tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60013174217522365342024-02-19T01:46:20.913-05:00In Between DreamsAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.comBlogger228125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-19697560672102749412014-12-28T21:41:00.002-05:002014-12-28T21:41:49.794-05:00My Cinderella StoryIt's natural over time to forget things. One can only retain so much before it gets lost in the multitude of memories made each day. One memory that I pray time will kindly leave with me is the moment with Tony and Kaylen sitting together at the kitchen table. Him smiling down at her, she looking up at him both mutually admiring. "I'm taking mommy on a date," he told his tiny daughter. Wistfully she looked up into his face, "Are you going to the ball daddy?"<br /><div>
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I love that her image of Tony and I together is her mommy in a magical dress swirling across the dance floor in the arms of her daddy, Prince Charming. </div>
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It's so sad to consider that in this world, happy marriages aren't the norm any longer, but the exception. </div>
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Each young bride comes tripping down the stairs in their wedding finery, hours of planning and preparation by loving hands brought to fruition. And at the bottom, a jealous world takes on the form of the ugly stepsisters from the Disney version of Cinderella and tear apart the lovely dress, leaving a mess to clean up and a broken heart. </div>
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I'm here to tell you that Happily Every After does happen. But it's not magic nor a fairy tale. The Prince Charming that I married isn't perfect. He makes messes he doesn't clean up, sometimes he is selfish and on occasion he can he downright grumpy. And, if I'm being honest, more times that not I'm more of an ugly stepsister than a Cinderella. I make impossible demands, have lofty expectations and think more of my own self than any other. </div>
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But every day we <i style="font-weight: bold;">choose </i>to love. </div>
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And if this world would stop thinking only of<i><b> me</b></i> and starting thinking of <b><i>we</i></b>. If it would let loose of<i><b> I </b></i>and embrace <b><i>ours</i></b>. If wives would act like princesses and treat their husbands like Prince Charmings, <b style="font-style: italic;">even when they're not...(and vice versa!) </b>then many more would find themselves in the middle of their <i style="font-weight: bold;">Happily Ever After. </i></div>
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It's not magic. It's a moment when each chooses the other and puts them first. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-55375624778611638892014-12-12T15:06:00.001-05:002014-12-12T15:06:58.258-05:00Are you Busy? Yes. You would think with the experience I have under my belt with three kids already successfully raised past infancy that I would know that if my baby hasn't pooped in two days and I put her in a white outfit she will surely poop all over herself. Even as I dressed her this morning I was aware of this possibility, but all I could think of was how creamy white her pretty skin was and I did it anyway.<br />
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And now lying on the laundry room floor is that once white outfit awaiting a shower of Oxyclean. </div>
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To answer the question I get almost daily, Yes. Yes, four is way harder than three. Your brain is so full of the little details of who ate what and when and did everyone potty that when it comes time to shop for Christmas, there is a strong likelihood that you will walk away from your baby sitting so quietly in her car seat while you agonize over whether a thirteen year old would like silver sparkly boots or plain old boring black ones. --->Not my thirteen year old, by the way, since I don't have one. And yes, she would love silver sparkly ones in case you were wondering. </div>
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Thankfully small town shopping is accompanied by nice sales clerks who bring you your baby. </div>
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I hang my head in shame to tell you that the very next day I walked away again. But this time I remembered on my own and no one had to bring her to me. </div>
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It's that easy to forget about a baby, especially when they aren't crying. So, I gently remind you that while the shopping and giving is so much fun, it's not the best part. Don't forget the Baby who changed the world. Let the giving and receiving be a smaller part of the big picture of Christmas. </div>
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Cooking and baking, parties and programs. Candy canes, eggnog and cookies. Wrapping and taping, surprising and delighting, all good things in their proper place. But in the swirl of busy and the bliss of the season, don't forget the Baby. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-81530385530303812902014-11-14T23:03:00.000-05:002014-11-14T23:03:29.500-05:00Filter ThisI'm not sure when kids begin to develop a filter for the things they say, but I'd say we are not there yet. Neither "this chicken tastes like leftover gross" nor "Mom, does that guy only have one tooth?!?" (spoken oh so loudly in front of the poor toothless one) went through any sort of filter. They came out in their purest and rather painful form.<br />
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And so I should not have been surprised when Jacob told me candidly that he didn't play with a little boy in his class at school very much because his head was shaped like a rectangle. Thank goodness I was driving and had to keep my eyes on the road so he couldn't see my eyes bulge when I choked back hysterical laughter. The real truth came out a few minutes later, he is a slow and messy eater which shortens their time on the playground. </div>
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There are times when I wish I could strap filters on their mouths so that things like, "mom your bottom is really big" in the dressing room or "your belly is squishy" during snuggle time {that ended with a child dumped on the floor} didn't happen quite so frequently. Actually, I figured out how to stop the dressing room comments: I don't shop anymore. Or at least not with my entourage. </div>
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I wish that I could invent a filter for myself too. Even though I may not say it out loud, very often I find myself thinking thoughts that rival Jacob's rectangular head prejudice for their base meanness and judgmental attitude. </div>
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Not long ago I found myself watching another mother of a child on Jacob's baseball team. She came to games looking like she had dragged herself to the park directly from her bed. During the games, she barely took her eyes from her phone. Well, what my nasty little self found out later was that she probably had dragged herself to the park from the bedside, but it was the bedside of her 11 year old son who had been diagnosed with cancer in July and was in the hospital undergoing chemotherapy. What I mistook as a disinterested mother scrolling through facebook, was actually probably a worried mother checking for updates on her son, whom she rarely left. Her trip to the ballpark was a treat, a break from the heartbreak in the hospital. </div>
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I felt rebuked for my judgement and resolved to do better. </div>
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Then, not long ago, I caught myself doing the same thing. Sizing up a fellow mom and making mean assessments of her appearance. A few days later I saw her again only this time I saw the tubes coming from under her shirt and connected to a black bag she was carrying. I do not know what her situation is, but most people don't need to walk around connected to what appears to be medical equipment. So, I can only gather that this lady is treating or controlling an illness. </div>
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The outward appearance very rarely tells the whole story, yet we fill in the blanks with assumptions and conclusions based on nothing more than baggy jeans and an ill-fitting top. The outward appearance is just the frame holding the person, a soul inside that is so precious. </div>
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"Jacob, who made your friend?" Quietly he answered, "God." I continued, "If God took the time to number the hairs on his head, to shape arms and legs, to build a personality and create his very life, do you think He thinks he is special?" Another quiet reply, "Yes." "Well, then don't you think if God thinks he is special, we should too?" My heart recalled the faces of the ladies I had devalued with my silent judgement. </div>
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Every life is deliberately created limb by limb, hair by hair, eye color, shoe size, left or right handed by a loving God who not only takes the time to number each hair on our head, but to also plan our lives step by step. Who am I to let clothing stop me from seeing the creation?</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in Your sight, </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">O Lord, my Strength and my Redeemer. </span></div>
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* NOTE: I am very happy to tell you that the little boy with cancer has a very promising prognosis. He should make a full recovery and go on to live a normal and healthy life! </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-62322469716952819552014-11-06T12:09:00.003-05:002014-11-06T12:09:40.102-05:00I Saw a SignYou know how you can sense that things are out of order without really looking at them? I had that feeling when I walked out on my back deck last Friday afternoon. I was on my way to give my chickens some food and from the corner of my eye I saw the kid's playset. Something was off, and it took me a minute to realize it had to do with the railing on the side of the set.<br />
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I walked closer and took a good long look. And when I saw it, I saw stars. Jacob had, in two clean cuts, sawed off the side railing of his play set. You may be asking why does a six year old have a functioning saw? None of yo bidness. </div>
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And this isn't about me anyways. </div>
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I'm not sure, but I think I might have screamed. And a few minutes later there stood a stormy looking father, a shocked mother and a squirming Jacob. While Tony and I stood looking from Jacob to the playset and back to Jacob, he stammered and stuttered out his explanation. It was a supremely awkward moment for him and I must confess, it made me laugh. His explanation, though, completely melted his mother. "Jacob, why did you saw the railing off your playset," (Did I really just ask that?!?) Those beautiful blue eyes, looked bravely back at us- he was truly shaking in his boots- and he said "Because I wanted to be like dad." I instantly became a puddle. </div>
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Of course what followed was an explanation that Daddy doesn't destroy, he builds and he doesn't do it without the proper permission from the proper people. Then we had a serious talk about thinking before you do things. And if he had stopped to think, wouldn't he have realized he should not saw on his playset? And what can we do to help him to stop and think before he does things? </div>
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"Oh," he said, "maybe you could draw me a stop sign on paper and hold it up for me when I need to stop and think." Well. It's an idea. But not very practical. </div>
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Sitting in the mom's small group I am a part of, while two wise ladies shared their wisdom with us as we figuratively sat at their feet and asked them questions, here was mine: how do you deal with kids who wake up seemingly determined to pick and pester each other and steal my joy in the process? And here is where my little paper stop sign was stamped across my forehead. Leaning towards me and in a stage whisper, one lady answered, "You need to relax!" </div>
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STOP.</div>
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In a flash I saw all the extras that I include in our morning- clean up this, put away that- and realized that she is right. Relax. Have your breakfast with your kids. Look them in the eye and talk to them. Have this moment and savor it while you can. <b>Disarm their behavior by being in the middle of their morning rather than directing from a distance. </b></div>
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Maybe Jacob isn't the only one who needs to stop and think before he does things. And maybe the one who really needs the paper stop sign is <b>me</b>. </div>
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Note: In case you are worried about the railing situation on our playset, don't be. Jacob has nailed a board across the poor railing and will somehow find a way to "retach" it back on the set. But he "needs to go to Home Depot first". For a box of nails. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-37227434591878654022014-09-29T21:03:00.000-04:002014-09-29T21:08:45.533-04:0010 Ways to Say I Love You<div>
When I got married ten years ago, the girlish bride who walked down the aisle had no idea how to really love. Nor did she realize the depth of the man she was marrying and his capacity for love and the ways he would show it. But here I sit compiling a list of the ways that my husband has made me the happiest girl in the world. </div>
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1. <b>Work hard.</b> So hard that your wife can stay home and be a simple homemaker. Willingly give up fancy vacations, nice clothes, fast cars and a host of other luxuries for the sake of fulfilling your wife's dream of serving hot meals on the table at night, laundry neatly ironed and put away, pleasant and polite children and a house in impeccable order.<br />
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2. <b>Gracefully overlook when things go wrong and recognize the effort put forth.</b> Luke warm supper (that might be a tad overcooked), clothes that are washed, but still in the laundry basket (and maybe a little wrinkly), a house that is littered from one end to the other with small toys, bits of art projects, books and puzzle pieces (but the bed is made!!!) and kids who may fight a little (but at least they are fighting over who gets to hug you first!). Yeah, it isn't perfect, but thanks for not telling me. </div>
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3. <b>Allow your wife not only to have dreams, but help her pursue them.</b> It might be bringing home her very own palm sander as a gift because she loves painting furniture. Or it could be putting in long hours working on her business venture that she ultimately decides to stop pursuing since everything she really wanted, she already had with numbers one and two on our list. You dream with her. </div>
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4. <b>Make babies</b>. Even though you thought three was good, you let her have a fourth baby when she realized that her heart and her arms were not yet quite full. If three was good, four is better. Each a miracle and joy. You get that, and that is beautiful. </div>
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5.<b> Always do what you believe is right.</b> There is safety and security in following a leader who you can rely on to do the right thing. You don't make decisions lightly, but with great thought and care. You are trustworthy. </div>
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6. <b>Love your children.</b> Play with them. Teach them. Hold them. There is nothing more wonderful than a man in love with his children. Except for a man in love with his wife. </div>
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7. <b>Laugh together. </b>Laugh at your mistakes, laugh at the funny things your kids say and do. Laugh over a shared joke, laugh at each other. Find humor when it's sometimes hard. Share it. A hearty laugh together clears the air and fills it with brightness. </div>
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8. <b>Hold on to each other. </b>Share a hug, hold hands. Help each other up, hold each other up. Never ever let go. But it must be said, do not put your feet on me. Never put your cold feet on me. I will karate chop you if you do. </div>
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9. <b>Go out</b>. Treat your wife to a night out. Frequently. Especially if your home is like number 2 on our list. Everyone will be the better for some time apart and some time together. Remember what it was like to be just the two of you and how much you liked it. Talk to each other without interruptions. Share a meal and share conversation. A babysitter is a small price to pay for time to reconnect with your dearest friend and confidant. </div>
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10. <b>Do things together</b>. Involve each other in your interests. Go places together, tag along just because you enjoy each other's company. Learn and grow together. Watch your significant other when they are in their element. Take interest, take part. Let your entire life be intertwined with the other. </div>
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I feel like I'm the luckiest girl in the world that I get to live out this list. I'm blessed that my beloved created this list by the way he has loved me for these past years. And if the past is any indication of the future, it's going to be wonderful.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-41164959936258673092014-09-28T14:15:00.000-04:002014-09-28T14:15:03.293-04:00Guilt for GraceSitting there in her chair, she told us how she was the one that parents warned their kids away from. Her life was one of struggle. She didn't follow rules, she didn't do right and she didn't care. <div>
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Although she is different now, a new creature, the poor choices of her past still cause her to flinch in remembrance. While some days she can embrace the forgiveness that is hers, other days she is engulfed in bitter regret. She drags her past behind her in heavy bags smudged with dirt and marked from the grime each day brings. </div>
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Though some bags are smaller than others, or filled with "worse" things than others, each of us has our own bag of burdens that we usually bring with us day to day. Burdens that we should have left at the foot of a rough sawn cross, but that we didn't. Or felt like we couldn't. And so we trudge day to day lugging this weight behind us, a constant reminder of our failures. </div>
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Perhaps you have listened to the song, but have you ever really heard these words: </div>
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">"</span>When Satan tempts me to despair and tells me of the guilt within, upward I look and see Him there, who made an <b>end</b> of all my sin. Because the <span style="font-size: large;">sinless Savior</span> died, my sinful soul is counted <b>free</b>. For <span style="font-size: large;">God the Just</span> is<b> satisfied</b> to look on <span style="font-size: large;">Him</span> and pardon me."</i></div>
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So take heart if you struggle with a painful past, it's a chapter in your book, but not the whole story. And if God the Just can let it go, so should you. He will use it for His glory. </div>
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Satan casts your guilt in your face to stop you from sharing the Grace that set you free. </div>
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<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4RpcF2TLJBs">Click here to listen with your ears but please, hear it with your heart. </a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-83741876479010492282014-09-26T17:25:00.000-04:002014-09-26T17:25:23.366-04:00Sick Again? Yesterday I took Livie for her 2 month check up. An hour and a half later we left without seeing the doctor. I spent a very long hour plus on the phone with the insurance company who cannot seem to get Livie added to our policy. Did I mention that this also happened at her one month check up and I spent over two hours in the waiting room at the doctors office with FOUR kids trying to get it straightened out?<br />
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I wanted to punch a hole in the wall. </div>
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Just one more reason why the less I need to visit the doctor, the happier I am. </div>
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If we went back in time and visited Jacob this time last year, we'd find that he had already been sick with the croup that we treated with a round of antibiotics and five (awful, no good) days on steroids. If we could see what was coming in the next week or so, it would be another round of croup followed by the same vicious cycle of meds. A third bout would soon follow that and then a fourth. </div>
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Flash forward to real time and guess who hasn't been sick yet since school started? Jacob. In fact, Kaylen had croup about two weeks before school started and for the first time in his life, after being exposed to it, he did not get sick. It could be that he wasn't going to get it anyways, or it could be the consistent application of essential oils- both applied topically and diffused in the air- that has supported his immune system's ability to defend itself from this sickness that has plagued him his entire life. </div>
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I. Love. These. Oils. </div>
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We have had the opportunity to treat everything from baby acne to burns, from stomach bugs to sunburn and have had amazing results every time. This isn't to say the use of essential oils will always keep us from needing to see a doctor, nor that they are a cure all for everything that ails you. But for our family, they have been a huge blessing in time NOT spent at the doctor and money not paid there too. </div>
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As we approach sick season, I've stocked up on my essential oils. And here's hoping, we won't be seeing the doctor anytime soon. I'd hate to put a hole in their nice sheet rock.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-67753306826037292642014-09-07T17:15:00.002-04:002014-09-07T17:15:41.108-04:00Rough SeasOn more than one occasion, Tony has given me an hours warning to be packed and ready for the beach. So, a week or so ago, when I was given notice, well, I wasn't surprised. <div>
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The only downside to short notice packing is the likelihood of forgetting something important. Like underwear for your four year old. True story. When I realized my omission, it was too late and Kaylen had to wear a pair of Jacob's underwear to dinner that night. He was none to pleased. </div>
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Somehow, even with the hour we spent packing, we managed to remember all the important beach gear. Although it's a nightmare to load and unload from the beach each day, we have found that there are some essentials we just can't live without. A tent, chairs and a cooler being the three most vital things. Of course none of those can be carried by the kids, so poor Tony gets loaded like a pack horse. Meanwhile, the kids cry and say their arms hurt when tasked with the job of carrying their floaties back. Seriously. </div>
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While we were at the beach this short trip, the water was red flag rough. Huge waves and a strong undercurrent, it was fun and scary at the same time. Even the very shallow water as it rushed up on the beach was powerful enough to knock Marlee over almost every time. </div>
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She preferred it when I would stand with her and she would lean against my legs and they would support her as she got pounded with the small breaking waves on the shore. Kaylen, on the other hand, didn't want help and spent hours playing in the shallow water letting it carry her in and out without concern for where it would take her. </div>
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As I stood there in the hot sun, my daughters illustrated an important truth. How with a firm foundation, a solid core. you can stand and hold tight no matter the force that tries to pound you down. But without anything to grasp, you are at the mercy of the raging water, following it's swift current to open and dangerous water. </div>
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Is it <b>fear</b> that threatens to pull you under time and again? Cling to this: <span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; text-align: center;">Isaiah 41:10 </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;">Fear not, for I</span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;"> </span><i style="box-sizing: border-box; line-height: 24px;">am</i><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 24px;">with you;</span></span></div>
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Be not dismayed, for I <i style="box-sizing: border-box;">am</i> your God.</div>
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I will strengthen you,</div>
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Yes, I will help you,</div>
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I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Is it a particular <b>sin</b> that seems to catch you up over and over? Cling to this</span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">:<span style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="color: #444444;"><a class="bible-item-title" href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Philippians%201:6&version=NKJV" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; -webkit-transition: all 0.2s; background: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; font-size: 16px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.2s;">Philippians 1:6</a><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 20px;"> </span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">being confident of this very thing, that <span style="box-sizing: border-box;">He</span> <span style="box-sizing: border-box;">who</span> has begun <span style="box-sizing: border-box;">a</span> <span style="box-sizing: border-box;">good</span> <span style="box-sizing: border-box;">work </span>in you will complete <i style="box-sizing: border-box;">it</i> until the day of Jesus Christ;</span></div>
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Are you caught in a cycle of anxiety and depression that ebbs and flows in a constant struggle? Cling to this: <span style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; -webkit-transition: all 0.2s; background: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; color: black; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.2s;"><a class="bible-item-title" href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Psalm+30:5&version=NKJV" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; -webkit-transition: all 0.2s; background: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; cursor: pointer; display: inline-block; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; transition: all 0.2s;">Psalm 30:5</a>b</span></div>
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Weeping may endure for a night, But joy <i style="box-sizing: border-box;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">comes</span></i> <span style="box-sizing: border-box;">in </span><span style="box-sizing: border-box;">the</span> <span style="box-sizing: border-box;">morning</span>.</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 24px;">Wherever you are, whatever it is, there is an Anchor. You will find Him in the pages of your Bible. No matter how rough the sea, nor how wild the water, your Anchor will hold. And when the time is right, He will rebuke the wind and the sea as He did in ancient days and they will obey. "Peace, be still," is all He has to say. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 24px;"><a href="https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark+4%3A35-41&version=NKJV">The Wind and Waves Obey Jesus...read it here. </a></span></span></div>
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</span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-41492408129411276772014-08-25T21:01:00.000-04:002014-08-25T21:01:24.195-04:00TraditionsFriday night we, as a family, embraced a tradition that has spanned centuries and cultures. We tied string to Jacob's loose tooth, wrapped the string around a door knob and pulled it out by slamming the door shut. He almost chickened out, but in the end the tiniest tooth I've ever seen was on the floor gripped by the string, Jacob standing in stunned silence and then we all burst out laughing. That was fun.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2-73yp9wslxFray0c89bqgU59iZSWgc3rhdYL-mPreclZYkTUV5uE1soe_jP2Fzx1jFPgMvSANHj4Cc3O5qvLGNyTY0F_D5-4Gx9s67wMlKYmiq2O-mlTfZr2Q5pukE2Fk75aGke15aF6/s1600/tooth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2-73yp9wslxFray0c89bqgU59iZSWgc3rhdYL-mPreclZYkTUV5uE1soe_jP2Fzx1jFPgMvSANHj4Cc3O5qvLGNyTY0F_D5-4Gx9s67wMlKYmiq2O-mlTfZr2Q5pukE2Fk75aGke15aF6/s1600/tooth.jpg" height="320" width="179" /></a></div>
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We observed another long standing tradition after Jacob had gone to bed, when the tooth fairy...looking much like Tony in a t-shirt and boxers...left a dollar under Jacob's pillow. His sweet hand, still chubby and childish, lay protectively over his tooth, hoping that when the elusive fairy came, she would wake him up. Lucky for us, he didn't wake up. </div>
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We tiptoed from his room, <i>together</i>. </div>
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As these milestones come and go, as our children grow and begin to pull away from us- as they should- these same milestones draw Tony and I together. Each moment turned memory making up the silken threads of our cord of three strands. Bonds that are sure and true, promising to hold a lifetime. </div>
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Tomorrow Jacob starts kindergarten and although I can't help but wonder where the time has gone, how my little baby from yesterday became the tall, smart, handsome boy today, my heart will hold strong. Because as we cross this milestone, we do it together, adding another glossy strand and pulling a little tighter. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-11642225827856873882014-08-17T20:51:00.000-04:002014-08-17T20:51:39.069-04:00La LecheThis one's for the mama's out there who are currently nursing or planning to nurse. Did I lose about 90% of you? I can imagine my male readership (all two of you) could not click out of this page fast enough. <div>
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Well, I will keep it short and sweet. Here's the deal. If I could go back in time and do one mothering thing over again, I would go back and buy myself this - <a href="http://www.mymilkies.com/milksaver">Click here for a link.</a> My guilty conscience tells me I should probably go back in time and unthrow that one diaper at Jacob. Or uncall Jacob a toenail face. Or unscream at my kids at some point. Or do something more...meaningful. But then again, if there were no milk, where would we be? So, I guess this really is valid after all. </div>
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Without any effort whatsoever, in the four weeks I've been nursing my infant, I have put away 17 four to five ounce meals for Livie in the freezer for future use. That's not counting the 5 or 6 four ounce bottles she has had. It's a very simple idea that I wish I would have thought of so I could be a millionaire. Simply use the milk saver on the side the baby is not nursing on and catch all the milk that would otherwise be absorbed and washed away, liquid gold down the drain. Brilliant? Yes. </div>
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If you are nursing or plan to nurse, buy one. You won't be sorry. And this is not a paid advertisement, but it should be. </div>
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The other thing you should know about is fennel essential oil for boosting milk production. This is a common complaint among breastfeeding moms. Some of us have braved Mother's Milk tea, the very mention of that name gives me shivers and nostril flares simultaneously. <u>Awful stuff</u>. Others have taken copious amounts of fenugreek. I never tried this, but I hear it makes you smell like onions or garlic or something. </div>
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Make it stop, there must be an easier way! </div>
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Drumroll please....try Young Living's Fennel Essential Oil to boost milk production!!</div>
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There are two methods for using the oil, one is to apply it topically, the other is to take it internally. I opted to take it with the second method- two drops in a spoonful of raw honey- because I have no desire to walk around smelling like licorice. That's what the fennel oil smells like and tastes like. It's a pungent, potent bite of honey going down, but beats drinking gallons of mother's milk tea hands down. And it works. </div>
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I would like to point out that I am not telling you to go to a grocery store and buy fennel essential oil and drink it. Do not do that. I would only recommend using Young Living Essential Oils, as they are the only company to produce oils that are safe to ingest. </div>
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Now go. Do what you need to do. Hungry babies everywhere are thanking me. </div>
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Ps. I can get you the oil if you need...just email me jsmith10204@gmail.com. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-54731470181761080542014-08-14T21:16:00.000-04:002014-08-14T21:16:13.896-04:00Pirate BootyTraveling with four ages five and under is an adventure. Actually, traveling with Tony is an adventure. Because, while I'm handling all the mundane little details like potty breaks, he gets to witness some poor accountant turn his camper too short and right into a gas pump. Not fair.<br />
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Our most recent travels took us to Myrtle Beach where Tony had to measure an upcoming job. We got to tag along and make it a mini vacation. It would have been one too had it not been raining most of the weekend and if we hadn't spent 45 minutes out in the hallway waiting for housekeeping to finish cleaning our room when we arrived. And if the kids would have gone to bed at a decent hour. And...just kidding. It was a getaway regardless of whether or not Tony and I enjoyed it. </div>
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We all agree, though, that one thing we did enjoy was the pirate voyage dinner theater we went to. I expected it to be an overpriced production put on by a bunch of kids working their way through college. The overpriced part is up for debate, but I was much impressed by the acrobatics, diving and dancing we got to watch. Not to mention the trained seals. Seals are so funny to watch. And did you know that a seal can balance his entire body on one flipper? I know, I didn't either. </div>
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When we arrived at the show, they snapped a picture of us. Later, they caught us at a vulnerable moment when we were busy fixing our kid's plates, and we invested (literally, talk about overpriced) in a picture to commemorate this trip. I'm so glad we did. It captures us in ways that would make a professional photographer shudder, but it captures us as true to life as you can get. </div>
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Yeah, some mom blogs feature lovely images beautifully edited in addition to their wise or witty words. Mine features my deflated hair, sound asleep Marlee, Kaylen for whom eye contact is a constant struggle and the forced smile of my first born. Tony managed to turn out a decent photo so we will skip over him. Oh, and the baby who was hunting and pecking for her meal. Thankfully, this is a still shot and not a video. </div>
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So, this is us. </div>
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After the show, we exited through the gift shop. Of course. And it was filled to the brim with cheap junk that kids love. We'd already spent a small fortune and had decided beforehand that we would not be partaking in the gift shop goodies. The kids were forewarned as well, but that didn't stop Jacob from bringing a pirate pistol with three sucker darts for us to see. I know he was hoping we would have a change of heart. We didn't. So, his slumped little self went and put it back. </div>
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On our way to the car we were talking about our favorite part of the show. When we asked Jacob his favorite, well, he couldn't answer because he was pouting. The entire experience of the night had been sabotaged by the drizzly rain cloud called discontent. </div>
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Instead of focusing on what he did have, <i>he could only see what he didn't. </i></div>
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In Jacob's downcast face and gloomy attitude I saw myself. Surrounded by things people would love to have- a loving family, beautiful children, a nice home, good health, no debt, education, a full belly, a new bag of mini kit kats- I often can't see this bounty because I'm too busy wishing for what I don't have. And in the process, I'm missing the million daily joys I could be experiencing. </div>
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So, take a lesson from a little boy. You can spend your life sulking about what you don't have, or you can open your eyes and see the goodness laid before you. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-67950400102456541762014-07-25T21:25:00.004-04:002014-07-25T21:25:55.420-04:00These DaysIf I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times. "Don't put your feet on me!" If there is one thing that makes my skin crawl it's another person's feet on me. I don't care if they are my own flesh and blood, I don't want Jacob, Kaylen or Marlee to do it. And if their cold, clammy feet touch me along with a toenail, it's over. OVER. I make exception for Livie only, and that's only because her feet are still cute and don't touch the floor ever. Her day will come too.<br />
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For some reason, this "No Feet on Mom" rule is harder for some to remember than others. Kaylen does it just because she loves to get a rise out of me. Marlee does it because she's a clodhopper. Jacob does it because he is a compulsive hugger, kisser, and cold clammy feet toucher. And it makes me crazy. </div>
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Speaking of crazy, yesterday I went to the grocery store with all of my kids. Ten days post partum and I'm grocery shopping. But with all these mouths to feed, when you run out of bread, well, what else am I going to put the peanut butter and jelly on? I feel sure even the best of eaters would turn up their nose at a peanut butter and jelly tortilla. Or a peanut butter and jelly garlic bread slice. Because had I not gone yesterday, that would have been their options. </div>
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Turning on the second isle following my usual grocery store route, we came upon a little old lady who was standing directly in front of the boxes of spaghetti I wanted to put in my cart. She was absolutely delighted with my cart full of kids and mesmerized by the baby that I had tightly wrapped against my chest. She went from child to child, speaking to them, asking their names and introducing herself as Betty. Sweet Betty. </div>
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Although I had promised my kids a quick trip to the grocery store, and my brain said to grab the pasta and run, my heart told me that I had plenty of time to stop and share my beautiful kids with this lady who was so happy to see them. She admired their pretty blue eyes, she raved over Marlee's curls and she hugged and kissed them whispering, "I love you so much!" into their ears. </div>
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Betty pulled out a picture of her grandchildren to show me. How proud she was of them! She told me their ages, their names and I took my turn admiring her beautiful family. Then she showed me a picture of her husband who had passed away. "I just can't get over it," she looked at me with watery blue eyes. Sad, sad eyes.<br />
She had spent sixty years with this man, and it wasn't enough. </div>
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In a moment, I was a frustrated mom with my kids clomping, tromping and freezing me with their feet. And in the next, I was a lonely old lady grocery shopping for one. My happy life wrapped in the worn packaging of the envelope of photos inside my purse. </div>
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The lesson here is two-fold. First, be mindful that time is precious and it never stops. The clock winds round and round, without ceasing. And whether you get six more years or sixty, it will never be enough. So, love deeply and well. Take lots of pictures. Spend as much time together as you can. Put down your phone and make it count.<br />
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The second lesson is for parents. Share your kids with the elderly. Let them give and get hugs from little old ladies in the grocery store. Let the sweet grandpa's shake hands with your boys and admire your pretty girls. Take time to stop and fill those lonely hearts with childish love. Show your children how important it is to listen to these wise men and ladies and to show compassion for them too. You always have time for that.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLYQhJ-VI5EnQlcg-ws8FPw8toY5utj-rCE6AKaI8yICw6rNorknCbbJ8p-R0vwF4FumDkL4XYXvVSRTe1TnHngOd0AyNfa3MWIeezUP_FrxWvDP3G4cMzQUW-d2lnWK7K1Q3ZNjMJeZ33/s1600/_72C2504.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLYQhJ-VI5EnQlcg-ws8FPw8toY5utj-rCE6AKaI8yICw6rNorknCbbJ8p-R0vwF4FumDkL4XYXvVSRTe1TnHngOd0AyNfa3MWIeezUP_FrxWvDP3G4cMzQUW-d2lnWK7K1Q3ZNjMJeZ33/s1600/_72C2504.jpg" height="266" width="400" /></a>I promise, as you finally grab your box of pasta and head to the next aisle, you will leave Betty with a full heart once more and a smile on her face. And you know what? Suddenly those cold, clammy toes will bother you a little less, you will hug a little tighter. You will stare at that baby's face longer. You will kiss those sweet cheeks more often. Your mom heart will be refreshed with the reminder of the precious days that still belong to you. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-58826965088002487652014-07-15T20:31:00.000-04:002014-07-15T20:31:09.808-04:00Two Days Late, Right On Time: Livie GraceHad you access to the parking lot surveillance at the hospital yesterday afternoon about lunchtime, you would have seen our car wheeling into the parking lot through the exit. <div>
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And here is the story of why...</div>
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Up at 6 am, my day started as it usually does. By seven all my kids were up and I made them waffles. By 9 I still hadn't taken a shower for the day and I was having contractions, so I decided I should go ahead and do that. </div>
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Even though I've already had three babies, I am a complete novice when it comes to natural labor having been induced with each one. So, when I finally decided my contractions were painful and frequent enough to sit down and time at 10:30, I was still following doctor protocol and trying to decided if I should call them or not. They had instructed me that I should be having minute long contractions that are five minutes apart for an hour before I go to the hospital. Mine were 5 minutes apart, but lasting only 30 seconds and although painful, not unbearable. The contractions kept coming and I felt anxious, so I called the doctor around 11. </div>
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The nurse suggested I drink a bunch of water to make sure it wasn't just dehydration and call her back in about 20 minutes. I called Tony just to let him know what was going on and got up for water. In the time it took for me to get up, chug three glasses of water and put some clothes in the dryer, the contractions started coming every 4 minutes. I called Tony again and suggested he head home. Then I called the doctor back and she told me we should go ahead to the hospital and she would let them know we were on our way. </div>
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I started gathering my kids, their packed bags, my packed bags and had everyone ready when Tony got there. He made record time from his office...thankfully. We loaded up and headed to my parents house to drop off the kids and by this time the contractions were coming every three minutes. </div>
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The contractions were painful but still not unbearable and the few minutes in between I felt completely normal such a different experience from being induced in the past. </div>
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On our way to my mom's I sent her a message to let her know we were dropping and running and we had a record unload time for kids and car seats. Really, I have to say, everything ran like a well oiled machine. </div>
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Once the kids were out of the car, Tony went into Nascar mode and we booked it for the hospital. We actually contemplated running a red light at a very busy intersection when we were getting close to the hospital- and a small part of me was actually afraid Tony really would. The contractions were every two minutes and I was wishing myself inside those safe doors. </div>
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This is where you would have seen us wheeling into the exit at the hospital. The entrance gate was down and we simply didn't have time to explain who were were and why we needed to get inside. I'd like to draw attention to the fact that although we came in at an unsafe (and undisclosed) speed <i>and</i> crooked, we did not bumper car our way down the entrance. Tony really should look into a Nascar career. </div>
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I did not want Tony to take the time to park, I just wanted inside. He objected to leaving the car under the portico, so we compromised and he dropped me off at the door where I waddled in and held the elevator (pausing for a contraction) and he parked and ran in. </div>
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The kind volunteer lady at the front desk did not deserve the papers I flung in her face with my preadmission information I had failed to turn in during the previous 40 weeks of my pregnancy (I'm sorry already, ok? Now I see why the suggest doing it...). And never in my life have I seen someone write my name so slowly as I panted through another contraction. "They are every two minutes, we need to get back fast" I told her. </div>
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Finally we went through those blessed doors, down the hall and into Labor and Delivery room number 5. This was sometime after 12:30. I was already 7 to 8 centimeters dilated and according to the lovely and gentle Dr. Walker who was on hand, he thought we'd have a baby sooner than we'd have an epidural. </div>
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Given my history of epidurals not working, I didn't see a reason to suffer through what feels like a nail being pounded into your back when it probably wouldn't work anyways. I also refused narcotics through my iv, even though I definitely wished for them just a little while later. </div>
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Although it felt like an eternity of pushing, and I was to later find out my water was only broken for 16 minutes, Livie Grace was born less than an hour after we arrived at the hospital. No pain meds and with the most, helpful and loving husband by my side to champion me through the painful process. What would I do without him? </div>
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I laughed and I cried when that sweet baby was laid in my arms, my heart was surging with joy and relief and love undiluted by the drugs of unnatural labor. I'm so grateful that modern medicine makes it possible to intervene in childbirth when the baby is in danger, such as with my sweet Kaylen who could easily have been stillborn had medical intervention not been possible. But I'm really grateful that I got to experience natural childbirth- with it's liberal dose of pain- because at the end, I got to experience a release of emotion that I have never had before. And it was beautiful. </div>
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Our beautiful third baby girl was 7 pounds 7 ounces and already fills our hearts with her tiny presence. Welcome to the world my sweet Livie Grace.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-23931767112253987382014-07-09T21:03:00.001-04:002014-07-09T22:04:21.535-04:00ChaincupsThe other day Marlee was in a mood. A Marlee bad mood looks something like this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjItRU1a08-J7oT3Dk6TzmSN9caSoMuyyK3XvBGkE8NtKrVsMUaBLDSNzCkNX0O2T1GeQHVWGt-j2Nkct7ZNyOkmPh7fllBs85wSnSbv17LDkWOIXzVo0OLI6QMQ9UEXv2_HafbgLq9-ige/s1600/marleefrown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjItRU1a08-J7oT3Dk6TzmSN9caSoMuyyK3XvBGkE8NtKrVsMUaBLDSNzCkNX0O2T1GeQHVWGt-j2Nkct7ZNyOkmPh7fllBs85wSnSbv17LDkWOIXzVo0OLI6QMQ9UEXv2_HafbgLq9-ige/s1600/marleefrown.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
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Full frown, usually some stomping and generally a demand such as a disgruntled Marlee recently shouted, "I want icecream," loudly and angrily. Umm, no, there will be no ice cream. Ice cream is for good children. </div>
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Well, on this particular day Marlee was up to no good according to her brother and judging from the anguished wails of her sister, Marlee was directing her bad mood at Kaylen, an unfortunately easy target for teasing. </div>
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Jacob the dutiful firstborn grabbed his handy pad and pencil and since he can't spell anything except his name (first AND last name, I'd like to point out) drew a picture of Marlee each and every time she was bad. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7n7XlMDzCXmkCFRsSSY_dAri4KFhLK4QdXgBOk-Jktl6MzO0rWQTglEb2HSWFOXy5CCQXSM-fCraAeggQNGdtBjXVemXseKOqZ-95ibVEx7JSALMTemLiXItZ7ErXbREQD80_dIkFsl1l/s1600/marleepic2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7n7XlMDzCXmkCFRsSSY_dAri4KFhLK4QdXgBOk-Jktl6MzO0rWQTglEb2HSWFOXy5CCQXSM-fCraAeggQNGdtBjXVemXseKOqZ-95ibVEx7JSALMTemLiXItZ7ErXbREQD80_dIkFsl1l/s1600/marleepic2.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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Here she is in "chaincups" as Jacob calls handcuffs. I guess this is what he wanted to do to her for being so aggravating.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxHerIHM_Ww0xbOA9SvbH0L3diAjWrSVGKme63GHb2jpx_ua9Mq9_jZFdt_SaXwy-hiceyrS1tGgSellV9LGks6yoM6f-ygWQ277lcUOCdZBF_-s-yDjfxmYtcmriBlbE2RAcVKv0C2TcX/s1600/marleepic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxHerIHM_Ww0xbOA9SvbH0L3diAjWrSVGKme63GHb2jpx_ua9Mq9_jZFdt_SaXwy-hiceyrS1tGgSellV9LGks6yoM6f-ygWQ277lcUOCdZBF_-s-yDjfxmYtcmriBlbE2RAcVKv0C2TcX/s1600/marleepic.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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This is Marlee stealing the toy cookie sheet from Kaylen. I must remark on Jacob's ability to capture Marlee in exquisite detail. The curls and the belly are <i>so her</i>. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIFED_F4ueW12Py1JTkQCViS20iWjHBg86xqF9fHdjVkNq8KVQN4yXXCYxnUuz0ckoS2s211eiN1dYRNjqRKQzUVqfVezgOKCgfGh1hgTZcOVDxqYyU49Siyf_uNJERS0CyI9bMF_PMrBo/s1600/marleepic3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIFED_F4ueW12Py1JTkQCViS20iWjHBg86xqF9fHdjVkNq8KVQN4yXXCYxnUuz0ckoS2s211eiN1dYRNjqRKQzUVqfVezgOKCgfGh1hgTZcOVDxqYyU49Siyf_uNJERS0CyI9bMF_PMrBo/s1600/marleepic3.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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I'm not sure what this one is depicting, but it must have been particularly hair raising from the looks of things. </div>
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I have a total of eight pictures of Marlee in various stages of curl, all with a smile on her sweet face. At some point Jacob got tired of drawing and redrawing Marlee and came to me with a request, "Mom, can you please come and write down all the bad things Marlee is doing?" His voice was riddled with weariness. </div>
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Darling son, can you imagine what it would look like if the Keeper of the Universe kept a record of our wrongs? Just for today, just for me He could fill pages I'm sure. </div>
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It would be hard to look at those pages filled with ugly words such as "discontented again" or "complaining" or "refuses to forgive", "selfish", "unkind" and much much more. It would be a long, sad list of my failings and my deplorable humanity. It would be a proof that I am not good, not a single particle of me is. That when given the chance, I usually choose to follow the flesh. </div>
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No, little boy, I won't make a list of Marlee's "sins". Because we are going to give her grace. Because the Keeper of the Universe doesn't keep a college ruled notebook filled with our daily transgressions. He doesn't etch images of His children failing and falling. Rather, He covers their sins with His righteous blood and casts them away. </div>
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I can see those ugly words falling into water, plunging deeply and sinking swiftly out of sight, never to rise again. Covered and cleansed. </div>
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No chaincups necessary. </div>
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<span class="text Ps-103-9" id="en-NIV-15559" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; position: relative; text-align: start;">Ps. 103:9-12</span></div>
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<span class="text Ps-103-9" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; position: relative; text-align: start;">He will not always accuse,</span></div>
<span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; text-align: start;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-103-9" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;">nor will he harbor his anger forever;<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-15559S" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-15559S" title="See cross-reference S">S</a>)"></span></span></span><br />
<span class="text Ps-103-10" id="en-NIV-15560" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; position: relative; text-align: start;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: block; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold; left: -4.4em; line-height: 22px; position: absolute; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">10 </span>he does not treat us as our sins deserve<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-15560T" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-15560T" title="See cross-reference T">T</a>)"></span></span><br />
<span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; text-align: start;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-103-10" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;">or repay us according to our iniquities.</span></span><br />
<span class="text Ps-103-11" id="en-NIV-15561" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; position: relative; text-align: start;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: block; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold; left: -4.4em; line-height: 22px; position: absolute; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">11 </span>For as high as the heavens are above the earth,</span><br />
<span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; text-align: start;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-103-11" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;">so great is his love<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-15561U" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-15561U" title="See cross-reference U">U</a>)"></span> for those who fear him;<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-15561V" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-15561V" title="See cross-reference V">V</a>)"></span></span></span><br />
<span class="text Ps-103-12" id="en-NIV-15562" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; position: relative; text-align: start;"><span class="versenum" style="box-sizing: border-box; display: block; font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; font-weight: bold; left: -4.4em; line-height: 22px; position: absolute; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;">12 </span>as far as the east is from the west,</span><br />
<span class="indent-1" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Verdana, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px; text-align: start;"><span class="indent-1-breaks" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.42em; line-height: 0;"> </span><span class="text Ps-103-12" style="-webkit-font-smoothing: antialiased; box-sizing: border-box; position: relative;">so far has he removed our transgressions<span class="crossreference" data-cr="#cen-NIV-15562W" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-size: 12px; line-height: 22px; position: relative; top: 0px; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-15562W" title="See cross-reference W">W</a>)"></span> from us.</span></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-27339222391904047482014-06-16T20:49:00.000-04:002014-06-16T20:49:00.424-04:00The River That Leads to the SeaOn our recent trip to Charleston, the kids and I spent a lot of time at this beautiful area called Waterfront Park located beneath the Cooper River bridge. In addition to the beautiful, grassy lawn, spacious playground and ice cream and tackle shop, there is a long pier that takes you out over the water. You can fish from the side, swing on a wide wooden plank swing, or do as we did and walk the length of the pier to the very edge. <div>
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"What's that water?" Jacob asked. "It's the river that leads to the sea, Jacob," I told him. </div>
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Tucked under the bridge, the pier felt quite safe and sheltered as the broad water between the shores rippled as they flowed towards their destination. </div>
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As I spoke those words- <i>the river that leads to the sea</i>- I saw our sweet Jacob in that water. Bobbing in the gentle current, safely confined between the two shores offering their boundaries as a guide, as a protection. </div>
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I saw the two shores spanned by the beautiful, strong bridge forged with steel and making those two shores into one. Separated no more, united in the same goal. Linking the edges and holding them firmly together. </div>
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For now, our dear little ones will move slowly along, growing and learning within the safe confines of their shores. Sheltered from the raging storms of the seas, protected from the swirling eddies of an unpredictable and often dangerous open water. But still the current pulls them forward, and the two shores cannot stop their flow. </div>
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I pray that my children will hide in their hearts the truths that will carry them through dangerous waters, that they will learn to love the charts that show them their path and keep them on course, that they will grow strong and swift so that when their river opens to the wide, wide sea they are prepared to pass under the bridge and away from the familiar shores. </div>
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And always may they find their way back to the two shores spanned by the solid bridge, standing guard over the river that leads to the sea. <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-61358366433828273982014-06-08T21:52:00.000-04:002014-06-08T21:52:18.829-04:00The WorkBenchJacob spent a considerable amount of time one afternoon building a birthday gift for my nephew. With only the slightest bit of help from me, he assembled a pretty impressive "work bench" for Tradd. It mattered not that the legs were a little wobbly and of differing lengths, he was so proud of his work. I was too.<br />
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We took that table to the party, hid it in the garage and at the perfect moment, we revealed it with pomp and circumstance to my newly turned three nephew. All the cousins gathered around and were properly impressed. It was a shining moment for Jacob. </div>
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Since his first work bench triumph, he's been itching to make one for himself. And recently, after a morning spent with dad, I heard the heavy thud of lumber being unloaded in my garage. Jacob had selected his materials, persuaded Tony to get him another box of nails at Home Depot and returned home eager to begin his project. </div>
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If you've never built a table before, then you wouldn't know how difficult it is to get started. Those pesky legs are really hard to attach, especially when you only have two small hands to do the holding and nailing all at the same time. A frustrated Jacob left with me later that afternoon as we headed to a family reunion. He had only managed to get one leg on and it was tenuously attached at best. </div>
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Tony, who was headed out of town, called me later to let me know that before he left, he had trimmed the pieces of wood for the table legs so they would be even and he had gotten the legs started for Jacob so that when he came home, all he would have to do was add more nails and anything else his little brain could dream up for his workbench. </div>
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I told Jacob on the way home how his daddy had helped him with his table and when we got home he literally beamed light when he saw his little work bench. It was everything he was hoping for and more. It was perfect. </div>
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Later that night as he was getting ready to sleep, we prayed together and his precious prayer included a request for "mommy's baby to grow well" and he thanked God profusely for the workbench his daddy had fixed for him and thanked God that his daddy loved him so much, fervently sharing how much he loved his daddy too. I would give anything to have that prayer recorded. </div>
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I was struck by how Jacob interpreted Tony's help as an expression of love for him.</div>
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I've often thought how hard it can be to relate the spiritual realm to little children. Since my grandpa passed away in January and we chose to let our kids experience his death from the final viewing to the burial, they have asked me many hard questions. Some much deeper than they realize. And I've sometimes struggled with how to break down such an important topic for them to digest easily since I want these important questions to burrow deeply in their souls and begin to grow a longing for Jesus. Ultimately, even when I'm stumped, I just give them the Truth and pray that the Lord will use my inadequate words to accomplish His great work in them. And I trust that He will. </div>
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But then, it hit me, how very simply Jacob's loving, human father, shows these same Truths to his children in the daily ways he loves us. How he sacrifices what he wants to do, and works for us instead, a servant leader. How he allows them to make choices and intervenes when they have overstepped their ability and his help is needed. How his great wrath at wrongdoing is often tempered with grace and consequences are meted out in loving measures. How he turns a blind eye to the silly, childish foolish ways and loves so deeply that a busy, busy man takes the time to level four pieces of wood and to become a part of his son's project. Love that demands sacrifice freely given. No strings attached. </div>
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Without even meaning to, Tony is reinforcing the Truths to the questions that we answer as best we can. And in loving his little son with a love so deep and true, he is pointing him to Jesus in a way that even the smallest child can understand. A small, humanly tainted picture of what our loving Heavenly Father is like. Human hands painting a picture of Holy love. </div>
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<span class="text Eph-3-17" id="en-NIV-29269" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: start;">And I pray that you, being rooted<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29269F" title="See cross-reference F">F</a>)"></span> and established in love,</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: start;"> </span><span class="text Eph-3-18" id="en-NIV-29270" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: start;"><span class="versenum" style="font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;">18 </span>may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people,<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29270G" title="See cross-reference G">G</a>)"></span> to grasp how <b>wide and long and high and deep</b><span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29270H" title="See cross-reference H">H</a>)"></span> is the love of Christ,</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: start;"></span><span class="text Eph-3-19" id="en-NIV-29271" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: start;"><span class="versenum" style="font-size: 0.75em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;">19 </span>and to know this love that surpasses knowledge<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29271I" title="See cross-reference I">I</a>)"></span>—that you may be filled<span class="crossreference" style="font-size: 0.65em; font-weight: bold; vertical-align: top;" value="(<a href="#cen-NIV-29271J" title="See cross-reference J">J</a>)"></span> to the measure of all the fullness of God.</span></div>
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<span class="text Eph-3-19" style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; text-align: start;">Eph 3:17b-19</span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-67230802076115053902014-06-03T16:36:00.000-04:002014-06-03T16:36:10.076-04:00Up and Out of IsolationThat feeling of the walls closing in, the noise around you is magnified a hundred times and those three kids of yours suddenly seem like there is a thousand of them. Sound familiar? You should know, this phenomenon happens to moms regardless of the number of kids- it could be one tiny six month old who can't yet speak or crawl- and it happens when you have been in your hole way. too. long.<br />
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In giving of ourselves and serving our families, often we will go weeks without much more social interaction than a short conversation with your tired husband at the end of the day and a little pre and post church chit chat, and if your husband travels frequently it's probably even less than that. For the record, chatting with the girl at the register who is bagging your groceries does not count as social interaction. </div>
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It's in this hole, a dark and dank place, that things can begin to fester and grow. Things that should not be there. In the isolation of our mommy world, we can become vulnerable to the lies of the Enemy, who wants us to believe our job isn't important, we aren't succeeding at what we are doing and the very biggest lie of all, that one simple human slip up will result in a lifetime of misery for your children. </div>
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That time you told your kid to "shut up". That time you lost your patience and yelled at them at the top of your lungs. That time you wished they would just go away. That time you found yourself struggling to even like your own flesh and blood. <i>That time.</i> I'm sure we could all compile endless lists that start with "that time". </div>
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Today I peeped my head up out of my hole and spent several hours with mom friends. Our kids were playing together freeing us up to enjoy some conversation with like-minded people who are in a similar phase of life and who, most importantly, can completely relate to you when you tell the story about the time you lost your temper and yelled the "s" word at your kids. That would be shut-up, people, come on now. </div>
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And the thing is, spending time outside of your hole you realize that you aren't the only one who is struggling. That your struggles are similar to a million other moms out there, they aren't unique only to you. And in the opening and sharing of these mom problems, you will find the golden medicine of laughter and companionship that have a way of banishing the blues and refreshing the soul. </div>
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It's in the sharing of our experiences in cooking, caring, laundering and so many other things that we can recognize the lies we've been believing. Isolation is the best way to conquer your prey. Think about that. </div>
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Find your way up and out, laugh at your mistakes, regain your perspective on what is normal, air out your brilliant mind, freshen up your outlook. I promise, your parenting will improve and so will your attitude. </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-4471593127173880922014-06-02T21:27:00.000-04:002014-06-02T21:27:06.962-04:00This<div>
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Read <a href="http://sylcell.wordpress.com/2014/05/31/to-the-lady-ashamed-of-being-pregnant-with-her-fourth/">this</a> blog today and boy did it resonate with me. As you can imagine, me and my little line of ducklings attract a good bit of attention wherever we go. <div>
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People, even the well-meaning ones, can make the most idiotic, insensitive comments, my least favorite being, "You know how that happens right?" </div>
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Well, yes, <i>obviously</i>. </div>
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I love her answer to the question of how many kids they plan to have- </div>
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"<span style="background-color: white; color: #776b59; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">But honestly, the only answer for the impertinent question of how many </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #776b59; font-family: 'Open Sans', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 24px;">children I am going to have is: all of them."</span></div>
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<b>All of them. </b>I love that so much. </div>
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Adding another child to the family is a big decision. One that isn't made lightly, but when one considers that children are a tangible evidence of the love and goodness of God, then how can you not want a house full? </div>
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We are a few weeks away from adding number four to our family and yes, it's really hard to have three. It's really hard to have three and be pregnant with number four. It scares me to death to think about how I'm going to wrangle all these kids, four of them 5 and under.</div>
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But it's so much worse to contemplate the alternative. No kids. A silent house. My heart aches for those who want what I have and can't. But it aches even more for those who don't want it at all. They are the ones who miss out the most. </div>
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And when you count the fingers and toes, when those softly dimpled arms reach for you, when smacking wet kisses and grimy hugs greet you, when they crawl in your lap and rest a tired head on your shoulder, and when they utterly capture your heart with their absolute innocence, you know <i>this </i>is the best thing that ever happened to you. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-76256087297711734272014-05-28T22:22:00.000-04:002014-05-28T22:22:18.567-04:00The Stomach Bug that Wasn'tYou know that feeling when you wake up in the middle of the night because someone was calling for you, and you know before you get there why? Puke. Everywhere. Ruined a rug, actually. That was Jacob recently.<br />
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Immediately after cleaning everything and everyone up, you do the next smart thing- get a bowl for the sick one, then drape towels over everything and then go back to bed and wait for the next time they are sick. Unless, of course, you have embarked on an essential oil journey. Then you head back to your room so you can get on your computer and find out what oil will help with vomit. And you pray really hard that there is one. </div>
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It just happened that my sister-in-law had generously given me a bottle of an oil blend called Di-Gize. And this just happened to be the oil that was recommended for an upset stomach. So, I diluted some peppermint oil and rubbed it on Jacob's stomach (also good for upset tummies and also a fever reducer!) and dripped some Di-Gize into his belly button- because that's what someone on Pinterest said they did- and rubbed it in and then I went back to my bed and waited. </div>
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The next time I woke up was when my alarm went off at 6am. </div>
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I cannot say for sure if the oils prevented him from getting sick again, or if he was only going to puke once anyway, I'm just saying that it appears that the oils <i>worked</i>. And for about the millionth time, I'm floored. He still experienced the symptoms of a stomach bug the next day- he didn't want to eat, he wanted to lay around and wasn't very interested in doing anything, but there was no more vomit and really, what more could a mother ask for? </div>
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Everyday something new comes up and I turn to the oils first and find that usually, no further action is needed. Just tonight Kaylen got stung by a yellow jacket. If you've ever been the recipient of one of those stings, then you know they can be excruciatingly painful. A single drop of an oil blend called Purification and a few minutes later, the pain was gone, Kaylen was back to her normal crazy, small self. </div>
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In a day and age when healthcare is increasingly costly and a laborious process of taking one sick kid and your other two well kids to the doctor and leaving with three sick kids, I absolutely love that I have options at my fingertips. Options that are perfectly safe, options we can never grow immune to, options that are cost effective and most important, options that are <b><i>effective</i></b>. </div>
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Essential oils are not magic, I can't say that if you rub Di-Gize in your belly button that your next stomach bug experience will be the same as Jacob's. All I'm saying is you won't know until you try and really, what do you have to lose? </div>
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PS. I think it's also worth noting that no one else got sick. It could be that we were never going to anyways, or it could be that I diffused thieves into the air and rubbed it on our feet. Thieves is an oil blend that among a gazillion other things, builds up your immune system and kills airborne bacteria. Just sayin. </div>
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Find out for yourself how amazing these oils are. Contact me for info on how to get started. Trust me, it's worth it. Email me jsmith10204@gmail.com.</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-49548112909566901492014-05-15T15:18:00.000-04:002014-05-15T15:24:39.685-04:00Instant Headache Relief...LiterallyFor some reason, even when I have medicine readily available, I usually don't take it. Maybe I'm a glutton for punishment. Maybe it's because I just have a natural shyness towards medicine, including simple over the counter drugs.<br />
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That's why I love these essential oils so much. I can use them- over and over- never grow immune to their positive effects, never suffer bad side effects (because there are <i>none</i>) and find the results to come much more quickly than waiting for a horse pill to break down in my system to the point it can offer relief. </div>
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Today I had a headache. The kind where you find yourself massaging your temples, rubbing the bridge of your nose and pressing on your sinuses in hopes of finding some let up from the ache. The kind that makes you wander around your house and ignore the piles of things to do. The kind that makes you want to turn on the tv, turn off the kid's mouths and just lay on the couch. </div>
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Normally even though I have a cabinet with Tylenol, Motrin and Ibuprofen in it, I would just suffer through until bedtime and sleep it away. Even when I'm not pregnant. </div>
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But today, I tried something different. I did a quick search on Pinterest for headache relief from essential oils. One post recommended peppermint. So I massaged a drop into my temples, across my forehead and on the back of my neck. Instantly- and even I was shocked to find it work so quickly, and I'm a true believer in these crazy oils- my headache disappeared. You are accusing me of exaggeration, I can sense it. But I'm not. In literal seconds my headache was gone. In it's place I felt the coolness of the peppermint permeating my skin...and I smelled like a row of old folks during church at the small Baptist church down the street. </div>
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Even though the results continue to be positive with every new "illness" I treat from home- from bug bites to burns, coughs to cuts- I'm continually shocked at the immense power of these potent drops of essential oils. </div>
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You may think I've gone off the deep end, gotten way too crunchy for your taste, and am talking about this stuff ad nauseum and maybe I have, did and am. But I haven't needed a doctor or prescription in 6 months now and I have three little germ carriers who like to wipe their runny nose on me and cough on each other, and they haven't seen a doctor, over counter med or prescription in six months either. </div>
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So maybe I'm a little less crazy, and just finally doing something that <i>works</i>. </div>
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Find out for yourself. Sign up wholesale. Order a Premium Starter Kit- trust me, it's the one that cost the most, but it's also the one that is the best value. I tried to do it "cost effectively" and it cost me lots more than if I'd just done it right the first time. Trust me on this. You will get 11 oils and a diffuser and you will find the same day your package of oils arrives, just how amazing these oils are. </div>
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Here's the link to get started: <a href="https://www.youngliving.com/signup/">Young Living Sign Up</a>. Enroller ID/Sponsor ID #1628451</div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-64131841282025774132014-05-12T21:33:00.000-04:002014-05-12T21:33:22.868-04:00How to Remove a Tick in Two Easy StepsTick season is in full swing around here. Actually, I've been pulling ticks off my kids since January. I wish that were some kind of sick joke, but it's not. Last summer we pulled teeny tiny seed ticks off them all year long, not one or two but twenty or thirty at a time. Ticks so small you thought they were dirt until you saw them walking on your kids legs.<br />
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I haven't seen any of those mini pests yet this year, instead, we have been pulling off big, fat ticks with really strong jaw muscles. I hate them. </div>
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I can't tell you how many times I have googled "tick removal" or "how to get rid of ticks" or "what to do when the tick head doesn't come off with the body" and how many times google hasn't been helpful. Whatever you do, never google one of those phrases and then look at the images. It will give you nightmares for weeks. Also never google "red spots on the roof of your mouth" and then click the images tab. Or do it. I dare you. I just had shivers thinking about it. </div>
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Anyway, all of that to say, I have finally figured out how to remove a tick safely and effectively- head and all. And how to treat the bite afterwards. </div>
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It's those crazy essential oils again, doing crazy things. I just can't get over it. </div>
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I remembered reading somewhere that peppermint is considered a "hot" oil meaning it can feel hot on sensitive skin. So, the next time a we found a tick on Jacob I dripped one drop of it on the tick. In about 3 seconds he started wiggling his legs - the tick, not Jacob- and shortly thereafter I gently pulled him off with almost no resistance from his powerful little jaws. Even after I had him firmly in the grasp of my tweezers and dropped him in the toilet, he continued to kick his nasty tick legs. It was that easy and the best part was, I didn't have to worry if I'd accidentally left tick body parts behind exposing Jacob to extra itchy skin and possible infection. </div>
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I followed the tick removal with a drop of an oil called Purification. Not only does it do an amazing job of stopping the itch, it also acts as a disinfectant for the area that was bitten. And, bonus, it smells good too.</div>
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Tick removal in two steps. Who knew it could be so easy? </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-60732478481242810252014-05-04T21:14:00.002-04:002014-05-04T21:14:57.356-04:00It's ThisThe moment he was on his knee, ring in hand asking me to be his wife, I knew it was the right decision. I actually knew long before I ever loved him that somehow, someway, sometime I would be his wife. I saw my future with startling clarity.<br />
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But it wasn't the moment that he put that beautiful engagement ring on my finger that I felt the most loved. '</div>
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Nor was it when he stood with me on our wedding day, promising me the sun and the moon and stars, that I felt the most loved. </div>
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Not even those sacred moments with our babies right after they were born and it was just us. Just those moments in time that seemed to last and last. Those hours of labor when we suffered together, and then our private moments, just us three when we celebrated together. </div>
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No, it was this moment. </div>
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And this one. It would have gone so much faster if he did it himself. But no, he let his boy drive nails in the roof, taking the time to explain why and how to do it best.<br />
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It was this moment. When it would have been neater and faster and way more convenient just to do it himself.<br />
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It was this moment when we knew the brushes would get dropped in the dirt, the paint would drip in places we didn't want to and they would lose interest at the most inconvenient moment.<br />
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Then there is this. A tiny girl, wearing the pink helmet he insisted she should have for when she rides the four wheeler, and the time he has spent chasing her in circles while he let this little person drive by herself. It's neither here nor there that she has hit the house twice, a bush once and most recently wedged the four wheeler up under our fence.<br />
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It's this moment when with a million things to do, a dozen different directions he could go, a to-do list that literally revolves round and round in dizzying circles, that there is still time for a quiet moment to snuggle his babe. Always, always room in his packed schedule for this. </div>
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The moments when I see his love for me in the most visible and tangible way, the times I feel so deeply and wonderfully loved, is in the moments when I see him with our children.<br />
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<i>It's this. </i></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-88426178146206482452014-04-14T21:45:00.000-04:002014-04-14T21:45:05.143-04:00Healthcare 101After three different bouts with croup after school started in September, three rounds of antibiotics, three rounds of steroids, the morning Jacob woke up with the telltale barking cough I knew we were in for round four and I had had enough. That was in early December. He has tried and failed to have croup twice more since then (he is prone to it, in case you were wondering, and since it's highly contagious,if you have it, then statistics show, so will he) and this time, we defeated it <i>without </i>a trip to the doctor, <i>without</i> any antibiotics and <i>without</i> steroids. And let me tell you, if we never see another steroid again it will be too soon.<br />
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The truth is, we haven't seen our pediatrician since November. We made it through the worst of the winter sick season without a single stop at the germ ridden doctors office. We made it through 2 attempted croup cases, three sinusitis cases, croup in Kaylen, a fairy serious burn on Marlee's hand and who can even remember what else without once setting foot at the doctors office or the pharmacy.</div>
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Because we have a high deductible health insurance policy every time we go to the doctor we pay out of pocket. I figure I have saved in the neighborhood of $1000 since November. Money that still resides in my pockets rather than the payroll of our dear family doctor. Who I love and admire, I should add, but who I'd rather not pay my hard earned money to. </div>
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I've always been the mom who avoided high fructose corn syrup, who hides the lollipops given out at the bank, who delays vaccinations significantly, who opts to let a fever burn out rather than medicate, who only goes to the doctor when absolutely necessary and who refuses the flu shot not only for myself but for all my kids as well. I'm not at all opposed to modern medicine and am grateful it exists, I am simply wary of it's intrusion into everyday life and guarded against it's exorbitant cost. </div>
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<i>How did you deal with all that sickness without medicine?</i> I'm glad you asked. I started using essential oils. The day that croup round four reared it's ugly head, I started treating Jacob with an essential oil called RC (Respiratory Care). I rubbed it on his feet and I diffused it in the air while he slept. Guess what happened to the croup? <b>It went away. </b></div>
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When Jacob brought home sinusitis (which I did self-diagnose but we have had it before and I knew it the minute I saw it) from school and shared it with his sisters, in between wiping noses I diffused more RC in their rooms and I began putting three different oils on their feet morning and night. Guess what?<b> It went away. </b></div>
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After defying me and laying her hand on a hot burner, I liberally applied lavender oil over and over on Marlee's hand. Not only did it relieve her pain, by the next week, the blister was gone and the old skin was already peeling away to reveal soft, new skin beneath. </div>
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If these experiences in their simplicity are a sign of the healing power of essential oils, then I'm in. </div>
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I even put some drops of lemon oil in Jacob's stinky boots that were so unbearable they had to stay out in the garage. Guess what? <b>It worked. </b></div>
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Just today, Marlee came inside with a bug bite on her foot. Mosquito, ant, I don't know, but if you know Marlee and remember last summer she puffs up like a marshmallow whenever she gets bit. I put lavender on her bite and put her down for her nap. When she woke up, I couldn't even figure out which foot the bug bite was on! </div>
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I'm sharing this with you because I know many like-minded moms who dislike the candy dispensing of prescriptions and want natural ways to not only fight sickness but to also build immunity. I'm dipping my toes in the water and finding that the deeper I go, the more I love it. </div>
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It's true that these oil companies are turning a profit and you can turn these oils into a multilevel marketing business if you want. And I'm fine with that. Because from my limited experience I am finding that I want what they are selling without a single person ever giving me a sales pitch. And every day I see another mom with a child battling chronic ear infections, or juvenile arthritis, or whole families who seem to stay sick for months on end, I can't help but think "I wonder if these oils would work for them too?" </div>
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I'm finding that the more I learn about essential oils, the more I want to share them with others. If this is you, and you are looking for options outside of the white walls and white coats of modern medicine, if you are facing yet another round of croup which includes medicine that makes your child crazy and it doesn't really seem to be working, if you spend more time and money at the doctor than anywhere else, then talk to me. </div>
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I'm still learning, but I'm convinced that this is how God planned our healthcare system ages before modern medicine existed. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">If you want more info about my experience with oils and the company I purchase them from, shoot me an email at jsmith10204@gmail.com. Although my experience is in the "mom" realm, every age can benefit from these amazing oils. </span></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-20223763253898693462014-03-30T20:14:00.001-04:002014-03-30T20:14:50.854-04:00How Marlee Broke Her Head (almost)I feel beaten by today. And I'm not the one who fell out of the buggy at Bed, Bath and Beyond.<br />
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Yes, you read that right. In my defense, this is the first time in five years and three kids. That's pretty good right? Right. </div>
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So, next time I won't wait until the last minute to buy a gift for a bridal shower, nor will I go to BB&B on a Sunday, nor will I ever use their gift wrapping station again. Ever. That's where Marlee took a dive out of the back of the buggy and I instantly broke into tears and a sweat. She is fine, thankfully, and I am mostly recovered as well. Let's just say the box I had started to wrap appeared at the shower an hour later with a ribbon, but no paper and a lid made out of another box. Why do you hide the lids and the big bags that would have solved all my problems? </div>
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And to the nice people who were parked next to me and kindly returned my cart when they saw I was crying too hard to do much else, thank you. And I apologize for getting a little hysterical when you tapped on my window to remind me I hadn't buckled Kaylen in. </div>
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It came to me as I literally stood watching the clock count down until 7p.m. so that I could reasonably put the kids to bed (in spite of Jacob's protest, "the day is still out!"), that perhaps while I've been trying to utilize grace based parenting, I might have gotten things a tad wrong. That maybe what I was calling "grace" was actually just laziness. </div>
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The thing is, if there is no law, there is chaos. And chaos is exactly what we had today. Blatant disrespect, blatant disobedience and blatant defiance. It all happened. Meanwhile, there's me scratching my head wondering why no one listens to me and it's probably because while I've been thinking I've been extending grace, I've actually been doling out free passes in bad behavior. </div>
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There is a time and place for grace, but for some ages and seasons of life, it gets lost in translation and you end up with a household turned upside down with mom at the bottom of the pecking order. </div>
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Tomorrow we start afresh. We will restart the load in the washer that has now been sitting since yesterday. We will make our beds, throw open the windows and doors and breath deeply of the fresh air. We will sweep the dark corners of their dust and we will put our house back in order. One room at a time. </div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6001317421752236534.post-27384071966923841292014-03-22T21:31:00.000-04:002014-03-22T21:34:29.707-04:00How To Save Your Battery Life by 50% In One Easy StepI've been through every tutorial on how to save the battery life on my iphone. I turned things off, I did the periodic shut down of the 14 things I'd have open for hour upon hour, I even tried dimming my screen. But that made it too hard to see, so I turned it back up to nice and bright and just charged my phone every few hours.<br />
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And then, I solved the riddle of the always depleted iphone battery and figured out how to extend it's daily life significantly. You can all pin this on Pinterest and thank me later because this truly does work. </div>
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<b>I deleted my Facebook app. </b></div>
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It was that simple. And it was that significant. The thing I've discovered these past few days is that my life is plenty busy without dealing with your busy life too! Before I took this drastic step, I'd find myself reaching for my phone all the time, especially when I was in the car. Red light? Do a quick update... Carpool? Update. Don't want to unbuckle everyone out of their car seats just yet? Two updates. </div>
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It was getting ridiculous. I would find myself thinking in facebook status updates, phrasing and rephrasing for maximum humor. I was becoming what I didn't want to be, that person with their phone always in their face, finding it more interesting or appealing that the sweet faces of my kids who have seen the backside of my Otterbox way more than they ever should have. </div>
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The more time I've spent away from facebook, the more I've come to realize that you probably don't care that my chicken just laid an egg. Or if I made delicious muffins for breakfast. Or that I stepped on the business end of a rake and it made me so mad that I hit it with the broom I was holding. Ok, no, that was truly funny. It was worth sharing. But still. You get my point. And the flip side of that is, that although I love my 483 friends on facebook (or however many of you there are) I don't need to know if you also made delicious muffins, or if you had a bad dream, or if there was a sale somewhere and you got everything for free with all of your coupons. Those statuses always frustrate me. <i>How do you do that, coupon people, how??!? </i></div>
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<b>The fact is, the more I take in of your life, the more I miss of mine. </b>And I don't want to miss it because it involves 4.5 of the most precious people God ever created and He gave them to me. The time is short and precious, and they are the people I really want to spend it with. </div>
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So, for now, I've made facebook a little less accessible and in return, I've found that not only is my battery life drastically improved, so is my real life. </div>
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If you need to put down your phone so you can pick up your life, start with that facebook app. You won't regret it. And when those sweet babies are in bed and your time is your own, you can browse and nose around to your hearts content. </div>
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And, in case you were wondering, I made waffles for breakfast, have been eating chia seeds in my Greek yogurt every day and can't tell a difference...should I? Created by hand a masterpiece run for my chickens and cried almost the whole time I was doing it because I got mad and Jacob told me to "act like a mom" after I hit a tree with the hammer, almost broke my water watching Jacob's baseball game today because it was so stressful (I fear these games will lead to bed rest), and now plan to watch a rerun of Downton Abbey. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I don't know what this is, but it seemed appropriate somehow. </td></tr>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05203531107243027877noreply@blogger.com1