, OH has his own way and idea of doing things and it didn't gel well with what my dad's plan was. That was long ago and any hurts or stresses from that period of time has long passed, but it still feels good to know that my love genuinly loves my husband.<br />
<br />
When OH called to tell me my dad had called him he was very sweet. He said how nice it was of my dad to call and how he was glad they had a good relationship. And before he hung up he said he loved me so much, which he always says. When we hung up, I looked around my house, the home we've made together, and our four beautiful children and I started to cry. I just <em>knew</em> that was it. In a few seconds my mind was <em>there</em>. You know what I mean; how would I tell the kids, how would I sleep alone, who was going to notify me, who were going to be the pallbearers, how much music would they allow at the service, which pictures should we find, etc. On and on. Then I started to beg. I begged and begged and pleaded with God to protect him, to not leave me alone. I can't raise four children on my own. We're in the middle of remodeling. I can't finish that. Who will keep my feet warm at night? No one understands me like he does, no one puts up with me like he does, no one smells as good as he does ... our kids like him more than me. Then slowly I started asking for strength and help. For courage. For peace. And for sanity. <br />
<br />
When OH called me later, hearing his voice was such relief. What he hadn't told me earlier was that a few minutes after my dad called him he was dispatched to a fairly scary call. He also had been convinced that he was being sent into certain death. It was really just the timing of everything - a seemingly random phone call from his father in law, and then getting dispatched to this particular call. He said he started driving and thought, "Ok Lord. This must be it." So he called me. He said he had wanted me to know that he and my dad really did love each other and that he loved me the most. I, of course, started crying again. I hadn't told him when he called the first time that it terrified me; that for a moment (a long long moment) I thought that just maybe my dad knew what the future held. What he hadn't said was that he felt the same way. <br />
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It was an interesting dynamic; both of us being convinced we would never see each other again. Him trying to keep his head on straight so he could do his job effectively, me trying to keep it together so my children didn't see me falling apart for no reason. When he came home that night we couldn't seem to get enough of each other. <br />
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I know death is inevitable. I know it's going to happen; one of us has to go first. I don't know if it will be today, or in a year, or in 80 years. I don't know if it will be a gunshot, a car accident, or cancer. I just don't know. And I'm thankful for that. After those few hours when I thought I knew, I realized I don't want to see it coming. I don't want to be waiting for it. I won't sit at home in fear of what I have no control over. Trust me, I've considered it. Every time I get in the car, every time he goes to work, every time he works on our house or climbs up on the roof, every time we leave our children to go on a date or a vacation, every time one of our children is gone from our family for some reason, every time my son gets on the school bus I wonder if that time will be the last time. I've got to stop. After our second son was born I went through a time of not even wanting to leave our house. The "what if's" got the best of me. It was short lived, thankfully but I realized I'm a fearful person, and fear gets me nowhere. Fear paralyzes me. It stops my life, it makes me incapable of enjoying the very life (lives) I'm afraid of losing.<br />
<br />
I'm glad my dad doesn't see the future and I'm even more glad that he loves my husband. I'm glad my husband's first thought when he thinks he is headed to death's door is to call me and make sure I know he loves me. Mostly, I'm thankful for Peace. I am thankful for the Knowledge that death isn't the end. I am thankful for Hope.<br />
<br />
I am thankful for one more chance to hold my husband's hand and to look into his eyes and to hear his voice. <br />
<br />
I will let Thanks be more powerful than Fear.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-13446043152190134332010-04-29T15:59:00.000-07:002010-04-29T15:59:13.532-07:00In Honor of National Infertility Awareness WeekKate over at <a href="http://www.bustedplumbing.com/">Busted Plumbing</a> has been talking a lot about National Infertility Awareness Week. It has been a good read for me, with lots of tears. Last night I dreamed about Kate (if you're reading this, you were a cartoon); probably because I have been praying for her a LOT. I don't even know her. In my reality, she's literally a cartoon; a funny, sarcastic, witty cartoon. Yesterday she posted that she's pregnant, but after 5 years trying to conceive and four miscarriages she is naturally apprehensive. I've been praying for her ever since.<br />
<br />
Her struggle is personal for me as conceiving of our first two children didn't come easy. All said and done it was only 17 months between the two of them, but those 17 months were filled with a lot of disappointments, questions and tears. <br />
I watched my sister and her husband struggle with infertility for three years - before my sister finally conceived their daughter she was no longer eating wheat, dairy, sugar or red meats; all in an effort to get her body to do what it was supposed to do.<br />
Currently I am watching one of my dearest friends struggle with secondary infertility. Her son just turned two and he is a joy. He was conceived immediately with only the fun kind of effort put into it. For over a year they have been waiting for the magic to happen again, but it has eluded them. Every milestone they celebrate with their son is shadowed with the knowledge that his "firsts" may be their "lasts". <br />
Another dear friend and her husband adopted four children and suffered multiple miscarriages before she conceived and delivered her first biological child.<br />
These stories are not unique. Unfortunately we all know someone who is currently infertile or who has struggled with infertility. Take a moment and head over to Busted Plumbing to see what Kate has to say on the issue. Then stop by <a href="http://www.resolve.org/support-and-services/for-family--friends/infertility-etiquette.html">resolve.org</a> to see how you can get involved in helping to find a cure for infertility and how you can support those you love who are living through this struggle.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.bustedplumbing.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="Busted Plumbing" border="0" height="125" src="http://i280.photobucket.com/albums/kk189/4MyDesigns/Buttons/bp_125_01.png" width="125" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-51219924552187420942010-04-27T15:14:00.000-07:002010-04-27T15:14:48.747-07:00What gets me through.Today I weighed myself and was a little disheartened. I am proud to say that I am at my goal weight (woot!) but there's something about working so hard to lose weight and then not losing weight that just weirds me out. So my day just started in a funk and continued that way.<br />
<br />
So, for dinner, I did what any good "wanna lose more weight" woman would do.<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I took these very healthy four ounce chicken breasts </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZGhqtILgX4nt9qrtVtO5NUuvp8v-JEhcWOOh8QYg1sbis1W59VG-zE-j5ljuJ6OJ52rOSfvrB7FuNB1oiFLTV7IJkXgEJBlXaKDLEcZ0QhKgT2cXspq-Jrk6L2D7zeVcrtpMVPjCeOxU/s1600/DSC_1031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZGhqtILgX4nt9qrtVtO5NUuvp8v-JEhcWOOh8QYg1sbis1W59VG-zE-j5ljuJ6OJ52rOSfvrB7FuNB1oiFLTV7IJkXgEJBlXaKDLEcZ0QhKgT2cXspq-Jrk6L2D7zeVcrtpMVPjCeOxU/s320/DSC_1031.JPG" tt="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>and dressed them up a bit.</em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCTRrnt6NgUg0C87hgkrtHzcBez7nW4obAjK4j0U3T6H3I7Nhi1ILV7q5ugB984vkydJDJ7H1zeDfFpX3GJKOv1pwYPiGnzD6fdwXMhcPTMjM_tNrKBlEjGzDEiD2Gpld7AplWpVZyPRo/s1600/DSC_1034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCTRrnt6NgUg0C87hgkrtHzcBez7nW4obAjK4j0U3T6H3I7Nhi1ILV7q5ugB984vkydJDJ7H1zeDfFpX3GJKOv1pwYPiGnzD6fdwXMhcPTMjM_tNrKBlEjGzDEiD2Gpld7AplWpVZyPRo/s320/DSC_1034.JPG" tt="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Work it girls. Work it.</em></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">And then I gave them a nice hot bath.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> </div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijlvUszx9cyQ01r8gHukq5qRBPWl4NLQ1XrMh5zY3ToBK7sENsikuoN-q6g4UwmCWbaSlQ51n7EwEaQ4uCX8PvNZmXBrLsEMxGX7HalKEaXwJaNwb3qSx6JURqyRTcbW3aAIieJJbICJE/s1600/DSC_1033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijlvUszx9cyQ01r8gHukq5qRBPWl4NLQ1XrMh5zY3ToBK7sENsikuoN-q6g4UwmCWbaSlQ51n7EwEaQ4uCX8PvNZmXBrLsEMxGX7HalKEaXwJaNwb3qSx6JURqyRTcbW3aAIieJJbICJE/s320/DSC_1033.JPG" tt="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Sizzle sizzle pop. Sounds of beauty and comfort.</em></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCbAGuDgcq5u1k7HqZala4Pm6Jv5vyl-7pUcTXaFE7PD1G9eKmiRTXK7t8vN84J0vJt1U7zMZNLrEfmrvd1AgfC_cROIW84vi5HE_V-Nvgr00D_nui7v_wWg7yDCqtceUmBJn2LVaiEw/s1600/DSC_1037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuCbAGuDgcq5u1k7HqZala4Pm6Jv5vyl-7pUcTXaFE7PD1G9eKmiRTXK7t8vN84J0vJt1U7zMZNLrEfmrvd1AgfC_cROIW84vi5HE_V-Nvgr00D_nui7v_wWg7yDCqtceUmBJn2LVaiEw/s320/DSC_1037.JPG" tt="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Gotta get both sides. An even tan is a must, after all.</em></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhY9CF-4XVk2P7TV3vu3FcU6KWyUv_njHmU2FctOzRE5B9DzNfi3ggjvH7YIlZ9pJx0t9dTzvXoTEthYsSPRk1XnISDC_og350lS0s-9oip94TfUtAETkWwAfSFoNAr6mEMvh2vzPyyWw/s1600/DSC_1048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhY9CF-4XVk2P7TV3vu3FcU6KWyUv_njHmU2FctOzRE5B9DzNfi3ggjvH7YIlZ9pJx0t9dTzvXoTEthYsSPRk1XnISDC_og350lS0s-9oip94TfUtAETkWwAfSFoNAr6mEMvh2vzPyyWw/s320/DSC_1048.JPG" tt="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>Oh, hello Pepper. Hello Thyme. I didn't see you there.</em></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCBJaxcocDw7rv3JYKSBik-DlCat6ze33Qp7WK7eJPy3iEpfu9JwAyo_XnZunFIZi6v3oHWbK6DPkbKRZeIk1RKrNPBsObEU6ijf7Y8cTmi-tl1IJvNN_VkEgUCPYcJK0Z3UJrvP_VBPg/s1600/DSC_1051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCBJaxcocDw7rv3JYKSBik-DlCat6ze33Qp7WK7eJPy3iEpfu9JwAyo_XnZunFIZi6v3oHWbK6DPkbKRZeIk1RKrNPBsObEU6ijf7Y8cTmi-tl1IJvNN_VkEgUCPYcJK0Z3UJrvP_VBPg/s320/DSC_1051.JPG" tt="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I didn't want them to be lonely, so I put them together with these.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdOrTF0WkFglKRhkgsjAVpkCzUe1QOqHdWK4DZ-Yy-jBrvSQr23beRp64IFpAbNPqJ_ApP0uPLdpUcZ82OKq_1GpCipIH_rh_qGuKyUpz8sDIL7RZEzK-ZE6hrY69H6FcRVOLGapd1Icc/s1600/DSC_1056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdOrTF0WkFglKRhkgsjAVpkCzUe1QOqHdWK4DZ-Yy-jBrvSQr23beRp64IFpAbNPqJ_ApP0uPLdpUcZ82OKq_1GpCipIH_rh_qGuKyUpz8sDIL7RZEzK-ZE6hrY69H6FcRVOLGapd1Icc/s320/DSC_1056.JPG" tt="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>My day started looking better</em>.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfsfmNaqSTsRmZuoIPOET5w_540lO6qlvthtRyO4jjrGsAVEtIGC2n2_nWkk2NXBZgFUch42bF2C6uo3Zvw80_0qIq4q2TdCrTsJTsM4qtsVcS24KLyq5fFgztVMOUtB1RW3sg2z_jqI4/s1600/DSC_1063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfsfmNaqSTsRmZuoIPOET5w_540lO6qlvthtRyO4jjrGsAVEtIGC2n2_nWkk2NXBZgFUch42bF2C6uo3Zvw80_0qIq4q2TdCrTsJTsM4qtsVcS24KLyq5fFgztVMOUtB1RW3sg2z_jqI4/s320/DSC_1063.JPG" tt="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>So did his, apparently.</em></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">And then I went to my parent's house. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My mom had these ...</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCdtG2Ka9mjwb6wJfOckvMnSSEASZSlU1sqIvjzGbn9kvF-5n7CMdFqObN3QjgG92msr_KVXgidV8SPgxSwySw_9hvzZqk67OQN85Rlk8-bDZMwew1tzmIvLHYybDfuqDdHd9vy8cA7Pc/s1600/DSC_1092.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCdtG2Ka9mjwb6wJfOckvMnSSEASZSlU1sqIvjzGbn9kvF-5n7CMdFqObN3QjgG92msr_KVXgidV8SPgxSwySw_9hvzZqk67OQN85Rlk8-bDZMwew1tzmIvLHYybDfuqDdHd9vy8cA7Pc/s320/DSC_1092.JPG" tt="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>(Those are chocolate covered marshmallows, in case you couldn't tell. Milk AND white chocolate.)</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>So we did this.</em></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjQEGBlpxLoMJ6IGsNsH3p2m-lTO0tcM6Z2H-w7cDlazeMkLKdl5lKAFs6DQzv1Scte_I7SAgMZBf8AGF9OLSLx6tGZQNHZ55NZOj78nkIjFjTVeii5dAseojKYINbjwKQ_auOKskkeZ8/s1600/DSC_1093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjQEGBlpxLoMJ6IGsNsH3p2m-lTO0tcM6Z2H-w7cDlazeMkLKdl5lKAFs6DQzv1Scte_I7SAgMZBf8AGF9OLSLx6tGZQNHZ55NZOj78nkIjFjTVeii5dAseojKYINbjwKQ_auOKskkeZ8/s320/DSC_1093.JPG" tt="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>And then magic happened. </em></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjVkMvSaNbhcBDhbtqUGDzum6PnpRqT3zoagAeMWV6pNZZvv7P-cCdckeQzN73Eb-PqTG72wf6GvBW4bsxtC_yq7l3cSFpoUwyPFJy-jfO8abwWgcwK3ZIs1kEvlQthokpY4WC9aauGHw/s1600/DSC_1100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjVkMvSaNbhcBDhbtqUGDzum6PnpRqT3zoagAeMWV6pNZZvv7P-cCdckeQzN73Eb-PqTG72wf6GvBW4bsxtC_yq7l3cSFpoUwyPFJy-jfO8abwWgcwK3ZIs1kEvlQthokpY4WC9aauGHw/s320/DSC_1100.JPG" tt="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>And now, all is right with the world. And I'm throwing my scale away.</em></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-82417081786816842832010-04-25T13:43:00.000-07:002010-04-25T13:43:54.403-07:00Learning some lessonsFor our son <a href="http://iheartacop.blogspot.com/2010/04/700.html">J's fifth birthday</a> we decided to surpirse our three oldest kids with a trip to the <a href="http://www.greatwolf.com/grandmound/waterpark">Great Wolf Lodge</a>. We had never been and thought it would be a nice little getaway - plus they offer a law enforcement discount so we couldn't say no! If you have one in your area and you haven't gone yet, GO! We all really enjoyed ourselves and will most certainly be going back. <br />
While there I learned quite a few life lessons; such as 24 oz. of canned beer is 24 oz. too many; pay the extra 28 cents for the bottle. Or never buy food from a restaraunt at a resort unless I like the feeling of being totally taken advantage of. Or puppets that pop out of stumps are as creepy to adults as they are to children. I kept making a mental list of each lesson I was taught and really couldn't wait to get home and jot them all down. You, of course, will get to be the beneficiary's of my great wisdom, although I only am sharing a few, which is probably a greater benefit to you than if I shared them all. <br />
<br />
Please to enjoy ...<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: purple; font-size: large;"><strong>Secrets of Life</strong></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: purple;">as taught to me by my stay at the Great Wolf Lodge</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: purple;">by Mama Hen</span></div><br />
<br />
<strong>Secret: My middle children are cautious.</strong> <br />
<strong>Life Lesson Learned</strong>: Spend a little bit of money on a small trip before spending a lot of money on a larger trip. Thankfully we were able to take our children to this fabulous resort for not so much money. We learned that our middle two children are <strike>weenies</strike> <strike>fearful</strike> cautious and are perfectly content spending hour upon hour in six inches of water and avoiding any form of slide, even if it is only 18 inches off the ground. I'm glad we didn't spring for the $3000 Disneyland trip quite yet.<br />
<br />
<strong>Secret: Not all tattoos are created equal.</strong><br />
<strong>Life Lesson Learned</strong>: Maybe tattos aren't as cool as I always thought they were.<br />
<br />
<strong>Secret: White bathing suits are a not a good idea. Ever. The End.</strong><br />
<strong>Life Lesson Learned</strong>: I like when there's a little left to the imagination. <br />
<br />
<strong>Secret</strong>: <strong>Apparently not everyone agrees with my definition of "bikini ready body".</strong> <br />
<strong>Life Lesson</strong>: I guess not everyone feels the need to have a flat stomach when they put on a bikini. Or that they should shave their upper thighs ... or, um, other areas that are generally considered "bikini ready". But they should ... they really really should. Not everyone should wear a bikini. They really really shouldn't. And hey, I've had four kids. I don't live under any illusion that I should be excluded from this category.<br />
<br />
<strong>Secret: Some women have beards. And moustaches.</strong><br />
<strong>Life Lesson</strong>: I will age gracefully. If that means electrolosis, waxing and shaving ... even my face ... then so be it. And if for some crazy reason I forget that women shouldn't have facial hair, I hope my friends (and husband) will remind me.<br />
<br />
<strong>Secret: Teenagers are the same now as they were 10 (ok ... 15) years ago when I was one.</strong><br />
<strong>Life Lesson</strong>: Teenage lifeguards are really good at checking out other teenagers in bathing suits, checking the pool for dead bodies and saying 'go' when it is safe to take your turn down a waterslide. Teenage lifeguards are not so good at watching for children who are drowning but not quite dead yet, hiding their disgust over hairy chests and making sure children don't pummel each other in the kiddie pool. Therefore, I will play the over protective Mother part well and keep an eye on my own kids, thank you very much. Besides, it feels good to be the first face your daughter sees when you save her from certain drowning in a wave pool. (...and back to the kiddie pool we go...)<br />
<br />
<strong>Secret: White wife beater tank tops don't cover very much. Ew.</strong><br />
<strong>Life Lesson</strong>: Ok, no life lesson here. Just a basic truth. Don't wear wife beaters. Especially if you plan on getting them wet. The end.<br />
<br />
<strong>Not So Secret: My husband values his family. </strong><br />
<strong>Life Lesson</strong>: Don't take him for granted. My husband is proud of his children ... and he's proud of me. He's willing to sit on a stationary jet ski for six hours just so his little girl will be happy and his middle son can have someone to shoot water at. He's willing to let a bucket holding 1000 gallons water dump over his head so that his oldest son can see it really isn't "that bad". He's willing to drive to Dairy Queen and get his wife a peanut buster parfait because "it's needed." He gives me all sorts of warm fuzzies and it is so important that I let him know how much that means to me.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh52-eLUPvE1AbPvoC-0g7eOA61n9VMYL1eN0qBHhxpiCrABHerO6DdBs4o9L-Nzggw85Z7-qi97sFanXlDdhekJTCqfHMmqq9xVVKgTBfZ-S2UGz6Zmi2RUdbtYB0qviSOCDdP1VduhCg/s1600/DSC_0806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh52-eLUPvE1AbPvoC-0g7eOA61n9VMYL1eN0qBHhxpiCrABHerO6DdBs4o9L-Nzggw85Z7-qi97sFanXlDdhekJTCqfHMmqq9xVVKgTBfZ-S2UGz6Zmi2RUdbtYB0qviSOCDdP1VduhCg/s320/DSC_0806.jpg" tt="true" width="320" /></a></div><div align="center"><em>Normal kids. Right?</em></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6955773427777033919.post-39370737206729871702010-04-19T13:52:00.000-07:002010-04-20T07:48:18.369-07:00Remember When Wednesdays<em>(I fully realize it is not Wednesday yet. However, I'm taking a blogging break for a few days to celebrate our son's fifth birthday so I felt the need to write this early.)</em><br />
<br />
<br />
7:00 a.m. I looked at the clock. Huh.<br />
I laid there for a second wondering what had woken me up when I felt it. A contraction. A real live oh-right-this-is-what-labor-feels-like contraction. <br />
<em>Dang. I better call Officer Hottie. I'll wait for another just to make sure.</em><br />
I got up to use the bathroom. Another hit. Time to call the hubby and tell him to come home from work.<br />
"Honey, I'm in labor."<br />
"You sure?"<br />
"Yup. I've only had two contractions, but this is it." I heard him begin to run.<br />
"I've got to get back to the shop then I'll be on my way."<br />
7:08 a.m. <em>Traffic is not going to be fun.</em><br />
"Mom? I think I'm having this baby. Can you come over and watch L?"<br />
"You sure?"<br />
"Yeah."<br />
"Be right over."<br />
L woke up. I got him out of his crib and sat down on the exercise ball as I snuggled him during my next contraction. <br />
<em>Wow. Where is my mom?</em><br />
As I popped a waffle in the toaster, got a sippy cup full of milk, and put L in the high chair I began to think about what the day would bring. Soon I would be holding another baby. I sat back down on the ball when another contraction began. <br />
<em>This is different than last time. Where is everyone?</em><br />
When Mom arrived I was mid-contraction. I couldn't talk to her.<br />
"Honey, how long have you been having contractions?"<br />
"What time is it?"<br />
"7:18" <br />
<em>Where is Hottie??</em><br />
"Um ... for 18 minutes."<br />
She gave me a look - I can't describe it but I think it was a mixture of excitement and total terror. 18 minutes is a fairly short time to be laboring - and to be sure the labor is going somewhere.<br />
Another contraction hit and I rocked back and forth on the ball. I tried having conversation with my mom, telling her where all of L's things were, who he was supposed to stay with, when to bring him to see us. I was pausing every few minutes to rock my hips back and forth on the exercise ball. A wave of relief washed over me as I heard OH pull into the driveway. The moment he walked in I stood up to go. My mom and he got the car loaded up with our overnight bag. I kissed L good-bye. <br />
"We're going to have the baby!" I said. I wondered if he even knew what I was talking about, or how much his little life was going to change. <br />
<em>Why is Hottie talking to my mom so long? SHUT UP!</em><br />
I started to walk to the car. I had to lean against the house since I couldn't walk through my next contraction. Thoughts of getting to the hospital and only being 3 centimeters dilated were running through my mind. <br />
<em>Like last time. But it feels so different this time.</em><br />
"I think you should get in the car," I heard my mom say to my husband. <br />
<em>Ya think?</em><br />
Officer Hottie lifted me into our car and hopped into the driver's seat.<br />
7:45 a.m.<br />
"Did you call the doctor yet?"<br />
"No."<br />
He dialed the phone. I was having another contraction and only heard him say, "Yeah, this is it. We'll see you at the hospital." Followed by, "Honey, traffic is bad."<br />
<em>Of course it is. </em><br />
"Can you also call Summer? I want to make sure she meets us there." I was determined to have a natural childbirth with my second baby and my friend had offered to be our doula. I knew I was going to need her encouragment if I was going to make it.<br />
<em>But this hurts. More than I remember. I wonder if Summer will be mad if I get drugs. Maybe she won't care.</em><br />
Contraction after contraction. OH decided SR-9 would be faster than I-5 and I hoped he was right. He was making phone calls while I labored. Melissa first. My cousin and best friend. I wanted her there. He told her he'd call back once we'd checked in. Then his sister-in-law who heard me moaning and started to cry. And finally my sister. He put her off until the end knowing she had made me promise to not go into labor on Wednesday. Any day but Wednesday. She answered the phone with, "You have to be kidding me. If you are in labor I'm going to cry." She started to cry. So did I. She missed L's birth because of work ... and now this one too. I really wanted her there. I cried until the next contraction hit and I had to concentrate.<br />
"We don't have a name if it's a boy," I said when the contraction was over. <br />
<em>Maybe we should have found out what we were having. Maybe we'd have settled on a name by now.</em><br />
"I know. I still like J."<br />
"Me too. What if it doesn't fit?"<br />
"We'll see when he gets here I guess." Good enough for now.<br />
I turned sideways to see if that would be more comfortable. I gripped the seat and the center console. I leaned forward and lay my head on the dashboard. I considered turning around and hugging the back of my seat. The only thing that seemed to help was making noise. <br />
<em>Why does this hurt so bad?</em> <br />
I glared at the cars around us. <br />
<em>They really should get out of our way. Don't they know what I'm going through? Why did we choose to deliver so far from home? Seriously.</em><br />
8:05 ... 8:25 ... 8:37 ... 8: 50 ...<br />
"Honey, close your eyes."<br />
My eyes had been shut tight until he said that.<br />
"Why?" I looked around and realized traffic was at a stand still but we were racing along in the carpool lane at 40 miles per hour, passing car after car. Our exit was less than 1/2 mile away. <br />
<em>We're going to miss the exit. WE'RE GOING TO MISS THE EXIT!</em><br />
"<strong>OH MY GOD WE'RE GOING TO MISS THE EXIT!"</strong> I screamed as another contraction hit.<br />
"I told you to close your eyes!"<br />
I watched him yank the steering wheel off to the right and somehow, miraculously, we missed every car while crossing four lanes of traffic to make our exit. <br />
I could hear him muttering under his breath, "Thank you Lord. Thank you Lord."<br />
The light at the exit was red. 8:54.<br />
The next two lights were red. The people in the car next to us were laughing. <br />
<em>Stupid idiots. Stupid stupid idiots. They are so stupid. Stup---</em> it's too hard to hate and have contractions at the same time.<br />
"Honey, just think, you're probably at 5 centimeters by now! Halfway there!"<br />
<em>I hope you're right. </em><br />
We arrived. They saw OH helping me out of the car and brought a wheelchair. <br />
"Your doctor called and your room is ready."<br />
"Good, because I think this baby might fall out."<br />
"Honey, that's a good sign!" <br />
<em>Stupid nurse. Nothing is good.</em><br />
They handed me a robe to change into as soon as I was wheeled into my room. I had four contractions while changing. They put a blood pressure cuff on me. I was hot. Really really hot. I took the blood pressure cuff off. And then my robe. I didn't care. I was hot. <br />
"You're at 7." <br />
<em>Further along than I had hoped! That's good! No one is here yet ... where is my mom? Where is Summer? Where is Melissa? Where is our camera?</em><br />
They put the cuff back on me. I took it off. It went back on. I ripped it off. They demanded I keep it on. I refused.<br />
Officer Hottie was trying to talk me through contractions. I just made noise. <br />
A nurse said, "Stop pushing." When I told her I wasn't she said, "Every time you scream you push. You need to stop screaming." She blew on my face to help me calm down. I think she had just had her coffee and cigarette break. I screamed in her face then told Hottie to go brush his teeth.<br />
"Your dad is here." I was so glad to hear it but I couldn't open my eyes. "Can you at least put a sheet on me?" I managed to squeek out. The nurse took advantage of the moment and put the blood pressure cuff back on. <br />
<em>That nurse should be happy I don't have enough energy to kick her.</em><br />
I felt someone grab my toe.<br />
"Hi honey." Daddy. I could only moan. "I'm in the hallway," he said. I moaned some more and ripped the sheet and cuff off as soon as my dad cleared the room.<br />
<em>I can't do this. I want an epidural.</em><br />
"I want an epidural."<br />
"You can do this! You're at a seven, probaby an 8 by now." I said a few things. I screamed a little bit more. Poor OH. "She wants an epidural."<br />
They paged the anesthesiolgist. The nursed checked me again. I saw my savior, the anesthiologist, walk into the room as the nurse said, "You're at a 9." My hope faded as the doctor shrugged his shoulders, turned and walked back out the door. I realized I was getting what I wanted. And it sucked. Yet somehow, amidst the pain I felt excitement and a new determination. I was really going to do this - even if only because I didn't have a choice. I was so exhausted between contractions I almost fell asleep. More and more contractions with hardly a rest in between. Until all of a sudden I felt like I had to use the bathroom. I knew what that meant.<br />
"I think I need to push."<br />
"You can try."<br />
The urge completely took over. Officer Hottie stroked my arm, counting quietly to ten as I pushed. A nurse came over to check. "Where is your doctor?" she asked no one in particular, sounding a little worried. She walked over to the intercom and I heard over the speakers, "We need <em>any</em> OB to room 203. <em>ANY </em>available OB."<br />
<em>Oh boy. </em><br />
"Can you hold your legs while you're pushing?" <br />
<em>Lady, I can't even open my eyes. If you want my legs somewhere ... </em>"Move them yourself." <br />
Officer Hottie grabbed a leg, kissed me, and glared at the nurse. He's always been on my side. I love that man.<br />
At that moment my doctor walked into the room. He greeted Officer Hottie, he smiled at me, he walked over and said, "How are we do - oh boy! We're having a baby!"<br />
"I told you to hurry," retorted the nurse. She canceled the call for any OB and quickly helped the doctor put his scrubs on. I kept pushing. "Can you stop?" the doctor asked. I responded with another push.<br />
"I'm going to break your water," he said. "The baby is crowning and I don't want it to break while you're pushing." <br />
<em>I don't really care if the water breaks on the you. Just get my baby out.</em><br />
I felt the warm fluid pooling around my waist and then a feeling like I was going to explode; like I was going to be torn arpart right down the middle, but I couldn't stop pushing.<br />
Then relief as the baby's head came out. And a cry. My baby. Another push and I heard my husband say, "It's a boy!" A boy. I knew it. Even though I didn't <em>know, </em>I knew. I was too exhausted to cry and so relieved he was there. <br />
<em>What just happened? Did that just happen?</em><br />
"Look at this umbilical cord!" the doctor exclaimed. I opened my eyes to see him holding up the cord and giving me a thumbs up. It's funny the moments of clarity one can have when there is such choas and craziness going on.<br />
<em>I so wish I had a camera. You have got to be kidding me; that is one of the funniest most dorky things I have ever seen. Is he really giving my son's umbilical cord a thumb's up?</em><br />
It is forever engraved in my mind.<br />
"HE'S ALREADY HERE?" I heard from the hall. Summer. The doula. "I missed it? I had to stop for coffee! I left as soon as you called!"<br />
I heard my dad talking on the phone with my mom. I could tell he was trying to calm her down. She wasn't happy to have missed the birth.<br />
"Why didn't you call me? I was sitting in the parking garage waiting for you to call!" Melissa. She had been there! And still she missed it.<br />
"That was fast!" Over and over I kept hearing how fast everything was; how fast they had driven, how fast they had gotten dressed, how fast, fast, fast. It wasn't registering.<br />
I just wanted to hold my baby. The cigarette nurse refused to let me hold him until she swaddled and weighed him. 8 pounds 12 ounces. She finally gave him to me and I unswaddled him quickly to check his entire body. He was perfect. His cheeks were chubby. He looked just like his brother. And Daddy. He had red hair. The nurses told me I had to try using the bathroom. I reluctanly handed the baby to my husband so I could use the restroom. It had only been twenty minutes since I'd delivered but it felt so good to get up and move. Then I emptied my bladder; fully and completely for the first time in months. The only thing that felt better was not having nearly nine pounds of baby kicking my ribs.<br />
I hobbled back to the bed where my son was once again placed in my arms. Everyone wanted to come in and see the him. My mom and dad, my mother and father-in-law, my brothers, my cousin, my friends. Our oldest son. That felt weird to say. We had an oldest. <br />
"What time was he born?" I heard someone ask. I realized I was dying to know the answer.<br />
"9:22" was the response. Officer Hottie and I looked at each other and began to laugh. Our little rocket. Two hours and twenty-two minutes of labor. Not too shabby. Officer Hottie still says the baby used my ribs as his launching pad.<br />
<em>No wonder it felt so different this time around. </em><br />
Summer kept calling me a rock star. I didn't feel like one; I tried to get drugs and it was too late. She encouraged me, "No matter! You didn't get the drugs - regardless of the reason you did it! In less than two and a half hours! Rock star!" I still embarrassed me, but if I was being honest I had to admit I felt like a badass. Summer was my only friend who had delivered drug-free at that point in my life.<br />
<em>I want to nurse my baby. </em><br />
Almost as if on cue our loved ones started to filter out of the room. My mom, mother in law and L stayed behind. L didn't want OH to put him down. He clung to his dad for dear life. <br />
<em>I bet he's starting to get that his life is changing. Does he know how much I still love him? I didn't know I could love two children with such intensity. Does he know that hasn't changed?</em><br />
I unwrapped my newborn son and put him to my breast. He looked at me with gorgeous dark eyes and began to suckle immediately. <br />
<em>Baby, I love you. I waited for you. I prayed for you. I begged God to give you to me. He made us wait seven months to conceive you and another nine months to hold you. Here you are. Completely worth the wait. Praise the Lord.</em><br />
My very pregnant cousin, Melissa, asked, "Would you do it again? Should I go for natural?" <br />
<em>Hell no. </em>"It sucks ... but it feels good too. Don't really know how to explain it."<br />
"Do you have a name yet?" our mothers asked.<br />
"No. We're thinking J but aren't totally sure yet."<br />
We decided Officer Hottie should call his cousin to look up the meaning of the name J. <br />
"Let God Be Praised."<br />
J was the perfect name for our new addition. Looking into his face I could feel praises welling up inside of me. Looking at a perfect miracle, touching his tiny fingers, hearing his quiet breathing, watching him nurse, I was overwhelmed with thanks and gratitude to God for giving me such a blessing.<br />
<br />
My praises haven't stopped even though he is five now. I love him. I praise God for him. He has changed my life and brought our family so much joy. He was worth every month of heartache trying to conceive and every month of anticipation while he was growing in my womb. He was, and still is, the perfect son for us. <br />
<br />
Let God be praised.<br />
<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO30uXIR6T-OziA4Rx3aCzyEuXE1DE8nUMDjpJ86P_jP_89RLEfhtUjF1176-Oa661q1FCoyXo0FlYNc_5gxaZJOvb1avVwCBMQ-HAoH2uadHSEYNc_44PavLpNKo1-xkibvHbUT7zoQ0/s1600/002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="236" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO30uXIR6T-OziA4Rx3aCzyEuXE1DE8nUMDjpJ86P_jP_89RLEfhtUjF1176-Oa661q1FCoyXo0FlYNc_5gxaZJOvb1avVwCBMQ-HAoH2uadHSEYNc_44PavLpNKo1-xkibvHbUT7zoQ0/s320/002.jpg" width="320" wt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>April 20, 2005 </em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>8 lb 12 oz; 21.5 in</em></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>9:22 a.m.</em></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBGMtcXnUqVQj0kl_iJH1g3kOJzm_QggrXGFyxaScJ8A4Egoyt4mZ9AUt-So6ohd0OODNv_r1FLz_IcwYwP9hXXGyTZbXRV9uLX6qzvMDKoGX8Cr_Q9OrTJHlmAjDbooytaVUeZG6qrDA/s1600/DSC_0760.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBGMtcXnUqVQj0kl_iJH1g3kOJzm_QggrXGFyxaScJ8A4Egoyt4mZ9AUt-So6ohd0OODNv_r1FLz_IcwYwP9hXXGyTZbXRV9uLX6qzvMDKoGX8Cr_Q9OrTJHlmAjDbooytaVUeZG6qrDA/s320/DSC_0760.jpg" width="320" wt="true" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em>April 20, 2010</em></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2