tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43022800365285315722024-03-15T12:30:01.113-07:00Between the LinesAnndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.comBlogger119125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-13494741936719190512024-03-15T11:52:00.000-07:002024-03-15T12:29:30.217-07:00Free St. Patrick's Day Science Lab Activity for Kids<p><span style="font-family: verdana;"> </span></p><h1 style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;"><u>St. Patrick's Day Science Lab</u></span></h1><h3 style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: medium;">A fun, free activity for kids</span></h3><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"> </span>Teaching preschool this year has given me lots of excuses to be a little extra when it comes to crafts and other kid activities. But without fail, my older kids come home and ask to do the same activities that I just did with my preschoolers! So this St. Patrick's Day I decided to put together a few fun activities for them, and this science lab activity was a HIT. And good news- you can do all of this with stuff you (probably) have at home. Keep reading for more!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-small;">Disclaimer: This post contains affiliate links. Learn more about them <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/11MyFbuJepEtrb5otRsyAyY3stmFrd0LC/view?usp=sharing" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">here</a>!</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTnxEYcjn88MyetKa6x2a7FsfcCW837-t6iqdZrSq5SNKShcW-849EDN8l0X4rDLjNJxgDxf_KBFSv6kh_-cJNQDVedwigcuHeYEVc1ITBbR4VXEtlKEq2_WONhuKMxl1OE2q8oHqcQ08GX9iZCwcMcTqrG0t_Zsb6I2r7KyIk_wb06zCkTDEolMpj3Mk/s4624/PXL_20240315_171732038.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3472" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTnxEYcjn88MyetKa6x2a7FsfcCW837-t6iqdZrSq5SNKShcW-849EDN8l0X4rDLjNJxgDxf_KBFSv6kh_-cJNQDVedwigcuHeYEVc1ITBbR4VXEtlKEq2_WONhuKMxl1OE2q8oHqcQ08GX9iZCwcMcTqrG0t_Zsb6I2r7KyIk_wb06zCkTDEolMpj3Mk/s320/PXL_20240315_171732038.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><h3><u><span style="font-family: verdana;">Science for all ages</span></u></h3><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">The hardest part of these activities is trying to cater them to all my kids. They range from 3 years to 8 years old, and they are all at such different stages of learning. This turned out to be a really fun and simple idea that kept all of them engaged, which is a huge win in my book!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><h3 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><u>What you Need</u></span></h3><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;">Let's break this into two parts... we'll call it "being extra" and "surviving". Because I think you can do fun kid activities no matter which stage you're in. So...</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><u><b>Being Extra:</b></u></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Food Coloring (red, yellow, blue)</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;"><a href="https://amzn.to/3PoA5Sl" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"><span style="color: #ff00fe;">Pipettes</span></a> (we use these so much!)</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">St. Patricks Pots (we got these from Dollar Tree)</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Baking Soda</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Vinegar</span></li></ul><div><div><span style="font-family: verdana;"><u><b>Surviving:</b></u></span></div><div><ul><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Food Coloring (red, yellow, blue)</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Cups, Bowls, whatever you've got</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Baking Soda</span></li><li><span style="font-family: verdana;">Vinegar</span></li></ul><h3 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><u>The Activity... Finally!</u></span></h3></div></div></div><span><div style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;">A little prep first: click the "download" button below, and print off the two pages for this activity. Or, grab some notebook paper and list 1-10 on each page. Mark each pot (or cup, bowl, whatever you're using) with a number 1-10. Now, you'll just put a couple drops of food coloring in the bottom of each pot, and cover it with some baking soda so you can't see the color. Make sure you write down which colors you used on your "key" paper.</div><div style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;">Then fill 3 cups with vinegar and add red to one, yellow to one, and blue to the last. If you don't have pipettes, you can use medicine droppers, or simply pour a little bit of the color.</div><div style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtG8NRPhgSt_hN9xSjHmZcGbdDmOUiZM4hxewMDatpR1Od0MFeADop_gVDbyDf35CNz_ypceggkiB6INK-dLYJqOtt5jYzp3Td6pIVTp59IB91n1CitK8CHxmZIJqQBfQ-u8_X_camfBsS9q4GLmbFXbmU7Vk9oZMdnaA8x3izXGFTGn8YCeaBriCx7po/s4624/PXL_20240315_173936402.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3472" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtG8NRPhgSt_hN9xSjHmZcGbdDmOUiZM4hxewMDatpR1Od0MFeADop_gVDbyDf35CNz_ypceggkiB6INK-dLYJqOtt5jYzp3Td6pIVTp59IB91n1CitK8CHxmZIJqQBfQ-u8_X_camfBsS9q4GLmbFXbmU7Vk9oZMdnaA8x3izXGFTGn8YCeaBriCx7po/s320/PXL_20240315_173936402.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;">Have them observe what color it turns and deduce what the first color must have been. (If you added red and it turned orange, it must have been yellow.) The real trick is when they add the same color and have to figure out what that means!</div><div style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;">A couple rules we used:</div><div style="text-align: left;"><ol style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;"><li>Take turns.</li><li>Each kid had to try each color once.</li><li>No touching the pots to try to see the color before you've added your vinegar color.</li></ol><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: verdana; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrWYrYq2RZES8FxsDRJZuWeGz1nCAepMwVyt0TdWKMe9GMdpymhoStLO1Dqc1Z3LFXbtHXP93rCFY1av1U2omHw43xge0s05NQhclWgrNYrdjqFTEHqNPTFf3ix_CpZnMwx-kVkxlwkLgi8am1ASNBBSNI5VeDcXta7rowrXkswo6U6XA_2A0Z0DWgXwI/s4624/PXL_20240315_174138674.MP.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3472" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrWYrYq2RZES8FxsDRJZuWeGz1nCAepMwVyt0TdWKMe9GMdpymhoStLO1Dqc1Z3LFXbtHXP93rCFY1av1U2omHw43xge0s05NQhclWgrNYrdjqFTEHqNPTFf3ix_CpZnMwx-kVkxlwkLgi8am1ASNBBSNI5VeDcXta7rowrXkswo6U6XA_2A0Z0DWgXwI/s320/PXL_20240315_174138674.MP.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: verdana; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><h3 style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><u>That's it!</u></span></h3></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; text-align: center;"><div style="font-family: verdana; text-align: left;">In the end, we checked their answers against my answer key. This turned out to be such a fun and simple activity for each of my kids, and it was so cute seeing them work together. And as an added bonus, my son pointed out that these pots of gold look like witch's cauldrons, so guess what we'll be doing for Halloween?</div></span><div style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></div></div></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAqN0MVsjzwb9-UlfzLpjHZmAXpzMjSJ57AfMZic_kNQn4E5iB9TKf9ksJNLxTEpYqg6zIprgZbHkajVjuFARFRnRj7lixjBOLIAGY63uFtHo1TO5bXYaiXugc8Vyq7ch8LtnD_5v8S8lcK6PHSgjRbj59ra-gqBz0ThS5LAOsKHIL5ApFxL_B0Tvbkm0/s4624/PXL_20240315_175228121.MP.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4624" data-original-width="3472" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAqN0MVsjzwb9-UlfzLpjHZmAXpzMjSJ57AfMZic_kNQn4E5iB9TKf9ksJNLxTEpYqg6zIprgZbHkajVjuFARFRnRj7lixjBOLIAGY63uFtHo1TO5bXYaiXugc8Vyq7ch8LtnD_5v8S8lcK6PHSgjRbj59ra-gqBz0ThS5LAOsKHIL5ApFxL_B0Tvbkm0/w480-h640/PXL_20240315_175228121.MP.jpg" width="480" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="font-family: verdana;">If you want to join us in this quick activity, just click the download button below and happy playing!<br /></span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/10_WSIeZTpR7fVaMhasphvliJQlbewa8j/view?usp=sharing" rel="nofollow" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: verdana;"><img border="0" data-original-height="200" data-original-width="400" height="160" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7dFLs9pNW_Hb-WLgTePgfvwn1h2frXh3bPeikoSkhzi6FPbPQy-zVJ845KOnM2oaVZZYH_c-c1u-9w1aB1jV4HNGBbk7GNe72zMHvmmgN_purDFvPCsZHkB8GFb4ckPvWzARRDuiYW3grIUoDPT7awW0Tw8IQP1LHzlRx_8jZ5PVxLyrT5YDkWGBp-44/s320/Download%20Here!.png" width="320" /></span></a></div><br /><p></p>Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-35534633495212479802021-09-01T09:27:00.002-07:002021-09-01T09:38:42.481-07:0020 Ideas to Get 20 Minutes of Reading Every Night<p>If I know anything about the public school system, it's that your kids came home from the first day of school with the nightly homework of reading for 20 minutes. Obviously I am a huge proponent of reading, but I also want to instill in my kids a LOVE of reading, not just an ability to read. Frankly, I don't know a single kid who likes reading, "Nan ran, Ben sat, Ted talks" (I know what I said) for twenty minutes a night. Luckily, I believe there is a better way! Here are 20 ideas of ways to check off that reading homework box every night without resorting to the "sit at the table and read your baggie book" method.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: medium;">Play a Word Game</span></u></p><p>Scrabble, Upwords, and our personal favorite, Letter Tycoon, are all easy ways to get your kid reading without them even realizing what's happening. If you don't have any of these, you can print off or make your own cards with letters on them and play Go Fish to make words.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO04zzgfVfQtUwHeQzvj8egFGrFMAc0SCnuyEUpbV78VQBP2WWxa1YqN1JsGDwJ9iQl7CIQnaRo-M8pqbMabLEPAjL03J2lMsZEIZoBcDehxxkeQcxkzJmvUsgMNe-HanPe8oyggAnDxQ/s2000/238808301_1286869258435165_8233897240593460734_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1125" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO04zzgfVfQtUwHeQzvj8egFGrFMAc0SCnuyEUpbV78VQBP2WWxa1YqN1JsGDwJ9iQl7CIQnaRo-M8pqbMabLEPAjL03J2lMsZEIZoBcDehxxkeQcxkzJmvUsgMNe-HanPe8oyggAnDxQ/s320/238808301_1286869258435165_8233897240593460734_n.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: medium;">Stuffed Animal Note</span></u></p><p style="text-align: left;">My oldest usually brings his favorite stuffed animal upstairs in the mornings, so she started leaving him notes for when he got home from school. I don't do it every day, but he is always tickled pink to find a note from her. (And bonus, he's in dual immersion this year so I used this note to help him practice a little Spanish.)</p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEkFecUYkLqgN8yl-W_81-vcuFtqSEW6Lrpwd-9ZZlPZDVcKlA6AmimoqJt3_tGex-gnSd14Q9Qm42kQ47hvn2eDu06wMGaEpboTURVPAjTKdGFf-Gk1Ej8sQf7P9GBFhqMlxVICLxDqc/s2000/238739085_812320846108037_862636286545828149_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1125" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEkFecUYkLqgN8yl-W_81-vcuFtqSEW6Lrpwd-9ZZlPZDVcKlA6AmimoqJt3_tGex-gnSd14Q9Qm42kQ47hvn2eDu06wMGaEpboTURVPAjTKdGFf-Gk1Ej8sQf7P9GBFhqMlxVICLxDqc/s320/238739085_812320846108037_862636286545828149_n.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><u><br /></u><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: medium;">Co-op Bedtime Story</span></u></p><p style="text-align: left;">As long as my kids want me to read them bedtime stories, I am happy to do it. But now that my oldest can read, I will randomly have him read a paragraph or a page in the middle of the story, usually during a tense moment where he wants to know what happens next. This also works for kids just learning to read- just have them name the letters, say their sounds, or tell you the sight words they know. For older kids, you can switch off reading chapters or tell them you get to be the kid tonight while they read a chapter to you. (Hint: make sure to ask questions as they're reading. Good reading skills aren't just about sounding out words- comprehension is even more important!)</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u>Scripture Study</u></span></p><p style="text-align: left;">Let your kids help with nightly scripture study by reading a paragraph or two. The words and language are generally much harder, so this is a great exercise for their brains! (Same rules as above apply to younger or older kids.)</p><p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: medium;">Write your own story</span></u></p><p>Play author and write your own stories! I like to cut up printer paper, staple it into a tiny book, and let them go to town. If they need some help, give them a character or idea to run with. My kids love Mo Willems pigeon books, so in the past we've written our own pigeon books to see what shenanigans we can get him up to. (I say "we" because I can't help myself- I am usually making a book with them. They love it and those silly books usually become some of their favorite bedtime stories.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR2NtqjK4v9W6_Iu-esOhQnOt_M_UvaJqtxdVUhNj7Nr4sIeDs2wHpFjrLcq-UfUK96OnCtVY0gp33-al-oxywVwU280wFyC1DcOngHV_cbUd63q5z9GROQfP2cTMy1TOGVBJasMxtVKw/s2000/237785289_561478945281420_9074041228255183470_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="1125" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR2NtqjK4v9W6_Iu-esOhQnOt_M_UvaJqtxdVUhNj7Nr4sIeDs2wHpFjrLcq-UfUK96OnCtVY0gp33-al-oxywVwU280wFyC1DcOngHV_cbUd63q5z9GROQfP2cTMy1TOGVBJasMxtVKw/s320/237785289_561478945281420_9074041228255183470_n.jpg" width="180" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: medium;">Play Teacher</span></u></p><p>Have your kids play teacher to you, younger siblings, or even pets or stuffed animals. Give them a white board to draw on, books to read for story time, and there will be sure to be plenty of reading amidst the playing.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u>Pass the Parent Test</u></span></p><p>Read to them- a short story, chapter from a book, anything at all- and then let them write a test for you to take about what you read them. See how close both of you were paying attention!</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: medium;">Read a Bedtime Story to a Sibling</span></u></p><p>This is adorable and doesn't feel like a chore for them (usually). If they don't have a sibling to read to, let them tuck in a doll or stuffed animal. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwR4-c3wm2AIiXxSdDC7gj1oRrXogxILESMthDXVWohVwwFds5MNoVP3_zmTrtA0VsWcHbFjnTu_O5ubc8X1TyKRFzOuGbEof8dKMg6zyH6TD-8yCo0SdFJSttZggpKdH080PTwrOCmkg/s2048/241121795_1554032694945562_8177674263997523352_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwR4-c3wm2AIiXxSdDC7gj1oRrXogxILESMthDXVWohVwwFds5MNoVP3_zmTrtA0VsWcHbFjnTu_O5ubc8X1TyKRFzOuGbEof8dKMg6zyH6TD-8yCo0SdFJSttZggpKdH080PTwrOCmkg/s320/241121795_1554032694945562_8177674263997523352_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: medium;">Make a Recipe</span></u></p><p>Let your kids help with dinner or dessert, and make them read you each ingredient on a recipe card or blog. (Finally, a use for those long drawn-out stories at the beginning of recipe blogs.) </p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: medium;">Write Letters</span></u></p><p>Send a letter or thank you card to friends or grandparents. Let them write the letter themselves and read it to you when they're done. Usually writing one letter spawns another and another, and who doesn't like getting a good old fashioned letter in the mail?</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: medium;">Help with grocery or to do lists</span></u></p><p>When you need to add or cross off something from a grocery or to-do list, let your kids do it for you. Have them search for a specific item on the list to cross it off. Plus, this is one less thing for you to do.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: medium;">Scavenger Hunt</span></u></p><p>Quick & easy- there are tons of lists online that you can print off and have kids check off as they find things. This one from <a href="https://www.printablesfairy.com/printable-fall-scavenger-hunt/">printablesfairy.com</a> is perfect for Fall.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCFg8Q0pikfkx6bjK740FrBVhTU1cpssreqpaAkUO7MSbaHhcAPbZMzSY5x5Rmez9YLweAuEKsDxcM7065GZ9WN9rFmwylizOTP1RdHczsK6aXq4kT9S3qiduQJ8a1faiC885mB27q3J0/s600/Fall-Scavenger-Hunt.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="338" data-original-width="600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCFg8Q0pikfkx6bjK740FrBVhTU1cpssreqpaAkUO7MSbaHhcAPbZMzSY5x5Rmez9YLweAuEKsDxcM7065GZ9WN9rFmwylizOTP1RdHczsK6aXq4kT9S3qiduQJ8a1faiC885mB27q3J0/s320/Fall-Scavenger-Hunt.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: medium;">Detectives</span></u></p><p>Similar to a scavenger hunt, write clues and hide them throughout the house, one leading to another until they get to a "prize" at the end. This can be as simple as a final note saying "You did it!" Make sure to save the papers to do again in a month or so- they won't remember.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: medium;">Make a Bucket List</span></u></p><p>Usually in the summers I will make a summer bucket list that we check off as a family. This year, my six year old made his own bucket list and it turned out to be the cutest thing. It contained just gems as "go outside with mom" (we just had to go stand outside. That was it.) and "do whatever I want." You can get specific and make bucket lists for seasons, holidays, or even just the weekend, or you can make a general bucket list of things they want to do in their lives.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: medium;">Calendar</span></u></p><p>Let your kids help you fill in a calendar for the month. Have them add things you have to do, as well as some things they want to do. (Put that bucket list from above to use!)</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: medium;">Check off "want" lists</span></u></p><p>Birthday, Christmas, groceries... make a list of items and let your kids read through and check off the things they want. Make sure to include gross or silly things they definitely don't want so they don't just check off everything.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: medium;">Glue Stories</span></u></p><p style="text-align: center;">Print off a bunch of random words and let your kids cut them apart and glue them back together into a story. (Kids will do anything if you let them use glue. It's like magic.) Leave blank papers so they can add their own words, and include plenty of "the" "and", etc. and phrases like "once upon a time" and "The end".</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: medium;">Letter toys</span></u></p><p>There are so many fun and cute letter toys- resin letters, magnetic letters, foam letters, blocks- but if you don't have any of these, just write letters on individual small pieces of paper or post it's and then say words and see how fast your kids can spell them with their letters.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><u>Put on a Play</u></span></p><p>Write for them or have your kids write a script for a play or puppet show. Have them memorize their lines or read them as they act it out for you. Also a good excuse to dress up.</p><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;"><u><span style="font-size: medium;">Races</span></u></p><p>Give them something to read- anything, junk mail, something on your phone, this blog- and time them for 1 minute and see how much they can read. Then time them again and see if they can read even farther.</p><p><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Bonus tip</span>: Don't be picky about what they read. "Captain Underpants" will get the job done just as easily as Shakespeare and they'll enjoy it a lot more in the process.</p><p><br /></p><p>What did I miss?? What works for your family to teach your kids to love reading without getting burned out in the process?</p>Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-86692222709305859962021-08-06T14:11:00.000-07:002021-08-06T14:11:36.619-07:00Grief<p> I haven't posted anything here in over a year, but true to myself I end up writing a lot more when times are hard. It probably comes across that my life is full of anger and frustrations, but I just don't find myself wanting to write much when everything is hunky-dory. Probably because I'd end up using words like hunky-dory. So basically, it's a good thing you haven't heard from me here in a year. </p><p>But boy, what a summer it's been.</p><p>Rather than focusing on that, I wanted to share some of what I've learned this summer about grief. I hope this doesn't come across as completely preachy, because full disclosure: I've never been great with grief. I've been lucky enough in my life to not have to deal with much until now. When my cousin died nearly 3 years ago, I went over to his sister's house to be with her. She has always been the closest thing I've ever had to a sister, and I was mourning him too, but I didn't know how to deal with it or what to say. I remember sitting there awkwardly, feeling like I was in the way, when her friend came over to visit and immediately hugged her. I thought, well <i>duh </i>Anndee. You could have hugged her. </p><p>All this to say, I was an infant when it came to grief, and after this summer, I'm maybe a toddler. And now I want to tell you how to do it, like all toddlers do. So buckle up.</p><p>The BIGGEST thing is that we need to be there for each other during the hard times. It's easy to avoid someone who is having a rough time, or feel like they don't want to talk to us because we don't know how to help. But let me pull from one of the deepest pits of my soul some song lyrics that changed my life in the 90's:</p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">All you people can't you see, can't you see</span></div><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><div style="text-align: center;">How your love's affecting our reality</div></span><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><div style="text-align: center;">Every time we're down</div></span><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><div style="text-align: center;">You can make it right</div></span><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><div style="text-align: center;">And that makes you larger than life</div></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span jsname="YS01Ge" style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">-Backstreet Boys</span></p><p>I know. Legends.</p><p>Or maybe it's more appropriate to say: we should mourn with those that mourn, and comfort those that stand in need of comfort.</p><p>I get that in the midst of a trial or a tragedy, "comfort" feels like basically the least you can do. But trust me, <i>it is so needed</i>. You can't fix the problem, but you can sit with someone while they deal with it, and just not feeling alone is huge. Being able to hand someone your pain when it is so heavy and having them say I can take a little bit of this off your shoulders can change everything. </p><p>I know so much of how we deal with grief is cultural and I have to say... we're doing it all wrong. If you find yourself saying the words, "Let me know if I can do anything", you've made a wrong turn. I know that's the usual response. I know you actually do want to help. But those words are a really nice way to feel like you've helped, without actually ever helping.</p><p>"Do you need anything?" Yes:</p><p>Dinner. We all gotta eat fifty times a day (or is that just my kids?) so food is always a great go-to even if you're afraid you're just one in a train of many bringing food over. Do it anyway. Money. I know, it's an awkward one, but it's usually true. Gas cards. A clean house. Someone to mow the lawn. Child care. At the very least, a text checking in on how you're doing. </p><p>There is ALWAYS something you can do, but if you ask, most people won't tell you any of that. It's awkward, and we are a people who like to pick ourselves up by our own bootstraps, even though by very definiton that's impossible. So instead of asking, just do something. Show that you are there and willing to help and then maybe they'll feel safer asking for those little things that are so hard to ask for.</p><p>And finally, if someone shares with you the hard thing that they are struggling with, don't immediately start listing all the bad things that have ever happened to you, or even worse, to someone you know. We get it: life stinks sometimes. But those kind of conversations usually don't leave anyone feeling validated for their feelings. I try really hard not to be offended by those kinds of conversations because I know I've done the same thing a thousand times, but this is teaching me to be better. You learn so much more from listening than you ever will from talking, and sometimes, that little release is all someone needs.</p><p>I've had so many friends through this who I haven't even seen in person for months, but I know I can text them when I'm extra sad and they will listen and just be sad with me. I have people who check in even when they know it's usually bad news, and they haven't walked away yet. I am so, so grateful for those who have just stepped in and helped my family without question. Sometimes the weight of grief makes the whole world seem so much darker, and people who are willing to mourn with you are like a light in all that darkness. </p><p>Everyone you meet is going through something. Let's work to just be a little kinder and lift each other up. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZXq_nBLEtM8BCRRnYQRZ2AFn0Q4sQS18TXSuYZEHR9lodAMIVMP6g9qSIDmgbcOOve5wcocTCZ_XRnFuW-b0nhSmaUfpp8dkA0b5d0DWxYpqXFoYkC12BU8oY78nSvulh6v0cWh3yyDM/s2048/ASHCO_Anndee_Family_019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZXq_nBLEtM8BCRRnYQRZ2AFn0Q4sQS18TXSuYZEHR9lodAMIVMP6g9qSIDmgbcOOve5wcocTCZ_XRnFuW-b0nhSmaUfpp8dkA0b5d0DWxYpqXFoYkC12BU8oY78nSvulh6v0cWh3yyDM/w400-h266/ASHCO_Anndee_Family_019.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p>Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-22399087862959385932020-06-23T19:58:00.000-07:002020-06-23T19:58:40.481-07:00The Sisterhood of MotherhoodYears ago, I would have told you that I firmly believed men generally have stronger friendships with each other than women do. I spent too many years growing up having difficult and disappointing friendships with girls. By High School, I mostly hung out with boys because it was simpler than dealing with drama that came along with female friendships.<br />
Lately though, I've realized that maybe it's not that girls are naturally bad at being friends... I think maybe, when it comes to having good relationships with each other, we just tend to be late bloomers. When we're young we might be more prone to gossip or be catty, to be competitive with each other about boys or our looks. I'm sure we've all been on the giving and receiving end of talking behind someone's back. Then we get older and something forces us to be more selfless, and to rely on each other way beyond the superficial things we cared about before... and that something is motherhood.<br />
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Nothing has bonded me quicker to other women than this business of motherhood. I've been so blessed to have a wonderful husband who always supports and loves me, but you learn quickly in motherhood that you need someone who you can turn to who can say: I get it. I've been there.<br />
You need those friends who you immediately bond with because you have similar birth stories, or your kids are in the same phase right now, or who simply see you struggling with a cranky toddler on a bad day and don't for a second think that means you're a bad parent.<br />
Those friends who can give you a book-length list of ideas to help your colicky baby when their pediatrician's only advice is to "burp her more".<br />
Those friends who text you back at two am because they are awake too.<br />
Those friends who you can complain to about your kids who you love so much, but who drive you so crazy, and they don't tell you to "enjoy it, because it goes by so fast." Some days, it feels like it can't go by fast enough.<br />
Those friends who show up with a meal or a drink when they know you're struggling, but can't even come inside because they have a car full of kids too and those ten seconds at the door are the only time you see each other in months.<br />
Those friends who ask how you're doing, and genuinely want to know. (Even when they realize that question might lead to an hour of tear-filled conversation.)<br />
Those friends who don't question it when you tell them that yesterday, you cried for no reason over a cat food commercial.<br />
Those friends who can mourn with you during a pregnancy loss that leaves you feeling gutted, and would never think to utter the words, "It doesn't matter, you can always try again."<br />
Those friends who have dealt with their own infertility, and even though it looks completely different from yours, they understand the unique pain that is desiring motherhood and having those desires go unfulfilled.<br />
Those friends who understand the anxiety and depression that can be crippling with a new baby, and even if they can empathize they never pretend it's normal or ok.<br />
Those friends who understand that you can love your children and being a mom, and also feel completely lost and not know who you are anymore.<br />
Those friends who help you choose a new haircut when you're having a postpartum identity crisis.<br />
Those friends who check in and offer help even when they are at their wit's end themselves.<br />
Those friends who love your children like their own not because of any blood relation, but simply because they love <i>you</i>.<br />
The minute you enter the life of motherhood, whether that's when those two lines on the test appear or even before you ever have a child, you need friends like that. You realize there is no room in your life for talking bad about another woman, because we need each other. If you don't have those friends, call me. I'll be that friend. I'll share the wonderful group of women I've found, because I'm proud of the deeper connections and friendships I've made. I love when on a really bad day, a small voice in my head tells me to text a certain friend, and I know she'll understand.<br />
We may not have had it all together when we were younger. We may have known or even been the mean girls at some point. But when we grow up and have those little people depending on us, it is amazing the sisterhood we can build.Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-70476599469902918202020-06-01T16:53:00.000-07:002020-06-01T16:53:09.942-07:00Remlee's Birth StoryAfter <a href="https://anndeebetweenthelines.blogspot.com/2015/05/dayens-birth-story.html" target="_blank">Dayen</a> and <a href="https://anndeebetweenthelines.blogspot.com/2018/04/aurics-birth-story.html" target="_blank">Arie's</a> births, I was really scared to be pregnant again because I didn't know what I wanted out of a birth anymore. I felt like I had a lot of trauma from my birth experiences, and I still had never gotten the natural birth I thought I wanted. This pregnancy came as a surprise, which made it even harder to wrap my head around trying once again to have a natural birth. I kept thinking I would come around to the idea and get excited and prepared like I had with both the boys, but I never did. The idea of birth just felt daunting and I didn't think that would go away before she was here.<br />
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I finally decided to take away the pressure of having a natural birth. I planned on getting the epidural this time, or at least doing a "wait and see" approach- if I felt like I was handling the contractions fine and maybe if my labor wasn't so long, I could do it. But if I got the epidural, I wasn't going to beat myself up over it or feel like I failed.<br />
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Then right about the time I hit the third trimester, my friend had her baby in the birth center. I was supposed to be her birth photographer, but for some reason my phone never went off during the many calls and texts I got that night. I ended up missing the birth by about 20 minutes. I felt (and still feel) awful, but I think it happened for a reason, because even seeing her in recovery brought back some bad memories for me. She was a rockstar and had her 10 lb 3 oz baby naturally, and I think it made me realize: this should have been me last time. If this is really what I wanted, I should have been able to do it with how easy Arie's birth was going, but instead some trauma from Dayen's birth led to a hospital transfer and a lot of pain. (I didn't realize until much later that although I was at a 9 at the birth center, I went down to an 8 when we got to the hospital. I felt so scared and was fighting the contractions so much that my cervix was closing during contractions- which is honestly the worst pain I've ever felt.)<br />
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I came home from my friend's birth and had a small birthing identity crisis. I texted my midwife and told her, "I need you to talk me down from a ledge. I am seriously considering an induction this time, please remind me why I don't want that." I was expecting a laundry list of reasons not to do it, but instead she replied, "I think you would be a great candidate for an induction." I burst into tears. I think, deep down, it was exactly what I wanted to hear. But I had also gone through 2 pregnancies believing I thought one thing, and now I was thinking about going against that. Not only that, but if I was going to get induced anyway, then I didn't want to wait the usual 2 weeks past my due date that my babies tend to come. My midwife said she would induce at 39 weeks. I cried some more about that.<br />
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In the end, I decided to set an induction date, and if the day came and I didn't feel good about it, I wouldn't do it. I did lots of research, which in all fairness, showed different outcomes than what many people believed when I was pregnant with Dayen. Inductions didn't actually lead to a 50% chance of a csection. Still, it was terrifying to choose when I had always let my babies come on their own. I didn't want to use pitocin, I didn't want to choose my baby's birthday, and I didn't want to end up with a csection because of something I chose.<br />
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In the days leading up to the induction date, I felt nothing but peace about it. We decided to go in the night before for cervidil. I had been at 2 cm for 3 weeks, and I thought even if I could dilate another centimeter in the night, that would be a little less time I would have to be on pitocin. We checked in at 6 pm and had the cervidil in by 7:30. We had a pretty restless night where I was having Braxton Hicks every few minutes, so I was hopeful that was a good sign that I was progressing. But at 6 the next morning, I was only at a 2.5. I had it in my head that there was a good chance the induction just wouldn't work, and even though it would have been really hard to go home without a baby, I made sure my midwife knew I would choose that over a csection for failure to progress. So we basically couldn't get an epidural or break my water, or I'd be on the clock and have to deliver.<br />
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We started the pitocin at 6 and the contractions picked up pretty quickly. I was eating breakfast at 8 when I suddenly had a really strong contraction that made me feel really sick. I told the nurse I was going to throw up, so she left to get some anti-nausea medicine while I threw up so violently my ears and throat hurt the rest of the day. I told Caleb not to look at me because that's basically the only mystery we had left in our marriage, but that's out the window now. Having babies has a way of making you as grossly vulnerable as you can possibly be.<br />
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Luckily the nausea medicine worked pretty quickly, but when they checked me again I was still only at a 3. My midwife said she wanted to break my water to get things moving, but I panicked because that felt like the final decision that would lead to a csection. So we decided to wait until I progressed a little more, but honestly, I still fully believed I wouldn't progress and we'd be going home still pregnant.<br />
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After that the contractions got a lot worse. I didn't do any kind of preparing for labor this time, thinking that my past preparations for a natural birth would all come back to me in labor. Although the pitocin contractions weren't quite as bad as back labor with my 9 lb baby Dayen, or 9 cm contractions with Arie, they were still really strong really fast. There was a definite difference between when your body goes into labor naturally and when it's being forced by pitocin. To make things worse, whenever I tried to sit on the yoga ball or squat on the ground to do any kind of pain management during a contraction, we would lose the baby's heartrate on the monitor. I basically had to sit perfectly still so we could make sure she was handling the contractions ok. As they got stronger, I started feeling really emotional and frustrated through them. I just wasn't prepared for labor, and I was feeling so frustrated with my body that my choices were a) go two weeks overdue or b) induce. Why couldn't I just have one magical, random 38 week baby?<br />
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Caleb saw how frustrated I was getting and suggested that I get the epidural and let them break my water. We had talked about how he had felt promptings during my previous labors and never felt like he could voice them because everyone else in the room seemed to know more about birth than him. So I told him if he felt that this time, I wanted him to speak up. He might not go through the physical part of labor with me, but I've always said I'd rather do it myself than have to watch my spouse go through it, and he has carried a lot of trauma from our birth experiences too. So I texted my midwife and told her, "I think I want the epidural, but I'm still really scared this is the decision that will lead to a csection." She said, "I think that's the right decision. If I'm wrong, I will make it up to you by making sure you don't end up with a csection." It was exactly what I needed to hear, so we called in the nurse and asked for the epidural.<br />
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By 11:00 I had the epidural and they came in to break my water. I was at a 4. Everyone kept saying she would come that afternoon, but as soon as we were alone Caleb and I agreed that we should plan on an all day labor and a middle of the night delivery, because that's just how things go for us. So we turned on Impractical Jokers and relaxed and took a nap and just settled in for a long day.<br />
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At 1:00 my midwife came back to check me again. I told her I wasn't feeling very good, just felt kind of "off", and she smirked like that was what she was expecting. I knew she thought I was in transition, but I didn't believe it. She checked me and smirked again, and I said, "What? Am I at 4.5 now?" She said, "Nope, you have 2 centimeters left. I'll be back in an hour and we'll have a baby!" I didn't even have a response. I think I sort of went into shock and a combination of that and being in transition made me start shaking really hard. I had never had a labor even close to this short, and honestly I had never really processed the fact that we were about to have another kid.<br />
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The nurse came back an hour later and I was fully dilated and ready to push. I couldn't stop shaking, and as soon as my midwife came in I just started crying. I looked at Caleb and said, "I'm not ready to have 3 kids!" and they all laughed because... too late. I pushed maybe 3 times and she was here! With my boys I had always pictured the emotional moment when they were finally born and I got to see them for the first time, but I had always been so exhausted by then that I couldn't really process it. With Dayen especially, I remember looking at him and thinking, "Huh. Look at that. A baby." This time, it was exactly what I always pictured. I was fully alert and crying when I saw our daughter for the first time. I always felt like I really had to work to get my babies here, but this time it was so easy and awesome and even 3 weeks earlier than I'm used to!<br />
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It looked nothing like what I thought my "ideal birth" would before I ever had kids, but it ended up being my favorite birth by far. I'm so grateful for a care provider who listened to me and helped me have the healing birth that I needed, even if it looked different than I ever expected.<br />
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And today, I get to say to my cute, 5 day old baby something that I never thought I'd get to say to my kids: Happy due date! Trust me when I say, I am so glad you're already here.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Remlee Ann Fonnesbeck</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">May 27, 2020</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">2:36 pm</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">6 lbs 14 oz</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: large;">19 3/4 inches</span></div>
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<br />Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-25165889651212730712019-09-16T13:35:00.000-07:002019-09-16T13:42:03.305-07:00It Takes a Village (with torches and pitchforks)The other day, my mindless Facebook scrolling led to an article about how it's unexpectedly difficult to be a stay at home mom. Of course, that make the working moms lose their crap, which made the stay at home moms feel attacked, and it was basically the wonderful representation of humanity that you expect all comment sections to be.<br />
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Except for one thread, which was a group of women about my parent's generation. It started off with a post saying, "I don't know what girls these days are always complaining about. I was a stay at home mom for X number of years and I never felt this way! I loved every minute of it." The rest of the comments were women agreeing with her that they didn't understand it.<br />
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So, if you've ever thought this, I'm here to try to help you understand it.<br />
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The thing is, we are living in completely different times. I'd argue we've gone back to the dark ages, regressed back to a time when basic civility towards people was unheard of. People are tarred and feathered via social media these days, and honestly, I'm not sure it's much less painful.<br />
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Case in point: I saw a post on the Tremonton Classifieds yesterday (which I can't find now because the entire group has been shut down.) about a mom who found a 3 week old baby left alone in a car at the Kent's parking lot. She broke a window, got the baby out, and called the police. When the parents came out, they were apparently upset about the window. Oh, and then she went home and posted about it on Classifieds, and that's an important part of the story so stick with me.<br />
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I get that terrible things happen. I am an Enneagram 6, but I don't actually think I am. 6's are mostly known for their anxiety, and I truly don't believe I ever would have tested as a 6 before having children. Since having my first, I live in a constant state of anxiety. Every sketchy person at WalMart is trying to kidnap them. There's going to be a mass shooting in every crowd we're in. It's a terrible way to live! Tell me you would have enjoyed parenting back in the day if you felt this way <i>all the time</i>. And we tell new parents to ask for help, to sleep when the baby sleeps, to watch out for postpartum depression, to ask for help ask for help ASK FOR HELP. But guess what? The help is scarce. Sometimes it's impossible to find. And it's a fine line between asking for help before it's too late, and people shouting on Facebook that you should have your children taken away.<br />
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I mean, can we just be a <i>little</i> more careful with how we say someone should have their children taken away? Can we agree that's the extreme solution no one is actually rooting for? Facebook is not a place for a jury of your peers, but each post like this is calling someone out and putting them on trial and frankly it's not usually anyone's business.<br />
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When my second baby was about two weeks old, I took both my boys to the park. I was drowning in guilt over turning my three year old's life upside down, and how we weren't getting enough sunshine and therefore enough vitamin D, and trust me when I say a trip to the park is always about more than a trip to the park.<br />
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My three year old is naturally anxious (gee, I wonder where he's learning that from) but he decided to be brave and climb to the top of the highest slide. Once he got there, he froze. He screamed and screamed, unable to go forward or backward he just stood at the top, immobile. I was holding my new baby in my arms and watching nervously. I hadn't even brought the wrap for the baby. The carseat was in the car. I seriously considered just setting him down in the sand.<br />
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But the crazy thing is, there were people around, watching all this happening. No one offered to help, they just sort of watched.<br />
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So, I did what I had to do, or what I thought I had to do. I started climbing up after him. This slide, of course, was at the top of a completely vertical climb, which I was doing one-handed. When I was halfway up, my foot slipped. My heart completely dropped. I was going to fall with my baby.<br />
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I flung my arm out and managed to catch myself with my arm. I felt like it was broken. I had a giant bruise for weeks. But my baby was ok. And only then did a dad from across the park come running over and offer to help.<br />
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At the time, I was humiliated. What was I thinking, putting my baby in danger like that? What was I thinking letting my three year old climb up there? What was I thinking even leaving the house that day? But now, I just think... why did it take a dad, in a park full of moms, to see my need? To offer to help?<br />
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We are so quick to judge another parents situation. So many of the comments on that classifieds post were, of course, ripping the parents apart for leaving their baby in the car. But all I could think was: there are about a thousand reasons that could have happened, and we're only hearing one side of the story. All I could think was, I've done stupid things all the time, in the name of pregnancy hormones or sleep deprivation or just plain not knowing any better. But this is already the hardest job in the world, so why can't we <i>ever</i> just reach out and help each other?<br />
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It's supposed to take a village to raise a child, not to take one away from it's parents when they make a public mistake.<br />
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I'm so tired of worrying that other moms are judging me when my kid is screaming in the store. I'm tired of the playground and storytimes being a place we glare at each other instead of trying to make friends. I'm tired of hearing that if someone is going to make a mistake, they shouldn't have had kids in the first place.<br />
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Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe, just <i>maybe</i>, those parents thought you know that baby we just spent nine months making and a very difficult and painful day delivering? Well he's been keeping us up all night, so we should go meander the aisles of Kent's and leave the baby in the car because we don't care about him.<br />
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I don't believe people are that black and white, that bad or good. I believe we're all trying our best. And frankly, I'm glad there are people in the world like the lady who saw that baby and cared. I love to think that there are other people looking out for my children, too.<br />
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But can we just suspend the judgment? Can we stop posting about it on Facebook for validation, or because we're angry? (Ok, I'm a little angry posting this, so go ahead and call me the pot or kettle, your choice.) Could we maybe instead try to see each other as fellow humans going through something really hard?<br />
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Because I love being a mom. I can't imagine my world without my boys in. But sometimes I wish I could just be a mom twenty years ago, instead of today.Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-12080952435925978812019-08-11T06:18:00.000-07:002019-08-11T06:18:07.586-07:00We are making this Mom thing way too hardSomeone has to say it.<br />
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It's 2019... and we are making this mom thing way too hard.</div>
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I know I should probably try to be inclusive and not offend the fathers out there, but in this case I really am just talking to the moms. Because to be honest, I don't think I've ever seen a dad post that he has had serious dad guilt from being sick all weekend and not spending enough time with his kids.</div>
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So, some hard truths that we never talk about during play dates (mostly because we're being constantly interrupted by screaming children) but that I feel I need to share in the hopes that someone else will stand up and say they are feeling this way too.</div>
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<b>We're supposed to get this right the first time.</b> So we go crazy. We do endless crafts, we read countless parenting books, we entertain them every moment of every day. Pinterest has made us throw elaborate birthday parties for a one year old who takes his nap right when family shows up to party. Social media makes us think our four year olds need to be in four different kinds of sports and we are massively failing if they aren't on a third grade reading level before they start Kindergarten. It's just too much, and it's so much more than other generations expected of themselves.</div>
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<b>You will never. clock. out.</b> I didn't get that. Because I was a nanny for 8 years before I had kids, so I thought I knew all there was to know about parenting, and I thought I'd be a great one. That was when I got off at 5:00. I have been on the clock for 4+ years now, and the worst part is, <i>no one is paying me anymore. </i>And while we're going with the work metaphor here, anytime your kid remotely misbehaves in public, or for a babysitter, or acts like anything other than the angel you've been desperately trying to raise them to be, it feels like you got a bad performance review for a job you haven't even clocked out of for 4 years. </div>
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<b>We only see the places where we lack. </b>We never celebrate the things that make us great moms. I love doing fun activities with my kids, but whenever I post one of them, I get a bunch of messages from fellow moms saying, "I wish I was as fun of a mom as you are" or "I never do stuff like that with my kids." Who cares? They'll be fine. You do a hundred things right that I'm getting wrong. Once in awhile, we have to give ourselves a pat on the back for even just keeping them alive this long.</div>
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<b>Admit it: we're judging other moms. </b>You can probably name several occasions where someone unfairly judged you as a mom, but if we're being honest, you can probably also name times you (at least in your own head) judged another mom. Internet trolls always immediately jump to the parents whenever a child is hurt- of course it's their fault. But we can't live in fear of what others are thinking of us, because finding your own path as a parent is hard enough without struggling blindly to follow someone elses.</div>
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<b>Sometimes, kids are turds.</b> Can we just admit that? I know, they're young and immature and there's a thousand psychological reasons and I was a turd as a kid too, but when I'm exhausted and starving and need a shower and my kid throws a tantrum because his graham cracker is broken, <i>I just don't care about the rational reasons he's acting that way</i>. I don't want to hear that I need to sit and hold his hand and show him how to be calm, or distract him with an elaborate art project. I want to hear someone admit that wow, living with kids is like living in an insane asylum. You're not the crazy one, they are. </div>
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<b>We are raising kids in a different environment than ever.</b> Even our own parents didn't have to worry about screen time and the dangers of the internet the way we do- so where do we turn for knowledge and advice? The internet. And while we're looking up all the dangers facing our children and how to be a perfect parent, we're spending too much time staring at our phones which is apparently ruining our kids forever anyway.</div>
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<b>We are the most important, but we don't matter. </b>Even while telling us that moms are the most important piece of the puzzle to have a functioning society, we're being told in the same breath that we shouldn't put ALL our eggs in this basket because one day our kids will grow up and move out and never call us and we'll have nothing left. It's like an artist spending their life on an oil painting they know they will someday burn. I've said it before: this is enough. It's OK if this is the most important thing you ever do. But it's also OK to hide in your room with a book once in awhile, or work on something just for you. You still matter.</div>
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<b>You're not supposed to be resentful of this.</b> Because you've watched your friends and family suffer through miscarriages or infertility, or maybe you went through it yourself, and you told yourself no matter what, you would never for a second resent becoming a mom. But then... you do. And you can't say that. You can't even <i>think</i> it without feeling like the biggest scum on the earth. But how can we expect ourselves to look at every bad day, every single trial of parenting day after day and just smile through it? Some days are just hard. Heck, some months are hard. The first year of Arie's life I think I lost half my brain cells from lack of sleep. It doesn't mean you don't love them, or love being a parent, to admit that this is the hardest job out there, and that sometimes, you wish you could go back to the person you were before you had kids.</div>
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<b>We're supposed to do it all without a village. </b>Back in the day, it wasn't just a saying- it literally took a village to raise a child. Everyone lived in close quarters and helped each other. One person in the village could be great at entertaining kids, while another was great at teaching patience, and it didn't all fall on one persons shoulders all day, every day. There's a reason I get lonely and stir crazy all day at home with two kids, a reason I have to sit with my husband and just <i>talk</i> to an adult to decompress. We were never meant to do this alone, but that's the way society is these days. </div>
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We go through this difficult challenge of parenting alone, while being judged by strangers everywhere we go, and watching everyone else's fake, perfect parenting wins online. We read the scary statistics about all the dangers and challenges facing our kids, and we go to bed every night with this <i>enormous</i> weight on our shoulders.</div>
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We have to cut ourselves some slack. We have to cut other moms some slack and not be so judgmental. We are all doing our very best, and look around: your kids are doing just fine, too. We are supposed to feel some joy as mothers, not just anxiety and guilt and fear. <b>We are making this mom thing way too hard.</b></div>
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Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-64128048832713351172019-08-04T18:33:00.001-07:002019-08-04T18:33:16.178-07:0010 YearsOn June 20th of this year I celebrated 10 years since my baptism into the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Other than my bangs, I made some pretty great decisions that day.</span></div>
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I had written this blog post months before, then never finished it and decided not to share it because I felt like I'm not saying anything new or unique, and I didn't want to come across all preachy.<br />
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Then today in church I was kind of suffering through the usual Sunday why-am-I-raising-my-kids-in-church-again? blues (you know- kids screaming, Cheerios flying in all directions, not hearing a word anyone at the pulpit is saying) I leaned over and asked Dayen if he wanted to go up and bear his testimony. To my surprise, he instantly said yes.</div>
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So of course, I had to kick myself for asking in the first place. But he did give a talk in Primary a few months ago and did a great job, so even though I knew there was a high chance that he would say something naughty into the microphone for the whole ward to hear, we went up there together.</div>
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Basically, he said a bunch of nonsense then whispered amen, after which I realized I probably had to bear my testimony too so I fumbled through something that probably made even less sense than his did. But as we were walking away, he grinned at me and said, "Can we try that again?"</div>
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Then I came home and saw this picture online:</div>
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And it just hit me how important this is. The decision I made to join the church ten years ago felt impossible then- I was facing so much opposition. I lost friends, I ripped apart my family relationships, and some days it feels like I did it all just so I can suffer through a sacrament meeting that I couldn't even listen to.</div>
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But that decision mattered. It causes a ripple effect through my family for all time. My decision will affect my posterity forever- and it especially affects my sweet little boys every day.</div>
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This is just still new for me.</div>
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Nursery, Primary, Young Womens, I never got to do any of it until I was an adult. And I think I've been waiting since my baptism to someday feel like less of a convert. But it's been ten years, and I'm starting to think I never will. </div>
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Because when you join the church in Utah, you're always just a little bit different.</div>
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So, here's the post you almost didn't get to read, some bits of knowledge I've picked up over my last decade in the church.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">#1- For Members: Converts (probably) don't get the "Culture" of the Church</span><br />
Case in point: I spent the first few years after my baptism standing in silence while people around me said the Young Women's theme I never learned, or talked about Trek (which sounded terrible- was this church trying to torture its members?) or Linger Longers, Visiting Teaching, having a beard at BYU, and on and on and on. You don't realize when you're immersed in it your whole life just how much about the church isn't doctrinal stuff that missionaries teach converts. I was confused, but it also made me feel like there was a line in the sand: like because I wasn't raised in the church, I would never actually be the same as the other members who had gone to Primary and been baptized at 8 years old.<br />
When you're around a new convert, try to put yourself in their shoes and think about what you take for granted that they might not know. Right after I met Caleb, we were at a fireside where the opening hymn was "Praise to the Man." We were in a <i>stadium</i> full of people who all knew the lyrics... except for me. I was embarrassed, that line in the sand glaring in my face, when Caleb noticed and pulled out his phone, pulled up the lyrics to the song, and quietly handed it to me so I could sing too. It was simple, but it made a huge difference for me. (Obviously. I married the guy.)<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">#2- For Members: Agency</span><br />
For sure, the biggest question I get asked whenever someone hears I'm a convert is, "So did anyone in your family join too?" And I get it, because that would make a really great talk in sacrament meeting, or one of those videos in between conference. I found the church, so slowly every nonmember I know should join too because I made it look so awesome.<br />
That does happen, but more often than not in my experience, it doesn't.<br />
Growing up even as a nonmember in Utah, I knew (or thought I knew) a lot about the church. It's not like any of my family members didn't know about it and I was introducing them to something new. But I did feel a lot of pressure right away, like because I believed it, I should be the one to convince everyone I love of the truthfulness of the gospel, too.<br />
But it doesn't work that way, and I firmly believe it isn't supposed to. Sure, God may use you as an instrument to bring others to him. Yes, we should be examples, and live in a way that makes others wonder what is different about your life. And ok, we should all be missionaries. But, and I can't say this loud enough: It is not our job to make anyone join the church. That's why agency is so important. So on that note....<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">#3- For Nonmembers: We aren't trying to trick you into joining the church</span><br />
This is touchy for me. Because I think me and every member of my family could give you a mile long list of the people who tried to get us to join the church growing up. And a lot of the time, it wasn't done in the most loving or appropriate way. I know they had the best intentions, but it was always hard as a kid to have someone be friendly, and then stop talking to me when I couldn't come to mutual with them.<br />
So don't get me wrong, if <i>anyone</i> I love wanted to join the church, I would be the first to throw a party and arrange the lessons and drive you to church every week if you want. But that is <i>never</i> my intent. I respect your agency and right to choose for yourself, so I will never drag you to church, try to trick you into listening to my beliefs, or assume I already know what you believe.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">#4- For Members: It's not about "Good" and "Bad"</span><br />
I remember in High School, a girl found out I wasn't a member of the church and in shock she asked me, "So if you're not a member, why don't you drink and party and stuff?"<br />
There's that line in the sand again, and here I come to destroy it.<br />
Because I joined the church at 18, I feel like I can say that my morals came from my character, not from my religion. I never had any desire to drink. I lived the word of wisdom before I knew it. <i>And lots of other people do, too</i>. What's more, is a lot of my friends who were members of the church were the ones sneaking out to party.<br />
So let me say this loud for the people in the back: Being a member of the church doesn't automatically make you "good", and not being a member doesn't make you "bad."<br />
I have had several, let's call them Come to Jesus moments, with fellow members of the church about this, because for some, it is ingrained <i>deep</i>. For example, when I was called to Young Womens, one Sunday one of the other teachers was teaching about dating, and she casually asked, "So should we date people who aren't Mormon?" and the girls, like robots, responded, "Nope." And I had to jump in and say WAIT. That is <i>not</i> what we believe!<br />
The For the Strength of Youth says about dating, "<span style="background-color: #ebedee; color: #30393a; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;">Choose to date only those who have high moral standards and in whose company you can maintain your standards.</span><span style="background-color: #ebedee; color: #30393a; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px;"> "</span> That doesn't mean that a nonmember won't share your standards, <i>and it doesn't mean that a member will</i>. Even after we were 16, there were boys who said they couldn't date me in High School because I wasn't a member. One told me on the way into his house to meet his parents for the first time, "Oh by the way, I told them you were a member so they wouldn't kick you out."<br />
It would have made such a difference to me if I had just been treated the way I deserved based on my actions rather than my religious affiliations. Especially at that age, when I couldn't choose to be baptized even if I wanted to.<br />
So please, <i>please</i>, don't be the parent telling your kid they can't play with nonmembers. Tell them to find good friends and be kind- that is all that matters.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">#5- For Nonmembers: Members don't always know the "Truth"</span><br />
Here's something I loved instantly about this church: we are encouraged to seek out truth, to ask questions, and we are told we can receive personal revelation when we come to God with our questions.<br />
And guys, I had a <i>lot</i> of questions.<br />
But I also had an instant trust of anyone who was already a member of the church, especially when a lot of my friends were recently returned missionaries. I loved (and still love) talking about the gospel, delving deep into doctrine with anyone who would listen, but there were several occasions where someone said something that I was shocked by, and I thought, <i>Does this church really believe that?</i> Some of the things I heard were enough to make me want to leave the church, and many people do.<br />
But that's why it's so great that we are encouraged to ask questions. I angrily asked others, even prayed to God about the things I had heard, and I gained more understanding, and even learned that some of the things were outright lies. Ten years later, there has never been anything I've learned that I haven't been able to find an answer to, and that is part of what helps my testimony grow every day.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">#6- For Members: Other Churches are More Friendly</span><br />
Before my baptism, I went to a lot of different churches, and although I did end up joining the Church of Jesus Christ, I hate to admit that I didn't join because the members were friendly. In fact, in my experience, they were the <i>least</i> friendly of all the churches I went to.<br />
Sure, in Utah, many of the other churches were much smaller and more likely to notice a strange face. But <i>every</i> other church I went to, almost every person before or after church would come up and talk to us. As soon as the sermon is over, everyone jumps up to shake <i>everyone's</i> hand, even the people they see every week. I <i>love and miss</i> that kind of fellowshipping. A friendly hello goes a long way in making people feel welcome.<br />
And I promise, you don't have to sit on the same bench every week. The world will not implode if you venture to the other side of the chapel. :)<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">#7- For Both: Ignorance</span><br />
It's OK not to believe the same things as someone else. What's not OK is being ignorant about what someone else believes, especially if you want them to hear what you believe. Though I've felt that line in the sand at times, it also means I've had a foot in both worlds, and I have to say: I've seen it a <i>lot</i> and on both sides.<br />
Going to different churches opened my eyes so much to the fact that we all believe a lot of the same things. As my kids get older, I really want to bring them to other churches to teach them what others believe. I took a religious studies class in college that was one of my favorite classes, because I find it fascinating all the different religions and the common threads that tie us all together.<br />
But I have had more encounters than I could count with people telling me what I believe is wrong, people who quit talking to me when I joined the church, or who suddenly think I've lost my mind for joining. And on the other side, I've seen many members turn up their nose to something that comes from another church.<br />
It's not about getting people to believe what we do. We don't need to argue our point to be heard, we need to listen and hear someone else's point of view.<br />
Don't tell me what I believe is wrong. ASK ME what I believe. You might be surprised.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">#8- For Members: Are you a Convert?</span><br />
At the end of the day, that line in the sand really doesn't exist because of one important thing: we should ALL be converts. It doesn't matter if your parents dragged you to church every week, or if a missionary showed up at your door one day and introduced you to a doctrine you'd never heard before. At some point, we all have to choose whether we believe it, whether we're going to live it, whether our testimony has been carried all these years by someone else, or if it's our own.<br />
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<br />Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-20834770495183184312018-12-10T18:58:00.000-08:002018-12-10T18:58:05.668-08:00Mom LifeMy house is a mess. I spent 3/4 of the day cleaning, but it's still a mess because of the tiny hurricanes who live here. I try not to care about the mess, but I'm me and I do, so it's an eternal struggle between me and my messy house and my crazy children.<br />
But oh, these boys.<br />
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My days are on repeat, like groundhog day but with more diapers and a lot less Bill Murray. I used to have dreams and goals and aspirations, but they are on the backburner while I spend my days keeping two other humans alive. And it's hard not to feel like because I don't have a career, I don't do much. Let's face it, some days it's hard to think that changing diapers and making lunch is contributing. Sometimes I have to ignore that nagging feeling that I gave up being myself to be a mother, and then I see their cute faces and think...<br />
But oh, these boys.<br />
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I am tired.<br />
No, scratch that. I am a level of tired I didn't know was possible 5 years ago. Every breath I take is a yawn. Some days I feel like I am walking through jello.<br />
But oh, these boys.<br />
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Some days feel like a waste of makeup. Most days, I would be excited if the UPS guy came to the door, because that would be the closest I got to another adult all day. Every day, I am grateful for sweat pants and chocolate chip cookies and Netflix. I don't know what fits anymore, and I definitely don't know what's in style these days.<br />
But oh, these boys.<br />
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Even when I do see other adults, all I do is talk about my children. I see the glazed-over eyes when I tell one too many "listen to how funny my toddler is" stories, but I can't help it. They've made me socially weird. I don't see how the whole world doesn't see what me and their Dad and their Grandma's see.<br />
Because oh, these boys.<br />
Sometimes it feels like I am just a mom. But I am <i>their</i> mom. And oh, boy. I couldn't ask for more.Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-76455632967205582722018-11-03T20:24:00.002-07:002018-11-03T20:24:25.960-07:00Weight Loss RulesBreaking news: I have the hottest new diet program you have GOT to try.<div>
All you do is follow a few simple rules.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Rule #1:</span></div>
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Go buy some clothes that fit.</div>
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No, seriously. Go get some pants that fit you comfortably. Don't punish yourself for the size you don't want to admit to yourself you are. The size doesn't matter: your comfort does. You, whatever size you are today, deserve clothes that fit. Stop punishing yourself for gaining weight. Stop telling yourself that those smaller pants will somehow be the motivation you need to lose weight. Sure, maybe someday they will fit again. But maybe not. In the mean time, you still need clothes that fit. If you don't, then when you are invited out you will find an excuse not to go because you don't have anything cute to wear. You will put off living your life because you are in a transition period- this isn't your goal weight, so life can't start yet. If you don't do anything else, get some clothes that fit. This is your permission to do so, guilt-free.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Rule #2:</span></div>
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Get rid of your bathroom scale.</div>
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Your scale doesn't know you. It can't tell when you are losing fat but gaining muscle. It doesn't know to be extra sensitive because you just had a baby in the last year. It can't tell if you just drank a lot of water today or ate your way through a box of Cheez-Its.</div>
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The scale leaves you feeling frustrated when you think you've been doing great but the number doesn't change. So instead, celebrate the non-scale victories. Did you go all day without a cookie, or a soda, or whatever your personal kryptonite is? Victory. Did you walk up the stairs without getting winded? Victory. Did you get a random burst of energy during the day and want to dance around your kitchen with your kids instead of sit around and be lazy? VICTORY. A victory that <i>matters</i>. A victory people can <i>see</i>. Your scale doesn't know anything.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Rule #3:</span></div>
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Love yourself. I know, could I make that one sound any more like a hippie? Probably not. But this is what it's all about. Eating healthy isn't supposed to be a punishment. Eating like crap isn't a reward. If you like yourself, you will take care of yourself. You will learn to go easy on yourself, to remember that sometimes, you are going to fail. You are going to have hard, stressful days that make you want to quit on yourself. You are going to wonder why you don't just fall back into the same old habits. But instead, you will look in the mirror and think, I am still enough. I am not at my goal weight, but I am enough. My life is enough. My weight isn't really what matters. <i>I</i> am what matters.</div>
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I saw a quote the other day that I can't stop thinking about. It said:</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">You are not alive to just pay bills and lose weight.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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How many years of your life are you going to waste worrying about your weight? There is so much more. Let's find more in each other, and more in ourselves. </div>
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Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-47193403160340448482018-09-05T08:08:00.001-07:002018-09-05T08:12:34.619-07:00Baby #2Fall must be baby time because it seems like all my friends are having babies, and a lot of them are having their second babies. Auric turned 5 months old a couple days ago (<i>what is happening?!</i>) so it's made me think a lot about what I wish I knew before he came along, and what I've learned since then.<br />
So, here you go. All my months of wisdom to do with what you wish.<br />
By far my biggest fear with having a second kid wasn't that it would be too hard or too tiring (oh young, naiive Anndee, not worrying about sleep deprivation. Those were the days.) it was that I was somehow ruining Dayen's life by having a second baby.<br />
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Is that just some weird fear of my generation? Because it seems like people used to be able to have multiple kids and feel fine about it, while me and my friends are over here feeling some weird mom guilt over our #1 not being our one and only anymore.<br />
For months before Auric was born, I felt like I was in a constant state of panic over the limited time I had left with Dayen. I became Disneyland Mom, and every day was a fun new adventure that felt like it was happening for the last time ever. And oh, the guilt. I would look at him and think, <i>You have no idea I'm about to turn your life upside down</i>.<br />
Boy am I glad that I was wrong. And here's why:<br />
#1 Babies Sleep A Lot<br />
I forgot that, for the first year, babies sleep a lot. They nap all day at first, then like 3 times a day, then 2... I'm convinced this has less to do with the fact that they are growing and more to do with the fact that if moms didn't get a chance during the day to shower once in awhile, we'd completely lose it. But now, nap times are an easy way for me to schedule one-on-one time with my oldest. Those moments of just us together didn't die with the birth of another baby. And when Auric is awake, he just adds to the fun. He chews on a car on the floor while Dayen and I build a race track. You make it work.<br />
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#2 Changes in You<br />
I was sure that having another baby would change my relationship with Dayen. I honestly believed deep down that I couldn't love them both enough, or the same, and I was so afraid I either wouldn't bond with the new baby because Dayen would always have a three year head start on him, or that I would somehow replace Dayen in my mind and love the baby more.<br />
If you're hormones are telling you this too, just stop it. If anything, you learn to love that baby more and faster because you already know what it means to be a mom. You can appreciate it more this time around. And your love for that first born will never go away. How could it?<br />
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What I wasn't expecting, was how much bringing home a new baby would change my perspective of Dayen. My mom once told me that we always expect more out of our first borns than our other kids, and I didn't believe it until we brought Auric home. Not only did Dayen suddenly look like a giant, but it was like something flipped in my brain and I thought Ok, Auric is the baby now, so Dayen needs to be a grown up. I tried to hide it from him but I would get <i>so</i> frustrated when he did totally normal toddler things. I felt like the baby needed me constantly, so my three year old shouldn't need me so much anymore.<br />
I thought it wasn't affecting him until one day Dayen was watching TV and holding on to my leg like he couldn't let me go. Although he never showed any anger or aggression toward Auric (he's always been a really sweet big brother) he was clinging to me like I was slipping away, and it broke my heart. So I left the baby home with Caleb and took Dayen to the park and still have to remind myself every day that he is only three. He gets to make mistakes, he gets to be obnoxious sometimes, he gets to throw fits over nothing, and <i>I will survive it</i>. I think.<br />
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#3 Don't feel bad for your first<br />
Overall the thing that has changed my thinking is that I realized Dayen isn't the one I should be feeling sorry for: it's all his siblings who get the bad end of the deal. Dayen got to be the lone shining star of the family for three years. He had our undivided attention, and then I actually felt guilty taking some of that away. Auric is the one I should feel sorry for, and if his hand-me-down spit up stained clothes aren't proof enough of that, I don't know what is. When he is three, will he get the same long, drawn out bedtime routines that Dayen has? Will I worry as much about spending one-on-one time with him? Especially if and when other kids come along. Dayen will never suffer the wrath of the middle child. For that reason alone, don't feel bad for your oldest.<br />
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Maybe this is all things you already knew and this didn't help at all, but ultimately this is the point I want to make: squash that mom guilt right out of you. It's not serving you. Everything is going to be great. Hard, tiring, and crazy sometimes, but great. Pinky promise.<br />
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<br />Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-15310356054227571282018-07-16T13:07:00.001-07:002018-07-16T13:09:11.845-07:00More than your weight<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's kind of a fad right now to be "real" on social media. Being "real" means you occasionally post a selfie without makeup, where you still look really cute, or post about one of your struggles that you have been telling everyone IRL about anyways.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I don't think those things really count. So I'm going to attempt to be really real with you for a second.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Right now, 3 months-post-second-baby, I weigh the most I have ever weighed in my life. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And it doesn't take long to realize that for that simple fact, the world wants you to feel like garbage.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And if I put all my self confidence into that number on a scale, then it's true: I must have less worth right now than I've ever had in my life. Right?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Ugh. It's hard. It's hard to break out of that cycle of believing that your worth has anything at all to do with your pant size.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It doesn't.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And I won't pretend to be some perfect, totally self-actualized person on the subject. But since no one else is really saying it, I will.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">IT JUST DOESN'T MATTER.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Your health, yes. It matters. Your comfort? Sure.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But there is SO much more.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There is your endless list of talents. The things you do better than anyone you know, but you don't spend much time thinking about that because you're spending too much time (and "too much" really, is any time at all) thinking about your weight, wishing you looked like someone else.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There is your family. Parents, siblings, husband, kids, pets, whatever you have. They matter. They matter <i>so much more</i>, but let's face it, sometimes they get pushed to the side while we focus on getting swimsuit-ready, or obsess over that relief-society arm.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There are millions of books to be read, movies to be seen, conversations to be had, hobbies to be tried, pictures to be taken, <i>lives to be lived</i> and those things, those moments, have <i>absolutely nothing</i> to do with your weight.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Nothing.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Are the people who love you most going to love you more if you lose weight?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Of course not. And if they do, then find new friends.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Your life is not being lived in a "before" photo. We've all seen them. An overweight, unsmiling person, who claims that when they had that extra fat on their body, they were completely unhappy. It's like they weren't born until they lost the weight. THEN they started living. So we see that, over and over, and we think, I can't wait. I am going to lose weight, and then I can start living too.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I can say, even when I weighed my lowest (which was like, 7 lbs, and that's just totally unattainable) I was never totally happy with my body. And this voice in the back of my mind reminds me of that all the time. My goal weight looms in front of me like this beacon, but I know that even if I reach it, I won't suddenly start loving all my flaws. I won't ACTUALLY be a better person. I'll just be a skinnier person.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And the more I think about it, the more I am convinced: it just doesn't matter.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So go ahead and focus on you. Take your me-time. Exercise, if you like to exercise, and eat good food because it's good for you. Quit soda because it made you feel bad. Eat treats only on a special occasion.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But stop, <i>stop</i> thinking your life doesn't matter when you're "fat".</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It matters just as much.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You're living it, right now, whether you are happy with your body or not.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So be happy with it. Love yourself. Go kiss those babies that gave you some extra weight, enjoy that brownie instead of shaming yourself for eating it, and don't believe the lie that if the number on the scale creeps up, the things you do won't matter quite as much.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">You are worth so much more than your weight.</span><br />
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<br />Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-7351491535344745772018-04-24T09:21:00.000-07:002018-04-24T09:21:54.334-07:00ServiceI pride myself on being independent.<br />
I can't count how many times Caleb has tried being a gentleman and opening a door for me, and I am not paying attention and already opened another door for myself. And I can't help but wonder if part of the reason things have been so crazy is because I really needed to learn to rely on others, something I don't do easily or well.<br />
I know everyone within earshot has heard me say it at least once in the last couple months, but seriously, <i>things have been so crazy</i>. And it was mostly self-inflicted with building a house and having a baby, but that didn't make it any easier. In less than two months we sold our house, then the sell fell through, then we sold it again, we moved out, didn't know where we were going to live until like two days before we moved, our debit card got stolen, our dog figured out how to escape the yard and kept doing so at very inconvenient times. And then I did my usual thing and went 2 weeks past my due date and was a hormonal mess for the last month waiting for him to get here. And finally, just as we were getting close to moving into our new house, all our appliances were stolen, leaving us feeling violated and sick inside.<br />
And all along the way, I felt like the lesson was that I needed to learn to rely on Caleb and focus on our little family and just appreciate everything we have. I felt like a lot of people were hurting us or letting us down in some way, and I started feeling really bitter towards everyone. But as we start to come out the other side of what has felt like a dark couple of months, I am overwhelmingly grateful for the service we've received from so many around us.<br />
I think my tendency towards independence makes me not very good at providing service to others. Sure, I will bring you a plate of cookies any time you have a bad day, but that's not really hard for me because I am basically always making cookies anyway, and you're doing me a favor by not letting me eat the whole batch myself like I usually would. But I admit whenever I have to provide the kind of service that inconveniences me in any way, I usually do it more than a little begrudgingly, and inwardly complain the whole time.<br />
These last couple months we've just <i>needed</i> so much. We needed help moving, a place to live, someone willing to take care of our dog until we were in our house, endless babysitters and meals and just <i>help</i> that I am not very good at asking for. I'd rather do it myself. I'd rather starve than ask someone to feed me dinner, but that isn't really an option with two little kids to think of.<br />
I feel like I've been pushed way out of my comfort zone. One of my favorite quotes says,<br />
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"When you come to the end of all the light you know and it's time to step into the darkness of the unknown, Faith is knowing that one of two things shall happen: either you will be given something solid to stand on, or you will be taught to fly."<br />
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Ironically, I've always liked the "taught to fly" part of the quote, I guess because it implies you can still do it on your own some way. But I can say through this trial, I have learned how wonderful it is when you're given something solid to stand on. The friend who thought to arrange a meal train for us after the baby was born and all the friends who brought meals made things <i>so much </i>easier for us. We really needed it, but I didn't want to ask. Caleb's grandma not only letting us move into her basement without question, but never making us feel like we were overstaying our welcome or inconveniencing her even when I know that we are has been a huge blessing to us.<br />
My in laws, who are always quick to jump to our aid, have been an incredible example of service to me. Without hesitation they took in our dog before we even moved out of our house. I was so nervous about inconveniencing them because he is a nervous Nelly who throws up at least once a day, but they never complain or make us feel like we're burdening them. The other day we went over to their house and saw a new bag of his dog food in the garage. In all the craziness happening in our lives, I completely forgot that he was going to need more food and that we should, of course, be the ones to go buy it. But my sweet in laws didn't even say a word, they just went and bought more food.<br />
I have a hard time wrapping my head around that kind of service. Around the kind of service that is truly selfless and kind and wants no reward. Come on, when I bring you a plate of cookies, I at least look forward to the <i>thank you</i>.<br />
So I am grateful for all the wonderful people in our lives who have helped us through these trials, and I am grateful for a chance to see the kind of person I want to become. As we move into a new house I don't deserve and have way more than anyone would ever need, I want to remember to selflessly serve where it's needed, to love those around me in a way that can only be described as Christlike.<br />
I am learning not to worry so much about things working out, because they do. The Lord is aware of what you need, and is always watching out for you. Consider the lillies. But when you feel a prompting to serve, do it. And if you need something, don't be afraid to ask. I am always willing to bring a plate of cookies!<br />
<br />Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-7919450818690127942018-04-18T14:00:00.003-07:002018-04-18T14:15:42.743-07:00Auric's Birth StoryThis being baby #2, I thought I mostly had this birth thing figured out. Especially when I went past my due date again by a whopping 13 days, I was sure I was going to have another big, hard-to-birth baby. However, I was determined for things to go different this time. One of the things that made Dayen's labor unnecessarily hard was that he was posterior, meaning face up. This can (and did) cause a lot of painful back labor. When I found out this baby was posterior too, I spent a lot of time researching it, and found you can usually turn your babies before birth, so I spent the last month of my pregnancy always sitting on a birthing ball, never reclining, and constantly being aware of how he was positioned so I could keep him in the optimal position for birth. It was kind of a pain, but worth it, because the day before my due date, my doctor confirmed he was in the optimal position. I was so excited! It made me realize there was a lot about my birth that I could control, and for months I had considered switching to a birthing center, but I kept changing my mind because I loved my midwife so much. But as my due date came and went, I got more and more anxious. My midwife was leaving on vacation soon, and I couldn't shake the feeling I was going to end up in labor after she left and not end up with the birth experience I wanted. So on a crazy anxious day I called the birth center midwives in tears and decided in the eleventh hour to make the switch.<br />
We didn't tell anyone because we knew a lot of people would think we were crazy, but I was really lucky that Caleb trusted my gut and let me do what I felt like I wanted for this birth.<br />
On the morning of Monday, April 2nd I woke up about 3:30 with contractions. I took a bath and then watched old reruns of Bewitched while I timed them. Within about an hour and a half they went from 5 minutes apart, to 2 minutes apart, but I wasn't too concerned because with Dayen, my contractions were a minute apart for about 12 hours before he was born. The contractions were starting to get pretty uncomfortable, so around 5:30 I woke Caleb up to suffer with me. I also texted my midwife and she was nervous that my contractions were already so close, so she recommended I come in. We decided I would probably be more comfortable in labor at the birth center than I was in Caleb's Grandma's basement anyway, so we decided to head in. Caleb's mom came over to take care of Dayen and we left around 6:30.<br />
When we got to the birth center I felt like things started slowing down, and in the back of my mind I kept thinking I wasn't really in labor and they were going to laugh at me and send me home. So I did some lunges up and down the stairs for awhile, and then we went for a walk. We walked about a mile and I only had 3 contractions the whole time, so I really felt like things were stopping and this 2 week late baby was really <i>never</i> going to be born. So when we got back to the birth center I told the midwives, "I think I'm just hungry, can we go get breakfast?" So we walked to Bert's, which is right behind the birth center. We got an awesome breakfast and Caleb timed my contractions which were 2 minutes apart the entire time. He kept asking, "Do you believe you're in labor now?" but I didn't!<br />
When we got back I spent awhile squatting by the bed during contractions to try to move things along. The contractions seemed pretty strong and were still close together, but in between I kept saying, "Is this really what it's supposed to feel like? This is <i>so</i> much easier than it was with Dayen... this can't really be labor, right?"<br />
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Superman Caleb providing counter pressure during contractions.</div>
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After a few hours I decided I wanted to get in the tub. I am a tub-lover anyways and the huge, awesome tub at the birth center made the contractions feel so much better. I wasn't sure if I'd want to have the baby in the tub or not, but the minute I got in the water I said, "Nope, I'm never getting out of here!"</div>
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After awhile in the water I realized I was starving again (which was ridiculous considering the massive stack of pancakes I ate that morning) so my midwife brought me a bowl of strawberries that I devoured in about ten seconds. I was trying to act like a dainty laboring princess, but I finally asked if I was allowed to go raid the kitchen for more food, and they said I was. (Whoo!) So I got out of the tub and went to the kitchen and found some cookies. Caleb was teasing me that I thought cookies were the best option, but really, when are cookies <i>not</i> the best option?</div>
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As soon as I ate again the contractions got stronger, and I realized how cool it was that I was able to just listen to my body and do what it needed to get through labor, rather than being stuck to a bed and just letting things happen.</div>
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I eventually got back in the water and things started getting a lot more intense, but in between contractions I was really happy and laughing and so I was still having a hard time believing this was real labor. Finally I had a contraction that was a lot stronger, and in between Caleb made some joke and I didn't respond and I heard my midwife tell him, "She doesn't think you're funny anymore!" and I think that was the start of transition.</div>
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From there things got really intense, and I stopped questioning if I was in labor. I started having to make noise through contractions, and those noises quickly turned into yells. For awhile they were still ok, and I even told Caleb, "I know I probably sound like I'm dying but I actually feel ok!" It was just like the contractions were so powerful I needed some outlet to let some of that intense energy out. Eventually I was yelling so much during contractions that my voice was going, and I was worried I wouldn't be able to yell anymore. (Because that should be a concern, right?) I started feeling like maybe I should be pushing, and they told me to just follow my body, so I would try pushing during contractions. But after awhile of that, it started getting <i>really</i> painful. Even when the contraction was over, my hips would just shake and hurt and I couldn't regain my composure before another contraction hit. But in my head I thought this must be the beginning of the end, so this is ok! We're almost done! Finally my midwife asked if she could check me because I didn't feel like he was moving down with each push, and she said I was only at 9 cm. So we got out of the tub to break my water, and there was meconium, just like with Dayen. I can't stress enough how, for me at least, labor is <i>such</i> a mental game. It was at this point that I started thinking: this is Dayen's labor all over again. I am going to need forceps to deliver another giant baby, and I can't have a forcep delivery without an epidural, and I can't get an epidural here. If I have to get one eventually, I want it <i>now</i>. </div>
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It was crazy how the minute my mind changed, I wasn't handling the contractions well anymore. I was fighting them and yelling, "No, no!" whenever another one started. I was crying and telling my midwife I wanted to go to the hospital. She knew how close I was and was trying to help me get back to a good place mentally, but I wouldn't listen. I felt like they were trying to stall me leaving to the hospital, and I couldn't stand the thought of another contraction without an epidural. I think they finally saw how serious I was, because they called the hospital to tell them we were coming and I basically ran out of there and out to the car as fast as I could go. I was wearing an ugly pink nightgown that said "Hello Sunshine", no bra, and no shoes. We drove to the hospital and I had a few contractions in the car that were <i>horrible</i>. Never go for a drive at 9 cm, it is NOT. FUN. By the time we got to the hospital I booked it out of the car and still refused to put shoes on. Caleb had to go check us in so my midwife walked me back to labor and delivery. We passed a guy and his probably 7 year old son while I yelled through a contraction, and I'm pretty sure that poor kid got an interesting talk that night. (And will never be giving his parents grandkids now.)</div>
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When we walked into our room the only people there were a nurse and the respiratory therapist. They smiled and said Hi and I instantly had a contraction, leaning against the wall and screaming. They all realized how far along I was and kicked it into high gear, I have never seen people move that fast! Before Caleb could even get back there, they had taken my blood, started an IV, and they were starting the epidural.</div>
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In my crazed state I wasn't thinking and when they numbed my back for the epidural, I thought <i>that</i> was the epidural. So when I had another contraction I yelled at the poor anesthesiologist, "WHY ISN'T IT WORKING?!" He was really nice and was moving <i>so</i> quick to get the epidural going. He even waited to do the epidural in between contractions, something they didn't do last time, and that helped a lot. By the time that awesome epidural kicked in I instantly felt embarrassed about how ridiculous I must have looked in my very ironic nightgown with no shoes, just screaming at everyone in sight. But my sense of humor instantly came back, and every time my stomach tightened up I would just laugh and say, "I bet that one would have <i>hurt</i>!"</div>
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An hour and a half later I was finally dilated to a 10, and they brought in the mirror and told me we could try pushing. With Dayen, I pushed for about 3 hours before finally delivering with forceps, so I was already telling the doctor, "This probably won't work, so if the first few pushes aren't doing anything can we go straight to the forceps? I want to be alert this time!" </div>
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They told me to try pushing and I watched in the mirror as in one push his head moved several inches down. I yelled, "It's working!!!" because I honestly didn't think it would! They told me to stop and then in two pushes he was out! </div>
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At 6 lbs 8 oz he was almost 3 entire pounds smaller than his big brother! I was so shocked at how different it had been than Dayen's birth. (I still am! We don't even know what to do with a baby this small!) All in all it was about 14 hours of active labor, exactly half of my first, and as far as we can figure I was probably at 9 cm for about 4 hours. For the record, that's the only part I don't recommend. </div>
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I think my midwives were worried that I would be disappointed that I made it so long just to cave and get the epidural in the end. But honestly, I am really happy with how his birth turned out. I know everyone says all that matters is the baby being healthy, but that's not true. It's the most important thing, sure, but it's not the <i>only</i> important thing. As the woman in labor, you are the only one who has to go through it. It can be scary, and tempting to just hand over to your doctor and say, "Do this for me. Make this as easy as possible." But in the end, you're the one dealing with the labor and birth and recovery. So your experience matters! And for me, that just meant having the birth I wanted and feeling supported through the whole thing, which is exactly what I got! I couldn't have had the same labor experience in a hospital setting, (They would never have let me go to Bert's for breakfast or quietly sit back and let my labor progress on it's own without any interventions) and the minute I wanted the epidural, I was really grateful it existed and that I was able to get it. I wasn't upset that my plans changed, just really grateful that when they did, I was still able to be supported and have the birth I wanted.</div>
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<br />Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-31870601329414763372018-03-15T08:26:00.003-07:002018-03-15T09:03:00.126-07:00Me & My Due Dates<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;">Next Tuesday.
Here we are, less than a week away from my "due date", and I am doing what I have told myself
for the last 3 years I wouldn't do.
Just 5 more days. Tops.</span></span></span><br />
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I am telling myself I am almost done. I'm ignoring <a href="http://anndeebetweenthelines.blogspot.com/2015/05/the-waiting-game.html" target="_blank">everything I painfully learned about this the last</a></span></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;"><a href="http://anndeebetweenthelines.blogspot.com/2015/05/the-waiting-game.html" target="_blank">time around</a>, and I'm telling myself that this time, it will be different. This is the baby I'll laugh about,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre;">and say, "Yeah, his older brother came almost 2 weeks late, but he actually came early! And the
labor was quick, and easy, and totally pain-free!" Power of positive thinking, right?</span>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's been easy ever since Dayen was born to tell myself I wouldn't do this when I got the chance </span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">again. It's been easy to say, you are just a person who has long pregnancies. You should always </span></div>
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">plan on that. After all is said and done, what's two more weeks? </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwXp3hqi1Xf_y2DPfwqnal_k60VBgRArhVZEPxaAMYXCRfyimdI2IcraGHJtcXkF3Z4hRiYf7MEQVoEEP335xKfo3Kk8EBQmpd1GTNWImYYIfGYQG3Lo87jiI9GYRbst7TYG7PEz-oNcQ/s1600/AnndeeMaternity%252818of90%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1068" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwXp3hqi1Xf_y2DPfwqnal_k60VBgRArhVZEPxaAMYXCRfyimdI2IcraGHJtcXkF3Z4hRiYf7MEQVoEEP335xKfo3Kk8EBQmpd1GTNWImYYIfGYQG3Lo87jiI9GYRbst7TYG7PEz-oNcQ/s640/AnndeeMaternity%252818of90%2529.jpg" width="640" /></span></a></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-d40a036c-2a44-0ab1-681b-05e11e8783cc"></span><br /></span>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-d40a036c-2a65-f9da-4db3-39d31d2716e3"></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #444444; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It's been easy, until the last month or so. We sold our house faster than expected, and we have to be out 11 days after my due date. (I had Dayen at 12 days past my due date.) And I forgot that by this point, your patience is basically gone, along with your sanity. Thatās the problem with going over: itās not just a longer pregnancy, it gets exponentially harder every single day. You get bigger, and crabbier, and more uncomfortable, so you canāt help but spend at least a chunk of everyday thinking, āIt would be </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">really great</span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> if this baby would be born now.ā </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I was determined not to let it get to me this time, but of course it has. One of my friends went 12 days </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">past her due date last summer, and she posted asking people for natural induction methods. She got </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">all the advice you always hear: spicy foods, bounce on a yoga ball, curb walking. But I, with all my </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">birthing knowledge, told her, āGive up, go relax and tell yourself the baby is never going to be born. </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">That is the only thing that worked for me!ā She later told me it was the only thing that worked for her, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">too! See how smart I am?</span></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-d40a036c-2a44-39d8-ac39-815e45ad0876" style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">But am I following my own advice? Um, no. I havenāt even reached my due date yet, but my </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">overly-controlling nature has me casually pushing the pressure points in your hand that supposedly</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">induce labor, and bouncing constantly on a yoga ball, and going on walks that do nothing but make </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">me more uncomfortable.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoQMGq_pqy1Ka-6doewu7k1rMQTKx_RYXCOemzo8GyJYGzxb8wBnkBG76kB_er4bEPA4E9hXqbAjx5aej40l35oepZc0j9bQ8qYOJi7j8oxdZ45bWe_EPPDIDk6FXVzYeolIX9p77f_7U/s1600/AnndeeMaternity%252822of90%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoQMGq_pqy1Ka-6doewu7k1rMQTKx_RYXCOemzo8GyJYGzxb8wBnkBG76kB_er4bEPA4E9hXqbAjx5aej40l35oepZc0j9bQ8qYOJi7j8oxdZ45bWe_EPPDIDk6FXVzYeolIX9p77f_7U/s640/AnndeeMaternity%252822of90%2529.jpg" width="426" /></span></a></div>
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<span id="docs-internal-guid-d40a036c-2a44-66c7-3f42-d8cfaaaf2e72" style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">This is, by far, the hardest part of pregnancy for me. I know Iām in the home stretch. I know, logically, </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">every day I get closer to meeting the little guy. But it's still hard waking up every day, still pregnant. It's </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">hard every time someone asks me </span><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><i>why</i> I'm still pregnant.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG-FPDCM1xpBS2rfyCvzF9E8mcKiIvusZgX-ozvWQCzX1PZAUSkgdmNK_HJ7pEppq8hO4QFhx5e81CO9iBa9KxMpDvkglb4J9K-rHO4wh7vLSasjaFLwXjUi5YuiEud5cdJxRmfhJVFmE/s1600/AnndeeMaternity%252834of90%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1068" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG-FPDCM1xpBS2rfyCvzF9E8mcKiIvusZgX-ozvWQCzX1PZAUSkgdmNK_HJ7pEppq8hO4QFhx5e81CO9iBa9KxMpDvkglb4J9K-rHO4wh7vLSasjaFLwXjUi5YuiEud5cdJxRmfhJVFmE/s640/AnndeeMaternity%252834of90%2529.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And I wonāt get on my soapbox about it, but no Iām not planning to be induced and no, Iām not scared </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">of another big baby. The only thing I can say is, with everything that felt out of my control the last time </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">around, I am forever grateful that I let my baby choose his own birthday. And that isnāt to start an </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">argument around inductions, or how anyone elseās birth went. You do whatās right for you. Iām going </span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">to sit over here, eternally pregnant, doing whatās right for me.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: #444444; font-family: "helvetica neue" , "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
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<br />Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-75853319221339185182017-12-17T14:40:00.002-08:002017-12-17T14:40:58.782-08:00Wow. Perfect.I don't know what it is about the Christmas season that inspires in moms the sudden desire to do absolutely everything, immediately, and perfectly.<br />
Or is it just me?<br />
Lately I feel like I've been drowning in self inflicted ideas and projects that never seem to end. Some of it was genuinely Christmas related, but most were other, mostly unimportant things that I decide to do and then I have to do it <i>right away</i> and then I hate myself the whole time because it's just causing me stress.<br />
If you've driven by our house this winter, you've probably seen our Grinch outside. He was an idea I had when I was about 2 months pregnant with Dayen. I insisted one day that I had to get the wood to make him <i>right now</i>. We didn't even have a truck, but we live about a block away from the hardware store, so we walked over and carried a giant piece of plywood back. It took over half the living room, but that didn't matter, because I was going to make it that day and then we would have a cute new decoration for Christmas.<br />
That was in October. I didn't finish it until May. It actually sat in our house, completely untouched, for <i>months</i> because after one attempt I realize how hard it was to sketch a gigantic grinch on a piece of plywood, and I gave up.<br />
My point being, ever since then, when I get a grand idea like that Caleb is usually good to remind me about the Grinch and make me wait to see if it's something I actually want to do, or something my insane brain thinks I want to do.<br />
But this year he's apparently let me go rogue because I've been spending a lot of time working on a lot of Grinch-like projects. They don't take up as much space in my home, but they take up space in my brain. I work like a crazy person, trying to get an insane amount of things done in a shockingly small amount of time. Even when I succeed, even when I scratch everything off my to-do list for the day, I look around and realize: no one cares. I am the only one doing this to myself.<br />
Yesterday, after a particularly rough afternoon of stupid projects that refused to cooperate, I think I got a fresh batch of pregnancy hormones and I ended up breaking down in tears in the middle of the kitchen. My sweet husband immediately came to my side to comfort me, and my shocked little boy tried to hug me and laugh and make me feel better. When Dayen saw that I was still sad, he suddenly realized that his dad must be who was making his mom cry! So gently but firmly, he pushed Caleb's legs until he had moved him as far across the room as he could go. Then he returned to my side to hug me again, like, "There you go mom! I got rid of him for you!" That lightened the mood and made both of us laugh.<br />
Then today of course I forgot every lesson I've ever learned in my life, and in the hour before church I felt the weight of everything slowly dragging me down. By the time we sat down in sacrament meeting, I was fighting back tears again. I'll be honest, I was having a little pity party thinking how hard it is to be me. Everyone else in the world must actually relax once in awhile, but me? All I do is work, or work on things I don't even care about. And the part that was really dragging me down is that I feel like I'm failing at everything I do.<br />
Finally, not even realizing I was upset, Dayen crawled into my lap. He had a bag of Cheerios he was eating at lightning speed, and he sighed contentedly and said, "Wow. Perfect."<br />
Caleb asked him, "What's perfect?"<br />
He replied, "A perfect mom hug!"<br />
We both laughed, and I hugged him a little harder. It really hit me: <i>that</i> was perfect for him. Not a perfectly clean house. Not all his hand-picked presents wrapped under the tree. Not even a mom who was sweet and nice and patient all the time. Just sitting in church, on his mom's lap with a snack was perfect for him.<br />
<i>So why am I making this so hard?</i><br />
Why am I putting so much pressure on myself to do everything, all the time?<br />
Why do I let it drive me up the wall to have a sink full of dishes, or some unknown food stain on the stove?<br />
Why do I let Facebook articles tell me I'm failing at every corner as a parent?<br />
He's obviously doing OK. More than OK. Sometimes, he's even perfect.<br />
So my Christmas gift to myself, and all the other moms out there who are crying in the kitchen about something that didn't go perfect, is to just try and let go. Try and see things through your child's eyes. If you're so worried about everything all the time, you're probably doing great. Now put down the hot glue gun and bottle of toilet cleaner, and take a break! All the Grinches get finished eventually.<br />
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<br />Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-20698315831396735722017-11-04T17:04:00.002-07:002017-11-04T17:07:30.960-07:00When Luigi joined Mario<div style="text-align: left;">
Yesterday, we found out we are having another little boy! This came over six weeks later in my pregnancy than it did with Dayen. At my first gender ultrasound, we were told 99% chance the baby was a girl. We were both kind of in shock, because we both have 3 brothers and have always felt like a girl for us might be as rare as giving birth to a unicorn. (Which sounds painful.) Then the next angle of the ultrasound she said, "Actually... it might be a boy." So for the next 6 weeks we went back and forth, but leaned toward the baby being a girl because it was so hard to tell, and with Dayen we knew right away and easily.</div>
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So yesterday, when the ultrasound technician told us with confidence that we were having a boy, we were both in shock for a second. And I will admit, there was a tiny bit of disappointment, which I instantly felt guilty about. Having one of each just seemed like the perfect way to do it. I had a girl name all picked out. I had even secretly bought some girly onesies and hid them from Caleb because he was afraid I would jinx it. So hearing we were having another boy made us feel slightly deflated at first. It was like, Oh. Another boy? This is like traveling back in time. And as weird as it sounds, it was almost a loss. Like one second we were having a daughter, and the next we realized she never even existed at all. </div>
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But then the ultrasound got a good shot of his sweet little face, and we both commented on how much he already looks like Dayen. And I realized how many times in my pregnancy groups I have seen people be genuinely upset about their babies gender, and for the most part, it is always because they are having a boy.</div>
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Why is that? Boys are the best! Don't get me wrong, a little girl would be fun and different. But the more I think about it, the more excited I am for Dayen to have a little buddy to play trucks with. And it made me realize some reasons I am so grateful to be having another boy.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Boys don't need as much</span></div>
Before our last ultrasound, I had a bunch of stuff in a bunch of carts on the internet ready to buy once we confirmed that we were having a girl. Things like pink swaddlers and floral car seat covers, stuff that we actually had but not in "girl prints". I hadn't even gotten around to thinking about clothes and bows and all the other girly stuff. Now, I can honestly say we don't need much of anything. Not only do we already have a bunch of boy clothes, but somehow even when they are tiny, boys just don't need as much. Buying the floral and the frilly is fun, but I'll stick to being the high maintenance one in the family for now.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Surrounded by Strength</span></div>
Sure, in a few months I am going to be the only female in a very testosterone-filled house. (Even our DOG is a boy. I'm completely surrounded.) But I've lived with girls before... I had 9 female roommates at one point. And all I can say is, there's something to be said for living with people who use a lot less toilet paper and can open pickle jars for you.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">He can be King</span></div>
Sure, it's 2017 and being a girl is pretty great, but back in the day, I would have been put to death if I couldn't produce a son. Now that I'm having my second boy? I probably would have been the favorite wife who got to live in the biggest castle and have my own maid. You know... if I survived the birth. And the plague.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Luigi is all-around better than Peach</span></div>
Dayen thinks Mario is pretty much the coolest thing ever, just after trucks and treats. Let's face it, his little brother Luigi joining the team was a great addition to the game. But Princess Peach? She is just the worst. Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard, she has some serious damsel-in-distress problems, and even after Mario saves her from Bowser OVER AND OVER, she still leads both Mario <i>and</i> Bowser on rather than just shutting Bowser down like she should have done back in the 80's.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">The world needs more tiny Caleb's</span></div>
Let's face it, from his looks to his personality, Dayen is just a tiny Caleb. Only on rare occasions where he throws a loud tantrum or cries over nothing does anyone say, "Oh, I see the resemblance to Anndee now." Usually, he is mellow, easy going, and fun. The world needs more little Caleb's, and I'm not sure how many Anndee's it can hold.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Being a boy mom </span></div>
Overall, the thought of carrying another baby boy makes me smile because for the last two and a half years, being a boy mom has been pretty great. From holding sticky hands to impromptu cuddles, little boys are just about the sweetest thing out there. Watching him look up to his dad and want to be more like him (even though I swear they are already the same person) and seeing him learn and grow have been nothing short of a privilege for me. Every time he smiles and says, "Hi, Mom!" or randomly asks if I want a hug, I fall even more in love with this sweet little boy, and he has definitely paved the way in both our hearts for another baby boy to join our family!<br />
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<br />Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-27976629877582140222017-09-28T19:38:00.003-07:002017-09-28T19:42:43.692-07:00The Terrible TwosCan we have some real talk about 2 year olds for a second?<br />
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I don't feel like I can complain, because the truth is, everybody warns you.<br />
Like, repeatedly. They don't call them the Terrible Twos for nothin.<br />
We've all rolled our eyes in restaurants as some kid a few tables down throws a tantrum. Or left a friends house with a sigh of relief because their child was destroying everything and the parent seemed too tired to care.<br />
But you can never be fully prepared to actually <i>parent</i> a two year old.<br />
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First of all, you love them <i>so much</i>. Like, there are times I look at Dayen and want to eat his face off because he's the cutest freakin' thing I have ever seen. There are times my heart melts into a puddle on the floor because something he is doing is so sweet and adorable. And every day, he says or does something so funny that I'm not exactly sure how I ever survived a day without a much-needed Dayen joke. And when he comes up and asks for a hug or tells me he loves me (or, as he's taken to doing lately, says, "Hi Cutie!" when I walk by) my heart is so full of joy that my life suddenly feels whole and perfect and complete.<br />
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But then. <span style="font-size: large;"><i>But then</i>.</span><br />
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Inevitably, the two year old in him comes out. If we are all here to put off the natural man, then two year olds must have a natural toddler, and I have seen it, and it is <i>not pretty</i>. In fact, it is scarier than anything I've ever seen in a so-called scary movie. (Which, ok, I used to cheat and put my knees up and not watch them because I hate scary movies, but still.) In an instant, he can totally flip from my sweet angel child into a crazy monster I have never seen before. (Except now. Cause I see him way. too. often.)<br />
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It catches me off guard every single time. It's like somehow, this tiny person that I love so much is both my best friend...and my worst enemy.<br />
I feel horrible even saying that. And that's exactly the problem: I love him SO much. I realize that he's only 2, and not really capable of expressing himself in an, ahem, healthy fashion. But lately it seems like all day every day, he is driving me to want to pull all my hair out. Where did he learn that banshee scream from and how do his lungs handle screaming like that all day? Why can't he just <i>tell me</i> when he's hungry instead of rolling around on the ground and throwing a tantrum until I guess?<br />
And the real important question: is he enjoying torturing me as much as I think he is?<br />
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Two is just this weird transition stage. One minute they are your sweet, chubby, helpless baby, and the next they are a tiny, sticky-fingered human who can destroy a room in ten seconds flat and steals food off your plate like you are a peasant and he is King of the Universe.<br />
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So now, I would like to issue a formal apology to any parent I ever privately judged for having a screaming toddler in a public place, or a kid shouting NO at their parents fifty times in a row, or for ever assuming that meant your kid was a "bad seed" who behaved this way all the time.<br />
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I see now.<br />
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I see that the moment I became a mother, I entered a terrifying and dangerous relationship with a sweet little person who would one day poke me in the eye in the store and then laugh maniacally. I see that even the most seemingly difficult children are probably like sour patch kids. (Sweet on the inside, but definitely going to cut your hair while you're sleeping if they ever get the chance.) I see that I was just cocky to ever think I could raise a perfectly well behaved toddler, or to ever believe that I was actually doing it, because the moment I got too comfortable, the beast in him was unleashed.<br />
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I have been humbled. I am more than willing to hear any and all suggestions to help me get through the day, or to help this pregnant mom and her crazy toddler deal with our overly-large emotions.<br />
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But I am also grateful, despite the many times a day that I completely lose it and find myself bargaining for some peace and quiet with cookies and toy trucks, that I get to spend my days with this kid.<br />
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He is nuts, but I think he gets it from me. So we might as well be nuts together.<br />
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<br />Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-50507793028085293802017-06-13T14:58:00.000-07:002017-06-13T15:00:32.278-07:00Cleaning (I know, exciting, right?)Warning: this post is less exciting and more... informational. I know you usually stop by for the thrills, but this post is titled "Cleaning", so I guess if you've made it this far, you might as well carry on.<br />
I don't know if it's just in my blood, if it comes from living with messy roommates for years, or if my professional-cleaning mother finally rubbed off on me, but I've realized since owning my own home that I tend to get a tad <strike> OCD</strike> organized when it comes to cleaning.<br />
My problem is, the way I clean generally looks like this. (From the scary perspective of inside my mind:)<br />
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The kitchen is dirty. I need to clean that.<br />
No sense cleaning the kitchen until Dayen has a snack.<br />
Shoot, this pantry is a mess. How old are these goldfish? I better clean this out while I'm at it.<br />
Now I filled up the garbage. Better take that out.<br />
Garbage day tomorrow. Take it alllll the way out to the curb.<br />
Come back in. Forgot to empty the bathroom garbage. Might as well take that, and the office garbage out.<br />
To the curb. Dang it.<br />
I have passed this random fuzzy thing on the ground 50 times now but I'm just scared enough that it's a spider that I don't want to pick it up. Or get too close. Guess I'll just vacuum.<br />
Everything. I'll vacuum everything since it's out.<br />
Dayen finished his snack now.<br />
And by finished, I mean he threw it on the ground. So out comes the vacuum again. I get him situated in his room, which I'm just now noticing needs to be dusted, and his toys need to be picked up for the thousandth time.<br />
Do all that. Head to the kitchen because I'm starving, and realize it's a mess.<br />
I should probably clean that.<br />
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Now I realize I'm probably a little crazier about this than your average bear. I know a lot of people just don't care about cleaning. But if you can empathize with me at all, then I have good news: I'm here to help.<br />
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A few months ago I was at a training with the wonderful photographers I work with. We were talking about goals, and one of the girls mentioned that she used to spend her entire weekends cleaning instead of with her family, so she started following a cleaning chart so that she could have weekends off.<br />
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After that, every Saturday that I found myself cleaning instead of hanging out with this cute family of mine, I thought of that. So I finally sat down and wrote out a cleaning chart, and made myself follow it.<br />
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Guys, I know how pathetic this is going to sound, but it seriously <i>changed my life</i>. Here's what my chart looks like:<br />
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I know it looks like a lot, but this was basically everything I was doing during the week anyway (only usually all at once, or more than once) PLUS all those things like pesky baseboards that I never got around to, because ain't nobody got time fo' that.</div>
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After the first week, I noticed a huge improvement. My house was all around a lot cleaner. When I did clean, I spent a lot less time every day. I finally got weekends all to myself. And best of all, whenever I noticed something was dirty, I just <i>let it go.</i> Because I knew I would end up cleaning whatever it was within a week. So I could keep focusing on whatever I was doing, rather than wondering how long it had been since I cleaned the toilet and worrying about it until it happened.</div>
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And it gets better: I don't follow it perfectly anymore. But because I've gotten good at doing almost everything on my list every day, I can skip a day here and there and not really notice. Like last week, we were on vacation Tuesday-Thursday. Rather than trying to do all those chores when we got back, I just left them for this week. No big deal, because they were all done the week before.</div>
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Go ahead and make fun of the cleaning nerd in me, but I have <i>loved</i> it. When I am struggling to want to clean that day, I just do my daily chore and then know I can be done for the day and still feel accomplished. Plus, did you notice? Those months with a 5th week, you don't have to do a monthly chore.</div>
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I know, it's the little things.</div>
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I finally got around to typing up my list, so I made a blank one for those of you who have been reading this post with rapt attention, because you can deny it, but I know you're out there. It took me awhile to get my schedule down in a way that worked for me, so feel free to steal things off my list or completely disregard it and find what works for you. I doubt anyone else out there has a booth in their kitchen with handmade pad covers that have to be washed monthly thanks to their messy two year old. (It doesn't take him an entire month to get them insanely messy, but that's when the magic of turning them over to the clean side comes into play!)</div>
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Feel free to steal this photo and print it off for yourself- it fits all on one page, or you can shrink it for 2 to a page and give one as a Father's Day gift this week. They will love it.</div>
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Just kidding. Don't take my advice on that.</div>
<br />Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-14382852835470272312017-05-09T15:07:00.001-07:002017-05-09T15:07:27.156-07:00How to be a PERFECT Mom<span style="font-size: large;">First things first, Imma say all the words inside my head,</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I'm fired up and tired of the way that things have been.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">-Imagine Dragons</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">-Anndee Fonnesbeck</span><br />
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Oh, ooh. But really.<br />
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One of my best friends just had a baby. She is a lot like me, and spent the last 9 months researching everything from what car seats are best, to how to best organize your infant's closet. She has wanted a baby for a long time, and spent what I'm sure felt like an eternity trying to get pregnant. She, like most of us (let's go ahead and blame the hormones) cried like a baby when she finally saw that big blue plus sign.<br />
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She went through nine months of pregnancy, and then gave birth to a perfect, healthy little boy. But after their first night at home, she called me in tears. "I didn't realize this was going to be so hard! I love him <i>so much</i>, but he won't sleep! He won't stop crying! I feel like the worst mom and I don't know what to do for my baby!"<br />
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This completely broke my heart for my cute friend. I have been in the background the last nine months, excitedly waiting with her for this cute baby to make his appearance. I have fielded every birth and parenting question I could, and watched her excitedly prepare to become a mother. But within days, it knocked her down.<br />
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And I realized, I completely forgot about this part.<br />
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Dayen will be two this month, which means it was only two short years ago I was in this same boat. But when I think of having a newborn again, all I can think about is how tiny they are, and how <i>huge</i> my adorable two year old is. I think about how he would fall asleep in my arms, and all the cute clothes he outgrew ages ago. (Not to mention the newborn clothes he never fit into, stinkin' 9 pounder that he was.)<br />
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Just like everyone told me I would, I forgot almost completely about the sleep deprivation. I forgot about the insane amount of stress that comes from a baby who won't stop crying. I forgot how hard it is to heal from childbirth, learn to breastfeed, and be solely responsible for the care of another human all at once. Now that we've had two years to find our footing, I forgot that for awhile there, our world was turned completely upside down.<br />
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<br />
I think the craziness is to be expected. I think crying about it to your friends and family is totally normal. I don't think there is any amount of researching you can do that will <i>really</i> prepare you for parenthood.<br />
<br />
And it must work out, right? Because if I really search my mind, I know those rough nights were there. I know there were plenty of times I felt stressed beyond what I could handle. But now, I look back and all I remember are those sweet, chubby cheeks, how I could stare at him while he slept and just soak it all in, and how <i>every single second</i> was worth it.<br />
I would do it all over again, absolutely.<br />
<br />
All of it is normal. We can't control the hormones or stop babies from just crying for no reason sometimes. But one thing that sticks with me still, one thing that has been nearly impossible to shake, is wondering whether I am a good enough mother.<br />
<br />
Now, I realize this has probably been a problem for a lot of mothers since the dawn of time. But I don't think I'm mistaken in saying that, emotionally at least, this has got to be one of <i>the hardest</i> times to try to mother in.<br />
<br />
As my friend talked to me, her voice shaking, she told me, "I caved and finally gave him a binky. The nurse at the hospital told me to <i>never</i> give him a binky or he wouldn't latch, but I just had to get him to stop crying! And it worked, he went right to sleep after that."<br />
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The problem with trying to parent today is that we are constantly bombarded with information about what is the best for everyone's baby, all the time. Combine that with our need to judge everyone's lives over social media, and you've got a recipe for a stressed out new mom who is feeling actual, real-life guilt over something people used to do easily, like give her child a binky.<br />
<br />
I gave her the best advice I can think of, "Listen to the advice people give you. But when it comes to actually parenting your child, <i>you</i> make the decisions. You are the only person who knows this baby this closely. <i>You are his mother. </i>You know what is best for him, and you are going to make every single decision in his best interest. <i>You are enough for him</i>."<br />
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The problem is, we all know it takes a village. And I am so grateful for the seasoned, experienced moms (and dads) who gave us advice along the way. Without a friendship made in church, I never would have discovered the gas drops that saved our lives a few months in. But there were things no one could help us with, like the fact that Dayen spit up all day, every day for the first year of his life. Every time it happened, I felt like a failure. One person told me to give up dairy, while another told me to take him to a specialist. No matter what we tried, nothing helped. But yet, he was healthy. He grew. My baby was always comfortable, happy, and taken care of, because his well being has been on my mind every second of every day since the moment I found out I was pregnant.<br />
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And as his parents, I know that Caleb and I are enough for him. We are doing enough. We are trying enough. We <i>are</i> good parents.<br />
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<br />
It kills me, but it's something I have found I have to remind myself of <i>constantly</i>. Every time I see another article on Facebook telling me I've been doing something wrong (Kids need constant milk! No milk! Broccoli will rot their teeth! Air conditioning stunts their growth!) I have to remind myself that this easy, constant access to "knowledge" is not always a blessing.<br />
<br />
No matter what you do as a mother, you are failing in the eyes of someone. Do you vaccinate or don't you? Do you cosleep or not? When do you start potty training? Or giving time outs? Am I a horrible parent for letting him cry it out, or is that the exact perfect way to sleep train?<br />
<br />
It is so incredibly overwhelming trying to please everyone and be a perfect parent, because it's impossible. You're fighting a losing battle. And yet, that other mom on Facebook has it all together, so it <i>must</i> be possible if only you try harder!<br />
<br />
We beat ourselves up about every little failure or shortcoming in parenting because it's the one job we really, <i>really</i> want to be perfect at.<br />
<br />
My two brief years in parenting have taught me a lot. Don't ever leave your child unattended without a diaper on, even for ten seconds. Don't compare them to anyone else's kid, because they are all so different. I think I have even decided I am a great mom. But there are some things I had to do to get here.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1) Stop reading scary articles</span><br />
Whether your friends post them on Facebook, or you can't help it and you look them up yourself, stop reading all those rare, worst-case-scenario stories. Bad things happen all the time. For the most part, that kind of stuff is unavoidable, and only serves to make you crazy. Just don't read it. Next time you see an article about something horrible happening to a child because her mother used bargain brand laundry detergent, click that handy button that says "Show less posts like this" and guess what? You will start seeing less posts like that.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2)Base your decisions off your child</span><br />
The answer to basically any question you've ever had? It's out there. Either on the internet, or from some handy friend who knew a friend of a friend who had something similar happen. It's ok to ask questions, and it's ok to learn. If you don't know something, look it up. Ask for opinions. But don't base your decisions off what anyone else tells you happened to their kid, or what they wish they had done differently. Base your decisions off YOUR child and their needs. If you always make your decision the best one you can for your kid, then those voices telling you you're wrong slowly start to fade away. (Or, you go deaf to it.)<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">3) Lovingly ignore your Village</span><br />
It sounds great to repeat the mantra, "I am my child's parent, I know what's best for them." day in and day out, and it's certainly easier to ignore the strangers who try to give you advice, but it doesn't always work that way. The fact is, besides it's parents, any child has at least a small number of people around it who love it too, and often feel at least somewhat entitled to a slice of the decision making. These are usually the people telling you you're doing something wrong, and you'll know you respect their opinion when it makes you want to punch a wall whenever they have the slightest criticism. These are usually the people who have had more kids, or had kids sooner, or who just read a lot more books than you. These are the people that I still find myself thinking, "Well, they probably know better than I do," and I almost always end up regretting it.<br />
<br />
I've learned to love and respect these people. I love that they love my baby. I love that I have help and guidance when I need it. But I've also learned to trust my gut. I've learned to say no, and stand by it. I've learned that someone else could have raised eleven perfect, well-behaved children into adulthood, but they still don't know what's best for my child the way I do.<br />
<br />
So to my sweet, new mom friend, who gets to spend her days alternating between dirty diapers and sobbing in wonder and love at the little baby she just met, I want you to know you are enough for him. You don't need years of experience. You can't earn a degree in motherhood. You won't be perfect. But from the minute he was made, you were absolutely, completely, 100% perfect for him.<br />
<br />
You two were quite literally made for each other.<br />
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You've got this.<br />
<br />
<br />Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-9839015601220730252017-03-16T15:23:00.000-07:002017-03-16T15:23:34.431-07:00What Tantrums Teach UsDayen, who is almost 22 months (although, I'm normal, so I prefer to refer to it as "almost 2") is at the funnest age right now. I know, I've said that through every age of his life, but I think so far, this is my favorite.<br />
<br />
He's learning to talk, and every day he surprises me with the funny things he will say that I didn't even know he knew. (His latest favorite is to tell me "I pooped." every morning when I get him out of his crib. He's usually lying.)<br />
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He loves to sing, and his little off-key voice is the cutest thing I've ever heard.<br />
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He will sit and play with you for hours, and when you build a tower out of his blocks he's really encouraging and says, "good job!" or dramatically yells "oh noooo!" when they fall down.<br />
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He's still obsessed with letters and numbers. He likes to count on his fingers, and he always says, "one, two, three, four, HIGH FIVE!, six, seven..."<br />
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He loves to pick out his own clothes, and his favorite thing in the world is shoes. If I don't put shoes on him in the morning he asks about them all day. "Shoes? Shoes? Socks and shoes?"<br />
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He's not very adventurous (he doesn't even like to go down the slide on my lap) but he's very observant. Today we were at the park when a little girl and her mom were going down the slide. Dayen, watching them carefully while eating his sandwich, whispered, "Ready? Set? Go!" and when they didn't go he said a little louder, "Go. GO!" As they went down he said "wheee" and when they got to the bottom he smiled and said, "Fun." We were cracking up.<br />
<br />
Everything he does is either adorable, hilarious, or adorably hilarious. This age is so, SO much fun.<br />
BUT<br />
<br />
(of course there's a but. You think I would write a blog post just to brag? No, I'm here to complain, as always.)<br />
<br />
This age is also famous for it's tantrums.<br />
<br />
You know what I'm talking about. They don't call them the "terrible twos" for nothing. I have watched a lot of kids over the years, all who possessed varying degrees of naughtiness, but no one, and I mean NO ONE, escapes the terrible twos.<br />
<br />
And I will admit it: I have not been known to have the most patience with it. As a nanny, it was easy. I loved the kids I nannied, but it was my job to help them be well-behaved and fun to be with. Then I went home at 5:00 and who knows what they did. For the most part, because I wasn't their parent, the kids would listen to me. But, oh, those terrible twos.<br />
<br />
And now, just a little early, Dayen has entered this same wonderful time frame that I was naive enough to believe he might just skip. He's always been such a sweet, easy kid. But just the last week or so, he has been <i>so</i> whiny. Everything pushes him over the edge. And I mean <i>everything</i>.<br />
<br />
For example: say we're playing with blocks. He is having a great time stacking them up and watching them fall, when suddenly a tower falls and it is just the end of the world. He can't handle it. We stack it back up, and he gets even madder. There is just no consoling him.<br />
<br />
So me, being the fantastic mother that I am, I just get more and more short tempered. Soon, every time he starts to cry I get frustrated. Because it is so unnecessary! Because the things he is upset about don't matter, or don't exist! And because it is just <i>never ending</i>.<br />
<br />
Which brings us to this morning.<br />
<br />
Caleb works from home twice a week, so he was on the laptop working and I had some things I needed to get done for my job. So I was on the computer in Dayen's room for probably half an hour or so. Dayen was playing by himself for awhile when he started to get frustrated with his toys for no apparent reason. Then he came over to me and whined for a second, and when I told him to stop, he threw some toys behind the computer, like he knows he's not supposed to. I thought, I know how to handle this, I'm a good mom. So I calmly grabbed his hand and said, "Dayen, <i>no no</i>."<br />
<br />
I could not have picked a worse thing to say. He threw himself on the ground in complete hysterics. Knowing where this was heading, I moved him to his crib. I let him cry in there for about a minute, then let him out and asked if he could be happy now. Again, he threw himself on the ground. That's about the time Caleb came in, and we both tried to gently calm him down and distract him, while also letting him know it wasn't ok to be screaming like that. (This is a super effective form of parenting that always works. Not.)<br />
<br />
I finally put him in the rarely used time-out corner and let him cry. He sobbed for another few minutes, and would occasionally look back at me, but with his eyes squeezed tightly shut because he didn't want me to see him.<br />
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Finally, <i>finally</i>, I knelt down a few feet away and reached my arms out to him. Instantly, he crawled over and climbed onto my lap. He buried his face in my shoulder and within seconds he had calmed down.<br />
<br />
And my little mommy heart completely shattered.<br />
<br />
Because I finally understood what the tantrum was about. He wasn't just being grumpy. He wasn't just being two. He wasn't even really being unreasonable.<br />
<br />
He just wanted some attention. He wanted me to play with him, and he didn't know how to ask.<br />
<br />
He had played quietly all morning while I took care of the house and got ready. Then, when I finally came in his room, I was completely distracted staring at a screen and <i>still</i> making him play all alone.<br />
<br />
He doesn't understand that I have to work. He doesn't understand why I would tell him to go play when I'm here, perfectly capable of playing. And he doesn't know how to express it when he gets upset.<br />
<br />
He's not even two yet. He will learn to be more patient. He will even learn the heartbreaking truth that sometimes, mom and dad can't entertain him. But for now, he just needs to know that I am here for him when he needs or even just wants me. He needs to know that no matter what he does, his mom will always be here, always loving him, always ready for a hug when he is.<br />
<br />
So, we're working on it. I am trying to teach him to say, "Play, please?" instead of crying or throwing a fit. But more important, I am trying to teach myself that toddlers are not adults. (Duh, right?) They aren't going to be perfect. They are going to cry, <i>that is going to happen</i>. But next time, I am going to be a lot quicker to be the open arms to comfort him, rather than the scolding hand trying to force him to grow up.<br />
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He is the smartest, sweetest kid I know. But just like his dad, he sure has to exercise a lot of patience with me.<br />
<br />
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<br />Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-54856934667465971252017-02-13T17:39:00.000-08:002017-02-13T17:39:34.316-08:00Ellie & Awesome<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Just hours ago, I shared this photo of Dayen with his favorite stuffed elephant. Tragically, not long after this picture was taken, Dayen went through a bout of toddler madness and stuffed Ellie, in quite a violent manner, in the dog's water dish. Dayen's mother, who shall remain nameless, was fixing dinner and did not see the event take place. Ellie was discovered some time later by the Master of the House (please burst into Les Mis tunes now), shoved grotesquely in the water dish, arms and legs all twisted about.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Dayen, at the moment, appears to be showing no remorse. However, knowing him as we do, we fear this will not be the case at bedtime.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am no nurse. And I am certainly not an expert in Pachyderms. But I did my best bathing Ellie with a soft cloth (this is not the first time I've done this. My life has gotten so, so weird.) and then spent at least 15 minutes drying her with my hair dryer, and thinking about all the other fantastic things I could have been doing with that time. She is currently in the ICU (Intensive Counter Unit, Bathroom Division) drying the rest of the way. Our only hope for her now is that she will be ready to go home (to her crib) by bedtime. Things aren't looking good. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Always the cynic, I have been waiting for this day to come. The day when Ellie would fall apart for good. I remember well the day my favorite baby blanket came out of the wash in ruins. I cannot bear to see my child go through the same heartache. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Ellie has been with us for so long... since the beginning, really. Always just sort of there, the silent, ivory-toothed spectator.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Through long nights of teething and sickness, through giving up his binky, through bumps and bruises, tantrums and timeouts, Ellie has been Dayen's one constant source of comfort.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Every morning when he wakes up, every other animal and blanket has been tossed carelessly on the floor, but not Ellie. Ellie is squeezed, harshly but securely, in the chubby fingers of my toddler whose love and slobber knows no bounds. Ellie is covered in just about every germ Dayen has ever come in contact with. And she takes it like the strong, majestic mammoth that she is.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I know what you're thinking... "Why not just buy a back up Ellie if she means so much to you?" DON'T YOU THINK I'VE TRIED? (Sorry, emotions are high over here. I just spent 15 minutes <i>drying a stuffed elephant with a hair dryer.</i>) As soon as it became clear that Ellie was "the" toy, I tried to find her online. I was disappointed to find that she was out of stock.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Weeks went by. Then months. The pages of the calendar flew off one by one as Ellie grew slowly more and more grimy. (He thinks her trunk is a binky. Need I say more?)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And still, she is out of stock. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Today, as I felt Ellie's impending demise upon us, I grew more desperate. And, I was in luck! There she was for sale on Ebay, "slightly used"... for only $42.99!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Some sadistic person out there knew they had the only backup Ellie in the world and they are really trying to get every penny out of her. What kind of person tries to get rich off a stuffed elephant I ask you?!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">But today also brought about a new discovery in Ellieland. I read her reviews on Carters.com, and they are nothing short of glowing.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"5 Stars! Please Restock! <span style="background-color: white;">We have 2 of these elephants, one for home and one for daycare. My son cannot sleep without it and we need a backup! Please restock this item!!!"</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"5 Stars! PLEASE RESTOCK!!! Just so happened to find this elephant at Burlington Coat Factory and my little guy fell IN LOVE with it. He is 4 months and has had it for 1 month now. He will NOT sleep without it. It is the perfect size for him! Went back to buy a second one the next day, we thankfully have two JUST IN CASE. But, we would love to have a 3rd one to keep at his daycare. Unfortunately, Burlington no longer has any in stock. PLEASE restock! We will but 3 more (2 to give as gifts for any future baby showers & 1 to keep)."</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">"5 Stars! This is my baby's favorite! </span><span style="background-color: white;">This is my daughter's special elephant. She takes elephant with her for naps and bedtime. She is comforted by the elephant if she wakes in the night. We want to buy more! Please re stock!"</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">No, I am not making this up, and no, I did not write any of these reviews. (Although I was dying laughing reading them.) And that's when it occurred to me... this was an opportunity for my blog to do what I always intended for it to do... <i>make a difference</i>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">To all those fellow parents out there who are hand-washing their one and only Ellie's (or whatever you call her. If you named her anything other than Ellie you're putting <i>way</i> too much thought into this.) To the children, like Dayen, who can't imagine a world without her... this one is for you.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Carter's, I am reaching out. I am here, on bended, graham-cracker crumb coated knee begging you to restock this <strike>item</strike> wonderful, beloved creature. We parents need you, we <i>implore</i> you, to consider the children. No, not the starving ones in other parts of the world. The spoiled ones in our homes who are going to make us <i>crazy</i> if anything ever happens to these toys.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">I don't know why or how children pick their favorites. Maybe you've laced these things with the scent of cookies. Maybe they are the only toys that Toy Story was right about. I don't know and I don't want to know. What I want, is for Ellie to be back in stock. I want to go to sleep at night without the constant, nagging fear that tomorrow may be her last day with all her stuffing inside her.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">Sincerely,</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">The League of Parents Whose Children Love Only One Of Their 10,000 Stuffed Animals (TLOPWCLOOOT1SA) ... or maybe it's just me.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;">P.S. If, by some unlikely chance, Carter's doesn't read my blog, do you think I can get away with buying him this Koala and, like, reattaching his tail as a nose...?</span></span></div>
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<br />Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-64267084035529605482017-02-01T06:26:00.000-08:002017-02-01T06:26:36.900-08:00Enjoying Life + Baking Cookies...Yes, they are the same thing.<br />
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Recently, I've been feeling really anxious and overwhelmed. I've been blaming it on this crummy weather, but it probably also has a little something to do with the new furry addition to our family, who effectively brought the number of little people I have to take care of on the daily up to THREE.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT7t_0MraKZBD6XN0r6bIs_Y9PgVrp5ifbh_DeAWJ3dRVVrtSKtdY34Dh5GiLoBk9-NE_J-bS_248T5vzBnAfpSl56XMym9lNTstx4TKO5oR2n-vkFARpPsO1VpQwLqz-i-HRhnA1YkWI/s1600/fenneck01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT7t_0MraKZBD6XN0r6bIs_Y9PgVrp5ifbh_DeAWJ3dRVVrtSKtdY34Dh5GiLoBk9-NE_J-bS_248T5vzBnAfpSl56XMym9lNTstx4TKO5oR2n-vkFARpPsO1VpQwLqz-i-HRhnA1YkWI/s400/fenneck01.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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Now I know, all of you with 3+ kids would love to take this opportunity to tell me to just wait, it gets even harder, I don't know how easy I have it, etc., but I beg of you... don't. My little heart can't take it. I have to do this thing gradually and in ignorant bliss, or I swear, Dayen is going to stay an only child.</div>
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All that being said, I just haven't been that fun to be around. As a mom, as a wife, or even as myself. When you find yourself needing a break from <i>yourself</i>... well, something has got to change.</div>
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And I just kept telling myself, "If I could just get out of here for awhile, just go somewhere where the sun is shining and I don't have to wade through 5 feet of snow to get anywhere, I would feel better!" But, that isn't true. Ok, it kind of is, and if I have any secretly rich family out there who would like to pay for me to take a trip to Hawaii like, this weekend, now would be the time to reveal yourself.</div>
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But, since that probably isn't going to happen, I decided to make my own happy here. In my same old house, with two fur balls and a runny-nosed kid at my feet 24/7, and with the snow STILL piling up outside.</div>
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To all of you out there feeling the same, never fear: I have your solution! The recipe to happiness. (Is that too on the nose? Should I try not to be too cliche with this? Sorry, I probably don't care.)</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">The Recipe to Happiness (which ironically also results in cookies):</span></div>
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Step One: gather all the ingredients for your favorite recipe. Actually scratch that, your favorite treat. I don't want to see any of you out there making ribs. There needs to be at <i>least</i> an entire cup of sugar in whatever you're making, or this won't work.</div>
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Step Two: gather all the tiny humans in your house (please note, the fur babies should NOT take part in this activity. If they've recently pooped in the house like mine did, it would actually be better to ignore them altogether.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmrxmFjtXWm3IaaYSa1H-YdVeFehtcw2zOx9Wu8PFnlrHVCOX_RwNc6H5gGKjfDIIr498JP_Z60G3Ad8efutljBkc-S_Lg4jIRTjpCjhEk7gehmU3l1PwnUMIy9MRNWn1kNktaWdeGuak/s1600/dayencook04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmrxmFjtXWm3IaaYSa1H-YdVeFehtcw2zOx9Wu8PFnlrHVCOX_RwNc6H5gGKjfDIIr498JP_Z60G3Ad8efutljBkc-S_Lg4jIRTjpCjhEk7gehmU3l1PwnUMIy9MRNWn1kNktaWdeGuak/s400/dayencook04.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Step Three: now this is a biggie! If you are a woman, let go of all obsessive, controlling impulses you have. I'm serious, do it. If you're a man, just keep bein' yourself. You weirdos never seem to have this problem.</div>
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Step Four: Make said treat with said tiny human(s). Have an internal struggle where you try not to worry about the mess their making, while still hurriedly cleaning up behind them. Oh, and if you're making Crisco cookies like we were, do the Crisco first. I rarely even let Dayen eat with a spoon because it makes such a mess, I'm not crazy enough to unleash him with Crisco.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrCfkRjddqOyEbnoPPIZFAlQ6LPTU53g7tq35WIiZ3Ss1QE1ToaJZj2L7GZcG_tNdd_JIpx1pnRySSe1zcEhe83lEFxhRdersfpijwgaxbCdLjsEnfdpQ4ml55GuMLiReOAhQkYrMSYsE/s1600/dayencook07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrCfkRjddqOyEbnoPPIZFAlQ6LPTU53g7tq35WIiZ3Ss1QE1ToaJZj2L7GZcG_tNdd_JIpx1pnRySSe1zcEhe83lEFxhRdersfpijwgaxbCdLjsEnfdpQ4ml55GuMLiReOAhQkYrMSYsE/s400/dayencook07.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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Step Five: eat treats along the way. Because there is never enough sugar or enough time in the day to eat it all. (That's what you jerks are going to write on my headstone, isn't it?)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA8UmGllw6X5kj5h7TnlivTJfkdw3FXSP3nu-4-LCk5sr5lbMRc6JxFVeQ1JyNBaZNAV0HNqPf0B7DNNV3rVU3_IyoYtw75I8QzsFPVz9OHoC869NDkCVxgbitWvDegW2zkg0QUmUQWRA/s1600/dayencook05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA8UmGllw6X5kj5h7TnlivTJfkdw3FXSP3nu-4-LCk5sr5lbMRc6JxFVeQ1JyNBaZNAV0HNqPf0B7DNNV3rVU3_IyoYtw75I8QzsFPVz9OHoC869NDkCVxgbitWvDegW2zkg0QUmUQWRA/s400/dayencook05.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Step Six: soak it all in. I'm serious, this is the important part. The mess is still going to be there. And if you make a double batch like we did (always do. I have a problem.) then you're going to be cooking these suckers all day. So, take a moment to enjoy the moment. </div>
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And really, this is the point. The work is never going to be finished. Ever. And you can look around and be overwhelmed by that fact, or you can decide to be happy <i>during</i> the work. If you don't, then when do you ever get to be happy?</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKvmoV2RVl0v-QBV56j4T_L6uFsW9z7taEOP9u3xgG8efJMmBty44BlPF5MeX2eCAt97Ij-MNPGUTllFcjKCOjAD-ZwXRnD43krgEiUg2sHvp3PK-a2vWakywioregTgspNK1_dDjo0a4/s1600/dayencook01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKvmoV2RVl0v-QBV56j4T_L6uFsW9z7taEOP9u3xgG8efJMmBty44BlPF5MeX2eCAt97Ij-MNPGUTllFcjKCOjAD-ZwXRnD43krgEiUg2sHvp3PK-a2vWakywioregTgspNK1_dDjo0a4/s400/dayencook01.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Step Seven: Enjoy the fruits of your labors. In this case, eat the cookies. In life, eat the hypothetical cookies. Whenever you can. They don't have calories or gluten or anything.</div>
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Saving this recipe for later. I'm going to need it again.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFQtUQdKF0Lh1hOdCVn4smpLwPI2uBZC7ppdh6mHsBUosR4Kz4bIZ5g4xa81r8bSnTINMYo1JjrXRf-4F3TPjUYYD32NvpVZUaPU5j3OMExK5M7CnkwdJeWv1aOOUUnuRr5tdx1TwJ79A/s1600/dayencook02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFQtUQdKF0Lh1hOdCVn4smpLwPI2uBZC7ppdh6mHsBUosR4Kz4bIZ5g4xa81r8bSnTINMYo1JjrXRf-4F3TPjUYYD32NvpVZUaPU5j3OMExK5M7CnkwdJeWv1aOOUUnuRr5tdx1TwJ79A/s400/dayencook02.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-21212056799125965052017-01-22T09:44:00.002-08:002017-01-22T09:52:20.995-08:00Facebook, the POTUS, and my Sunday rantI, like most of you reading this, grew up in a small town. There wasn't a whole lot of diversity in Brigham City, Utah. My schools were always nearly 100% white, middle class families. And, being in Utah, a good percentage was LDS as well. As a result, I didn't grow up with a lot of diversity. The problem with that is now, with social media, we have access to nearly every race, religion, and political party you can imagine. We can be connected to over 1 billion people everyday on Facebook alone. And, surprisingly, not every person on there agrees with everything I think. Even if I am absolutely, for sure, without a doubt, right. Right?<br />
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Let's face it, we are spoiled. We are one of the first generations of humans who haven't had to work in the fields all day just to make sure our family is fed. We have access to all of the knowledge mankind has ever attained and it's <i>at our fingertips</i>. So, maybe all this arguing on Facebook is out of pure boredom. But, I can't be the only one who is tired of it, right?<br />
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I mean, I can't be wrong in assuming this is the worst it's ever been. <i>Everyone</i> has an opinion. Everyone seems to want to argue their opinion to death with random people we went to high school with.<br />
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But I think we can all agree that there is no chance we're ever going to all agree. And that's ok! If we all had the same opinions about everything, we would be a pretty boring race of people. Nothing would ever change, we would never progress. It's ok that we disagree. It's the way that we go about it that isn't right.<br />
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In the last week, I can think of two posts in particular that stood out to me. One was from a liberal, millenial female. She posted a long rant about how, basically, Republicans are bad, horrible people who do bad, horrible things. The second post was from a conservative, middle aged male. His post was about how Democrats are bad, horrible people who do bad, horrible things.<br />
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And the thing is, they may stand on completely different sides on every issue you can imagine, but their messages accomplished the same thing: <i>absolutely nothing</i>. Conservatives, in agreement with the conservative man, liked his post. They felt a little better about their own thoughts and beliefs being verified. Same thing happened with the liberal female.<br />
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I, in the mean time, just felt sort of sick reading both of the posts. For one thing, both posts contained references to articles and news that was misleading at best. (But we'll get to that.) But worst of all, both posts were just dripping with anger and hatred at an entire group of people.<br />
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Come <i>on</i>, everybody. How many wars do we have to go through as a civilization before we realize this gets us nowhere? Anger and hate only leads to more anger and hate. There is no light there. There is no forgiveness, no understanding. Are we really so naive as to believe our thoughts and opinions are the <i>only</i> truth out there? Do we really think all these people we argue with on Facebook are just the bad guys sent to star in our movie?<br />
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Who wins there?<br />
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I'll be honest, I didn't vote for either major party candidate. I am certainly not happy about Trump becoming our new POTUS. But, I feel like I was set up for this kind of let down a year ago. There was never, for me, really an option of a great outcome in this election.<br />
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And because of that, I have felt angry too. But I've felt more angry and involved in this election than ever before. And that isn't because I suddenly found that I have a deep sense of patriotism that cannot be quenched. It's because of social media.<br />
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It's because I am bombarded by it day after day after day.<br />
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It's because the world is becoming increasingly black and white, and there is no room or acceptance for people who live in areas of gray.<br />
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This morning, I read a post where a lady posted letters her children had written to Trump. Her young children, who apparently were sobbing and screaming after election day, were so upset that they felt they had to write Trump a letter telling him they didn't like him.<br />
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I'm not passing any judgment on this family. My point is, emotions are running <i>high</i>. Even among children. I think we all need to acknowledge that, well, we are all kind of acting like children. The problem is, we should know better.<br />
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The one thing I am so happy about in this election is that we are all so conscious and aware of our government now. Yes, we are deeply divided on all the major issues. Yes, it's caused riots and murders and horrible, horrible things. But as someone who was apathetic about these topics only years ago, I will say that I am grateful it seems that almost no one is sitting back, ignoring politics and just letting things happen anymore.<br />
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Our awareness is the most important tool we have. One voter can't change the outcome of an election. But is there a single person in this country who doesn't have one careful eye on the President right now, waiting for him to screw up? That is an amazing thing, and that is why I don't feel it's necessary to march for women's rights or whatever just to oppose the new POTUS. You can bet if he does one thing to hurt women's rights, he will be fought the whole way down. We are all aware and ready to fight. So, do it. Keep your boxing gloves on. Just stop using them to fight down friends who disagree with you.<br />
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And, on that note, I have to plead with you all: please, please be responsible about what kinds of posts you share on Facebook. It may seem so small and inconsequential, but it isn't. I hope we are all aware by now that the media is biased at best and should be taken at face value. But so often I see articles posted, from "legitimate" news sites, that are full of misleading arguments, facts that haven't been proven, and even outright lies.<br />
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So before you share something political, ask yourself if the information is really correct. It may reaffirm what you believe, but that doesn't make it true. Read the <i>entire</i> article, at least some of the comments, and then research it from another angle. Fact check. Read the opposing arguments. Form <i>your own opinion</i>, don't just adopt one from some BuzzFeed writer who is paid to entertain, not inform.<br />
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It takes two extra minutes to search Snopes and see if the information you are sharing is true.<br />
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It takes even less time to ask yourself, "Is this logical? Would this really happen? Could this be false information?"<br />
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I am happy to see you all share. I read posts from both sides all the time, and I am certainly far from perfect when it comes to politics. I am so glad that we are all involved. But I think we need to acknowledge that becoming involved and interested in politics comes with a responsibility. (A Spiderman quote belongs here, doesn't it?) So, let's all take a collective deep breath. Let's all realize that one person in Washington DC is not going to ruin our entire lives. And let's all acknowledge that we may not have all the right answers all the time.Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4302280036528531572.post-35237801861348179772017-01-10T17:27:00.001-08:002017-01-10T17:29:37.370-08:00Birthday Parties and a Guest Post by Melissa!<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Awhile back my cute friend Melissa asked me to write a guest post for her blog, </span><a href="http://frolicsofmamallama.blogspot.com/" style="text-decoration: none;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1155cc; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: underline; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Frolics of Mama Llama</span></a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. I immediately asked her to write one for my blog, and then... totally forgot about it like the unorganized disaster that I am.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b id="docs-internal-guid-3dcc6eca-8b24-ae32-0272-180de3843ac1" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It's ok guys, I bought a new planner today. I've got it under control, really.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Anyway, today on her blog she posted this hilarious tidbit and I just had to share! </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Last year around this time I started stressing about Dayen's first birthday party and what theme to do. Seriously, I spent way too much time pinning ideas for a kid who had no clue what was going on the entire day. Oh, and then it rained. Because the weather is always against me. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Hop on over to her blog and follow her, she is so hilarious and fun, I promise you won't regret it.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And now, without further ado...</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 11pt; margin-right: 11pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><img height="190" src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/3vWP8HopZC_ayBB_yuo6fTfDRywPPlf7Fxa3dmOWZ11DI-DI0E-xocfOVAqHNiDl-Y2XEraW0YV10YRzENN7BGpcaswduPvkj3z2wUfU_q89Eu1b7mxKV0ySxUTHjguu5KpcpWyb" style="-webkit-transform: rotate(0.00rad); border: none; transform: rotate(0.00rad);" width="190" /></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Once upon a time, we just had birthday parties. There were no themes. Just plain ol' music, cake, ice cream, and junk food. We had basic decorations, like helium balloons and streamers. We played games like "Pin The Tail on The Donkey," "Heavy, Heavy Hangover," hit piƱatas with baseball bats, and did a "Cake Walk," if we were feeling fancy enough. We opened presents, sang "Happy birthday to you, you live in a zoo, you look like a monkey, and you smell like one too." Everyone went home sugar high and happy. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Ah, those were the days. I yearn for the same simplicity. Nowadays, you </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">have </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">to have a theme for your party and it </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">has</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> to be big. Points if it has to do with whatever your child is currently obsessed with. Extra extra points if it's good enough to pin on Pinterest. The food has to be organic, gluten free, soy free, with no GMO's or high fructose corn syrup in it. And the thing is, after all the time and money you spend on DIY-ing everything for the big event, your kids won't even remember you threw the party in the first place. Unless they look on Pinterest years later and see that you pinned every detail. </span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Don't worry-- I, too, have fallen into this trap. That's why, this year for Lil Spits' first birthday, I'm throwing a Mom-themed birthday party.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You heard me right. I have pooled my resources and realized that she doesn't like watching tv, she likes toys, but not any particular character, and I'm still figuring out her little personality. I do know that she likes me and binkies, though. And if I have to choose between throwing a binkie birthday party or a mom party, you know what I'm going to pick.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We shall start out by sending the invitations. They're going to be evites. We'll pretend that I'm trying to reduce my carbon footprint, but we all know the real reason behind sending an evite: They're free and I don't have to stand in line at the post office. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The evite will probably say something like this:</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You are cordially invited to Lil Spits' first birthday party!</span></div>
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</span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Date: on her birthday, unless that's a weekday, then we're going to ruin your weekend by throwing it on a Saturday.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Time: not too early and it won't go for too long, because, you know, naps. Not only for the kids, but for the mom throwing the party (aka me).</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Location: Somewhere that doesn't require a deposit, doesn't mind screaming kids, allows me to bring my own food, and has a bathroom that can handle an army of toddlers. Bonus if I don't have to clean up after.</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
</span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Attire: Sweatpants and no makeup. I'm talking to you, super moms. </span></div>
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</span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Please bring: Cash, diapers, and wipes. That's it. We already have enough toys to pick up.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The evite will have a picture of me on it.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We will have cupcakes, because I've gotten really good at making them, but they take a while, which means I won't have time to cook anything else... so we're also going to have leftovers. Hope you don't mind.</span></div>
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</span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We will play music that I like, but it'll spontaneously be interrupted by ads and we'll have to switch songs mid-play because somebody isn't going to like it. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We'll play games like, "Sorting the Laundry," and "the Quiet Game," and "Sleep Training." </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We will end the party by sending everyone home with a goodie bag! It will be full of their own garbage from the party to throw away so that I don't have to do it. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I, for one, am super excited about this birthday party! It'll be a blast. If anyone wants an evite, hit me up.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></b><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Thanks for reading, and we'll see ya on the flip-flop.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Helvetica Neue, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Melissa</span></div>
<br />Anndeefonzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00941220317900257712noreply@blogger.com0