tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85681105017701091562024-03-05T00:34:46.523-05:00Babbling AbbyAbbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.comBlogger766125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-78227076647276391352019-10-22T10:27:00.001-04:002019-10-22T10:27:07.091-04:00<div style="text-align: center;">
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Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09092246480777071994noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-50859943446566335822018-06-05T08:27:00.001-04:002018-06-05T08:31:07.015-04:00West Fork Park | Green Township, OH | Cincinnati<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The weather yesterday was <i>perfect</i>. Not a cloud in the sky, no humidity, mid 70s with a light breeze. A little too chilly for the pool, I decided to take the kiddos on an adventure to West Fork Park in Green Township after hearing rave reviews about this space that was designed to be inclusive for and meet the needs of all kiddos. Located in the West Side of Cincinnati, this park proved to be the ideal space to play and somewhere we'd definitely revisit, despite being outside of the Northern Kentucky radius we tend to travel within.</div>
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The park was teeming with children and their caretakers, but not overly crowded (note: we found parking immediately, though there were several cars parallel parked along the entrance). Before realizing they had a covered picnic area, we ate PBJs and fruitsnacks on beach towels in the shady, grassy area in front of our parking spot. Beck, Faith and Benny finished eating quickly, though, because the play structures could simply not be ignored for very long. </div>
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They raced immediately into the rainbow-colored maze (wheelchair-accessible, might I add) and I could barely keep up with them from that point forward. There was <i>so</i> much to do, and they were easily entertained for over an hour with the climbing structures, zip line, swings, slides, tunnels, and more! </div>
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Despite the many park patrons who had the same idea as us on this gorgeous day, the kids didn't wait long to play on any particular structure and there was ample space for running and jumping and playing freely without getting in the way of the other children or adults (read: I didn't have to tell my three to <i>stop running</i> or <i>be careful</i> or <i>slow down</i>). </div>
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Beckham, my almost 10-year-old, was admittedly skeptical of going to a park without a basketball court, but afterward he said it fell into the <i style="font-weight: bold;">NWIE</i> category of summer adventures. That's the <b>Not What I Expected</b><i style="font-weight: bold;"> </i>category, meaning it exceeded his expectations. Parenting win! His favorite part was definitely <i>turf surfing</i> on the cardboard remnants found on the turf-covered tunnels that created hills to climb and slide down. </div>
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Oh, and I can't fail to mention that there isn't any dirt or mulch at this park - a <i>major</i> perk! All of the walking surfaces are rubber composite or turf. It's amazing.</div>
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And, if the park wasn't perfect enough, <a href="https://www.putzscreamywhip.com/">Putz's Creamy Whip</a> is located less than five miles away, making for the perfect way to cool off after playing hard. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0MwK-Jj0wwFfMsY7QCndJ8z7jFCB48K6jsQEbCXcKtCTZ_1gfedW2fKtDUeF6emvxZwILYPCEDKZmjWTtsaq-oLTDr236aD1MvI6az8DvGhpp_czLiLwRWwNVUWgMnXJoH9RTEXcsQbE3/s1600/IMG_4127.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0MwK-Jj0wwFfMsY7QCndJ8z7jFCB48K6jsQEbCXcKtCTZ_1gfedW2fKtDUeF6emvxZwILYPCEDKZmjWTtsaq-oLTDr236aD1MvI6az8DvGhpp_czLiLwRWwNVUWgMnXJoH9RTEXcsQbE3/s640/IMG_4127.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div>
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What was <i>really</i> neat was that while we were eating our ice cream, we were approached by a woman who we recognized from the park. She was <a href="http://cech.uc.edu/education/employees.html?eid=stantot&thecomp=uceprof">Dr. Tina Stanton-Chapman</a> - one of the masterminds behind the creation of West Fork Park! We learned that she is a professor of education and Associate Director of Early Childhood Education and Human Development and helped develop the park as part of her research project. <i>Very, very cool</i>. </div>
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Overall, this was an adventure I'd recommend to tristate area locals. Admission to the park was free and we spent about seven bucks on our ice cream. Fun for three kiddos coming in at under ten dollars <i>and</i> lent itself to great naps afterward? <i>I'll take it!</i> </div>
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For more information about West Fork Park, visit <b><a href="http://greentwp.org/parks-department/west-fork-park/">this site. </a></b></div>
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Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09092246480777071994noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-51324886252760235902018-06-04T08:22:00.000-04:002018-06-04T08:22:32.396-04:00Summer Celebrations<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia17zE2DfhC0_2IqjqyPdNN8DOHAyBetQeNuy5gQlSwFMQ0qO1YPnhwe87kk55tL9ehrc9ADMJ4DvVcFW0J_aUOmzDW3YUO8Ex3uNB140xRFC4NG6ABGMzwMkSISGFShaiUmcEy_QSLtCO/s1600/IMG_4981.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia17zE2DfhC0_2IqjqyPdNN8DOHAyBetQeNuy5gQlSwFMQ0qO1YPnhwe87kk55tL9ehrc9ADMJ4DvVcFW0J_aUOmzDW3YUO8Ex3uNB140xRFC4NG6ABGMzwMkSISGFShaiUmcEy_QSLtCO/s640/IMG_4981.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Ah, summertime. My three favorite months of the year. I love the sunshine, the freedom, the warmth, and the endless adventure that define June, July, and August. Sundresses and evening cocktails on the patio are a nice perk, too, of course.</div>
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We have plenty of days with things to do and places to be and just as many days of unscheduled opportunities to let boredom and possibility dictate our agenda. </div>
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We're one week into Summer Vacation and its kickoff has been nothing short of lovely. We've immersed ourselves in all things summery - from bubbles and chalk to skipping naptime(s) so that we could spend the afternoon at the library or pool. </div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">Our outside time has increased substantially and it makes my heart all kinds of happy to smooch sun-kissed cheeks when I tuck all of them into bed.</span></div>
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Yesterday, we celebrated my mama's sixty-first birthday with baked spaghetti, toasted garlic bread, and a delicious homemade banana blueberry cake that my sister made. The weather was near perfect and the cousins - human and canine alike - easily entertained each other so that adult conversation could actually be enjoyed.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWx0qy2MOH1eVy_aahMmkJnLGufRuGia0chsmnDS6JABVXpuX7-E6WYW26UrbH5e3Qo-B4d8XbRE291KK9mVJ94mI7qHcop_BEAo9LrebIq0L5xXI1Ht3N7kI5aqau4Yq95GZ1ydKhyWLm/s1600/IMG_5124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWx0qy2MOH1eVy_aahMmkJnLGufRuGia0chsmnDS6JABVXpuX7-E6WYW26UrbH5e3Qo-B4d8XbRE291KK9mVJ94mI7qHcop_BEAo9LrebIq0L5xXI1Ht3N7kI5aqau4Yq95GZ1ydKhyWLm/s640/IMG_5124.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg02RAgiKvqZHDucV1BQE5-bGDnfva-ECSO_RmOxpXx08OOkrRxTAnvKCszFBhKHtNJwpdIMYQofpg1ocFMIzerHxyykdlC39XFR7Mn2NN8ay1ddABx2Oo0a4lMj1w5cSfmfr4KIQz_tBJF/s1600/IMG_5206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg02RAgiKvqZHDucV1BQE5-bGDnfva-ECSO_RmOxpXx08OOkrRxTAnvKCszFBhKHtNJwpdIMYQofpg1ocFMIzerHxyykdlC39XFR7Mn2NN8ay1ddABx2Oo0a4lMj1w5cSfmfr4KIQz_tBJF/s640/IMG_5206.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">Let's just take a moment and appreciate the beauty that is this cake. Tasted just as good as it looked.</span></div>
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I think what I really like about summer is that the ordinary feels like magic. And, it's truly the regular, seemingly unspecial moments that actually make up life, so summer is sweeter and more indulgent that any other time of year because those moments are plentiful.</div>
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There are still camps to attend and deadlines to meet and vacation adventures to be had, but my number one goal this summer is to find joy in it all: the sticky post-popsicle fingers, untimely fifteen-minute car snoozes because we are having too much fun to remember nap time, and the smell of the sun on their bodies before baths. </div>
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<i>Here's to you, Summer.</i></div>
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Happy Monday!</div>
Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-38080737510953157422017-11-12T20:27:00.001-05:002017-11-12T20:27:28.907-05:00Prophylactic Bilateral Mastectomy with Immediate Reconstruction<div style="text-align: center;">
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I remember telling Brandon when we were newly married <i>not to get too attached</i> while motioning to my chest area, in one of those kidding-not-kidding conversations. And, while we've been able to laugh that off for the past eleven years, that statement has turned to truth, and I will be having a prophylactic bilateral mastectomy on the 28th of this month. Just three weeks away. </div>
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To be clear, <i>I do not have breast cancer</i>. </div>
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A prophylactic bilateral (double) mastectomy is preventative surgery to remove all of the breast tissue with the ultimate goal of reducing the risk of developing breast cancer up to 97-100%. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvlMQIdNTRWkkoWl7taX6lmiXcENp_wx-zFRgqR7Cq09nOfvGmT8Ed4CpyzqAUGOnzKnuCMsE3Jd3dTp9wR1PGkqsTs-6_mNZXblDlq4RNUkoJxRktNG7s9sv1YTFt-D4MbHOiH9KzzbCO/s1600/23415281_1063705790432844_7406853166416207172_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvlMQIdNTRWkkoWl7taX6lmiXcENp_wx-zFRgqR7Cq09nOfvGmT8Ed4CpyzqAUGOnzKnuCMsE3Jd3dTp9wR1PGkqsTs-6_mNZXblDlq4RNUkoJxRktNG7s9sv1YTFt-D4MbHOiH9KzzbCO/s400/23415281_1063705790432844_7406853166416207172_o.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<b>B A C K S T O R Y</b></div>
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It was the summer of my sophomore year of college when my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer, fifteen years ago now. I was away at school in Lexington for the duration of her treatment, which included several nasty rounds of chemo, followed by weeks of radiation. She lost her hair, was sick as a dog, but fought through it like the champ she is and has been cancer-free since. Her mom, my Grammy, had breast cancer at sixty, many years before mom, along with my maternal great-grandmother and great-aunt. My mom's three sisters - my aunts - have also all had breast cancer in the past fifteen years. All currently remain in remission. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicnhrL9h7aiHEwerykjtpogTVdkIf6pYOBOKBClsbroOWR3rfi8MEegKdpoAojIq2TFk1ssisVVj3eG4EpwOf0ma4xIU3i_p8RT6Zr3WbXPjmyIwbHa-vQKQXMq83aHPTHSerX1fq8ZQVl/s1600/12593570_986058398110388_8006880075017671433_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1118" data-original-width="1118" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicnhrL9h7aiHEwerykjtpogTVdkIf6pYOBOKBClsbroOWR3rfi8MEegKdpoAojIq2TFk1ssisVVj3eG4EpwOf0ma4xIU3i_p8RT6Zr3WbXPjmyIwbHa-vQKQXMq83aHPTHSerX1fq8ZQVl/s400/12593570_986058398110388_8006880075017671433_o.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My mom and dad with their grandchildren.</td></tr>
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So, clearly, there is a <i>very very very</i> strong history of breast cancer on my mom's side.</div>
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My OBGYNs have encouraged me at my annual appointments- probably for the past five years - to do genetic counseling, and after dragging my feet, I finally met with a genetic counselor at our local hospital in April of this year. During genetic counseling, you basically meet with a nurse who has been certified to discuss your family tree along with the instances of cancer to help you determine whether or not you're a good candidate for genetic testing. </div>
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I brought along the genetic testing results from my mom and her sister to share with the counselor and together we reviewed all of the cases of cancer, the age of diagnosis, and the outcome of each. While those tested - including my mom - do not carry BRACA1 or 2 (most well-know 'breast cancer genes' whose carriers have upwards of a 50% chance of developing cancer), one of my aunts was positive for a mutation of the <b>NBN gene</b>. This gene is responsible for the production of <i>nibrin, </i>whose job is to repair damaged DNA. In simple terms, it is a tumor suppressor. In terms of genes associated with breast cancer, it is a newly researched one, and its carriers have an <i>elevated risk</i> of breast cancer compared with the normal population, though that risk level is currently unknown. </div>
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Because my mom's testing is 15-years-old at this point, the next step was to have her re-tested to see if she, too, was positive for a mutation of the NBN gene (which wasn't a marker at the time of her testing). She was, not surprisingly, and I submitted a blood sample to a genetic testing lab shortly after finding out her results. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSlEYNdQcfpot9KrIIUX2EOecGpVsJ__-EYhKJwkQ9Zvk1Ba-5xHb2g-1bcupCPfycoeTp2POqRWzAYiArmuLzDj7Ar6SX4LkuUnD9tPAX_yAhAg6eE-1ZskSaq1jeXj2k7hURwFHs6qND/s1600/IMG_2090.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1334" data-original-width="1000" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSlEYNdQcfpot9KrIIUX2EOecGpVsJ__-EYhKJwkQ9Zvk1Ba-5xHb2g-1bcupCPfycoeTp2POqRWzAYiArmuLzDj7Ar6SX4LkuUnD9tPAX_yAhAg6eE-1ZskSaq1jeXj2k7hURwFHs6qND/s400/IMG_2090.jpg" width="298" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Getting my mammogram in July 2017.</td></tr>
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My results were phoned to me about two weeks later to confirm that I, too, carry the mutation of the NBN gene. By itself, it's difficult to determine just how detrimental it is to carry the NBN gene, <i>but</i> combined with my family history, it <i>is</i> concerning and I was recommended to a surgical oncologist to discuss my next steps. </div>
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While surgery wasn't the only option I was presented, my doctor said it was a reasonable measure considering my genetic predisposition and family history, and I really went into the appointment knowing it was what I would choose. The youngest cancer case in our family was 36, and I'll be 35 next month.</div>
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Ultimately, the bottom line for me is this: <i>Brandon, Beckham, Faith, and Benny. </i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXMG8I2eeW7w9DKd5FWgHvzrjkqfzNHQkrkuJtC78Juzo6mO5sF6g0sJJT-EqArQ33KExrzT5Tm23Yi9bUb6a0D0WZ1xOckqHb8yS_xflOi4jdjWAGorFCz3KW-fNMjYWJyCBw69nlSzic/s1600/19511263_990584594411631_8758984288293277581_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="728" data-original-width="960" height="484" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXMG8I2eeW7w9DKd5FWgHvzrjkqfzNHQkrkuJtC78Juzo6mO5sF6g0sJJT-EqArQ33KExrzT5Tm23Yi9bUb6a0D0WZ1xOckqHb8yS_xflOi4jdjWAGorFCz3KW-fNMjYWJyCBw69nlSzic/s640/19511263_990584594411631_8758984288293277581_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<b>S U R G E R Y </b></div>
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I met with an absolute ass of a plastic surgeon in August, who barely looked up from his clipboard long enough to notice the tears streaming down my face. He used fancy doctorese to describe the procedure that was ultimately going to reconstruct my breasts, and despite fully understanding what I was in for, the reality of losing a part of <i>me</i> was just overwhelming in that moment. The long-term implications of the surgery are more than just the shape I'll have afterward and I felt like he neglected to acknowledge the psychological impact. While I don't doubt his medical prowess, his personal preferences as a surgeon and apathetic posture towards <i>my </i>personal outcomes of the procedure weren't ideal for such a life-changing surgery. </div>
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When he finally noticed I was having a hard time keeping together, he responded with, "Obviously you weren't very prepared for this appointment," in an offhanded and extremely insensitive way. I WISH I would've been quick enough to say, "Would anything prepare you to have you balls chopped off, doctor?" #hindsight Needless to say, he is <i>not</i> the plastic surgeon I chose. Bye, Felicia.</div>
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Instead, I found a female doctor whose ideals for surgery aligned with my desired outcomes.</div>
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Anyway. </div>
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The surgery is scheduled to take approximately four hours, as I'm opting for immediate reconstruction. This means, I will <i>not </i>have tissue expanders put in and will, instead, have silicone gel implants inserted immediately following the mastectomy. This will allow me to have a single surgery. Not every woman or doctor is a fan of this technique for a variety of reasons, but my build and my desire to simply replace what I already have (read: I'm <i>not </i>getting bigger b(o)(o)bs), made me a good candidate. Both my surgical oncologist and plastic surgeon will be present for the surgery and are on board with what I want. I will be required to stay at the hospital for 1-2 nights post-surgery.</div>
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<b>R E C O V E R Y</b></div>
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I'm planning for the worst and hoping for the best! I cannot lift greater than ten pounds for the first six weeks after surgery, which means I cannot pick up my babies :( Sad. No working out for six weeks, either. I also won't be cleared to drive or cook for awhile, wash my hair, or do anything that requires moving my arms above my shoulders. Fortunately, Brandon is taking off for almost a week to take care of me and our families live close by to help out with the kiddos. I will have 2-4 drains to help with fluid and swelling, and it sounds like I'll be sleeping upright in our recliner for a month. Apparently, I'm going to live in button-downs and mastectomy tanks. Everyone's recovery is different, so I guess we shall see.</div>
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<b>T H E N E X T T H R E E W E E K S</b></div>
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I had my physical this past week and am all cleared for surgery and will still meet with my plastic surgeon the day before the procedure. With the holidays approaching, I'm planning to get as much shopping done as I possibly can and decorate minimally so take-down isn't extensive. With our kitchen remodel in full-swing and set to finish the week before my surgery, I'll be cutting it close with getting the house presentable again and decorated (we're currently living among all the new cabinetry in our family room). If we get a tree up, a wreath on the front door, and stockings hung on the fireplace, we're going to call it a win. Actually, being stuck in a recliner watching Christmas movies by the fire doesn't sound like the worst way to recover, now that I think about it ;)</div>
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To my teacher friends: I'm anticipating taking the month of December off to recover, so I will be minimally involved on <a href="https://www.teacherspayteachers.com/Store/Babbling-Abby">Teachers Pay Teachers</a>. I still plan to check in with Q and As and maintain my social media pages as I can. </div>
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<b>H O W D O I F E E L?</b></div>
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I'm going to be totally honest here: I'm terrified. I've intentionally emotionally distanced myself from it for the past several months knowing how big and scary my feelings about it actually are. But now that I'm in the final countdown, I'm so scared. Surgery and anesthesia and being under for four hours completely terrifies me. I'm so afraid I won't wake up and all I can think about is my children growing up without a mommy and Brandon losing his wife. The thought is just unbearable and I sit here crying now as I type this. </div>
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Outside of the actual surgery, the recovery is daunting, I'm sad to lose feeling in my chest forever, I'm stressed about Brandon and the kiddos having to do life without me for a bit, and anxious about losing control over the daily goings-on while I recover (i.e. making lunches, school pick-up and drop-off, helping with homework, grocery shopping, laundry, picking up the house, etc). </div>
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While this is obviously an elective surgery, it's also a catch-22...sit around and wait for cancer and hope that it doesn't come? Or, pray that should I get cancer that I'm a survivor like my mom? Or, praise God for the fortunate option that modern medicine has allowed me <i>know</i> my risk and <i>do something about it?</i> No good answer, but for me, this seemed like the best choice. </div>
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<b>P L E A S E P R A Y</b></div>
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...for a successful, uncomplicated surgery.</div>
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...wisdom, guidance, and careful hands for the doctors and nurses.</div>
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...a sense of peace for myself and our family.</div>
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...good health and strong immune systems for myself and our family.</div>
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...for Brandon, Beckham, Faith, and Benny.</div>
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...no infections and complete healing post-surgery.</div>
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...a cancer-free pathology report. (no reason to believe this would be an issue, but they do a pathology report on the tissue removed nonetheless)</div>
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<b>T H A N K Y O U !</b></div>
Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-70221205548648641562016-05-28T11:28:00.000-04:002016-05-28T11:28:03.343-04:00True Stories About Our Marriage<div style="text-align: center;">
Today is our Ten Year Anniversary.</div>
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The easier post to write would be the one where I post the adoring picture of us and caption it with something along the lines of...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYp8kZjSsGecmJU07PIlHb6wwZvykW8hTOxYWEh1dEjQaPvPqU_C6ZJOTNoCqZcxXVH6ro8u867RIXG3pZk0ZX32ih-6_cjMJl-OJe8t9j0uZdH2RHdnGwjnxsc_-JOD-XUzb9XgkUesM5/s1600/12115855_659091507560943_1033763899562105375_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYp8kZjSsGecmJU07PIlHb6wwZvykW8hTOxYWEh1dEjQaPvPqU_C6ZJOTNoCqZcxXVH6ro8u867RIXG3pZk0ZX32ih-6_cjMJl-OJe8t9j0uZdH2RHdnGwjnxsc_-JOD-XUzb9XgkUesM5/s320/12115855_659091507560943_1033763899562105375_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<i>Happy anniversary, babe! It's been the most amazing ten years! Can't wait to see what the next ten years holds! Love you BIG!</i></div>
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I just can't type that without feeling awkward about it. It would portray my marriage as glossy and superficial. And, not only is our marriage <i>not</i> glossy, but there is nothing superficial about marriage. Marriage is complex, refining, and beautifully brutal. It's loving <i>despite</i>. </div>
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There have been many times in the past ten years that I didn't think we'd make it another day. Where loving despite seemed like a challenge we no longer wanted to endure. Because that adoring couple you see above, they only sometimes exist. They've disagreed and said hateful things to one another in heated arguments. They've gone to bed angry and been on the giving and receiving end of The Silent Treatment countless times (such an unfair game to play, btw). There's been shouting matches where no one wins, and there's been times where leaving seemed like a better option than staying. </div>
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Marriage is work. Every. Single. Day.</div>
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But, it is worthy work. I have to remind myself of that <i>daily. </i>It's a sacred covenant that God intended for His good. Marriage is an enduring, undeserving, sometime one-sided love that requires less of me and more of Him. It's accepting that 50/50 rarely exist, and that we're given each other to offset that imbalance. <i>Loving despite</i>. </div>
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While each of these pictures shows a smiling Brandon & Abby, the back stories contradict an always-happy-always-loving couple. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibPRfC28SMb-SD9ufMter8pGWe0I0A8L2URGiDMD3hcDhgGyJ_7m3uM-Dirhy2dZrAc7I4SR60jQFkqVNQs5-ivdu-FOdPbDJtmQk1V-lGVyJg1_BKS_FzDmCJ2eQx7g_90aEsrACSp_Xi/s1600/182824_138545546282211_1371209900_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibPRfC28SMb-SD9ufMter8pGWe0I0A8L2URGiDMD3hcDhgGyJ_7m3uM-Dirhy2dZrAc7I4SR60jQFkqVNQs5-ivdu-FOdPbDJtmQk1V-lGVyJg1_BKS_FzDmCJ2eQx7g_90aEsrACSp_Xi/s320/182824_138545546282211_1371209900_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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True Story: <i>We were in Hilton Head and spent a large part of our time there arguing with one another. I couldn't wait to come home. </i></div>
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True Story: <i>Brandon had just quit his job of seven years. The future was uncertain.</i></div>
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True Story: <i>We were headed to the fertility specialist, hoping to get pregnant. SUPER stressful. Hormones were TERRIBLE and I was NOT a nice person during that six month stint!</i></div>
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True Story: <i>We took Becks to the pumpkin patch. I took the day off of work after finding out the mother we had been matched with - and were expecting to bring her baby home to our house in a matter of weeks - had changed her mind. I was devastated and could barely function for days. </i></div>
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True Story: <i>We were at my grandpa's 80th birthday party and it was a challenge to hold a conversation without crying about our failed adoption. Ironically, we'd leave this party to find out our daughter had been born the week prior :)</i></div>
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True Story: <i>Faith had been in the hospital for a little over a month at this point and was enduring a second extremely intensive 4-hour surgery. We were just trying to keep our heads above water at the hospital and at home. I still don't know how we survived.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Jvcdb0qTVZsnEgoYVbI5mitu29W3ZoI_yoA-PlDkWtIjVEfOBm94U2h_E51T9pkvV-clxiNuv61KeSn7kbUL5w4U0LhOVu0xyXYEQ5nGmfE4uAAHTbqoUzT6DI3CziESAdjwo5rXVYC8/s1600/1510904_515739621896133_571720186675870233_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Jvcdb0qTVZsnEgoYVbI5mitu29W3ZoI_yoA-PlDkWtIjVEfOBm94U2h_E51T9pkvV-clxiNuv61KeSn7kbUL5w4U0LhOVu0xyXYEQ5nGmfE4uAAHTbqoUzT6DI3CziESAdjwo5rXVYC8/s320/1510904_515739621896133_571720186675870233_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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True Story: <i>We were headed to look at Christmas lights with the kids, and almost didn't make it after getting into a ridiculous argument in the car. </i></div>
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True Story: <i>I'm about six months pregnant here and we're at Graeter's for ice cream after a session of marriage counseling. One of the best things we've ever done for our marriage and each other. Counseling, that is. Not Graeter's ;) </i></div>
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True Story: <i>I'm about six-weeks postpartum with Ben, and am heavier than I'd like. But, I LOVE this picture. Even though we aren't like this ALL the time, there are plenty of times when we are. When we look at each other as if we're the only two people in the room. When we know that the decision we made to stand by each other forever ten years ago was the right one. </i></div>
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I am a better person for being married to Brandon. He is my best friend, my confidant and lover. I would stand next time him today and do it all over again. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1sgikZnmdtYlwq8wFFrx15j1HODxWfTg-1s8E-iIY8ghHwWhxpFX5F1KAl0XazJbIdRYV2BYBRhEMIsbUuntX2yc1YXxiacsmvHAfSG7i6k1hU2zULNpjAf_RFSJMJjuAz3wNlhMf6pa_/s1600/12376182_687801338023293_4365658578022296645_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1sgikZnmdtYlwq8wFFrx15j1HODxWfTg-1s8E-iIY8ghHwWhxpFX5F1KAl0XazJbIdRYV2BYBRhEMIsbUuntX2yc1YXxiacsmvHAfSG7i6k1hU2zULNpjAf_RFSJMJjuAz3wNlhMf6pa_/s320/12376182_687801338023293_4365658578022296645_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja9ZHcaQusfELNhH6p2sz8c6vie7NPYJQhG1ypdobPQaetd9iah8V4CASHA9KYGQb_jQKSfabDjD5-zQs_GheCJlXAiQu97g6HguX9jJgk_KqC1PWcYMxvjDnXbqOzV1003Y1nFEnL4rfF/s1600/12885988_716903695113057_438392342909425376_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja9ZHcaQusfELNhH6p2sz8c6vie7NPYJQhG1ypdobPQaetd9iah8V4CASHA9KYGQb_jQKSfabDjD5-zQs_GheCJlXAiQu97g6HguX9jJgk_KqC1PWcYMxvjDnXbqOzV1003Y1nFEnL4rfF/s320/12885988_716903695113057_438392342909425376_o.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
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Happy Ten Year Anniversary, B. I love you BIG. </div>
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(PS. We are staying in downtown Cinci tonight WITHOUT kids, and will probably sleep through the night for the first time in almost three years! Wooooo to the hooooooo!)</div>
Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-2425799642421133762016-05-04T23:18:00.002-04:002016-05-04T23:18:32.923-04:00These three.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg02SOniF19V8RaZtUR91WqtDZ84l8Mgx1zCqf5jxqJDE_rqtLwoJs_NMcztLuzIIsTu3IEyOX-0fpjHDRE0lpdk_DRHrivFN1CvqdL-FHzooA7PgYPITzLnJL0D1YnLAkDYSaCznS_dYvN/s1600/Slide4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg02SOniF19V8RaZtUR91WqtDZ84l8Mgx1zCqf5jxqJDE_rqtLwoJs_NMcztLuzIIsTu3IEyOX-0fpjHDRE0lpdk_DRHrivFN1CvqdL-FHzooA7PgYPITzLnJL0D1YnLAkDYSaCznS_dYvN/s640/Slide4.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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As soon as the picture above loaded into the blogger template, I couldn't help but laugh a bit. And simultaneously blink back tears. It still startles me - in the best possible way - to see three sweet little faces staring back from the screen. </div>
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For a long time, it seemed like I'd only be blessed to be the mama to one kiddo. Yet, here I am, happy mama to three :)</div>
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Becks is my spirited, sensitive, strong-willed, and smart as a whip 7-year-old. He's in a self-made band, <i>Wikkid Vömit, </i>takes guitar lessons once a week, plays baseball, and <i>loves</i> school. He is the best big brother to the babies and still loves to be snuggled into bed a night. His two front teeth have grown in recently, a reminder of how quick this parenting thing goes. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDgPv2ZKDuTxCLQo84i_blcrAtSGzmR1drIKv-9YkIK3A8_CeJwwaGhW4JXEopkuAZmbFZuq4JTXxbZFsJ_vHYRhjImhs5RZBdea_5Libaf9ZYoSrvof_iUoxTqtpuQXRkjA6kwrmFnhzp/s1600/Slide2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDgPv2ZKDuTxCLQo84i_blcrAtSGzmR1drIKv-9YkIK3A8_CeJwwaGhW4JXEopkuAZmbFZuq4JTXxbZFsJ_vHYRhjImhs5RZBdea_5Libaf9ZYoSrvof_iUoxTqtpuQXRkjA6kwrmFnhzp/s640/Slide2.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Faith is my fantastically adorable, ridiculously sweet, happy little joy bird. She'd spend all day outside if it were up to her, awaits the return of her <i>Bubba</i> from school everyday, still sneaks pacis at bedtime, and reminds us all what a blessing life is. She'll do big things someday. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihPRsLpVdQLXrD9HXLZihV_wTBg5bejFLLPi4qGrlMEwnqvQBM6KujdGJU1lcqE4LW6_8P-FV573ef7k4UId5bdnDyH79DHSGOEmBIEt2gHPj1nTq0Cqs7gVVUS6kbsbHz0ZKVXDrLGRQK/s1600/Slide5.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihPRsLpVdQLXrD9HXLZihV_wTBg5bejFLLPi4qGrlMEwnqvQBM6KujdGJU1lcqE4LW6_8P-FV573ef7k4UId5bdnDyH79DHSGOEmBIEt2gHPj1nTq0Cqs7gVVUS6kbsbHz0ZKVXDrLGRQK/s640/Slide5.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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And, sweet Benny is my squishy little baby muffin. He will be nine months in a couple of weeks. Bathtime, graham crackers, and running the hardwood in the walker are his jam. I don't mind the 4:30am nursing sessions, knowing those precious moments are limited. He refuses to belly laugh, and instead chuckles like your old fat uncle. </div>
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Thanking God they're mine.</div>
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Happy Wednesday :)</div>
Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-81896358006583928362016-04-25T22:30:00.006-04:002016-04-25T22:30:57.170-04:00monday in a snap...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
...a snap of this cute boy sleeping, that is.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLurvjQzqjUwtP3EyRcUh2o1CDFqQOCWlFVI3xPKYJlk5i7z11VdGhRVaQ35UJBTVAgNFKuefjUMEy5H7AHz0ewcMCcRj1jQhw1Y5zyIzhYQXXlQawYJST3gRqm6jkZAw81iG7kCZkJrUK/s1600/April25.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLurvjQzqjUwtP3EyRcUh2o1CDFqQOCWlFVI3xPKYJlk5i7z11VdGhRVaQ35UJBTVAgNFKuefjUMEy5H7AHz0ewcMCcRj1jQhw1Y5zyIzhYQXXlQawYJST3gRqm6jkZAw81iG7kCZkJrUK/s640/April25.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Hope yours was happy :)</div>
Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-44464296933402092522016-04-19T22:39:00.002-04:002016-04-20T07:00:14.926-04:00Turns out, I LOVE normal!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx0XgDgy6MD5lVh2uWbRkvQr76X4y27MS9UPN-nmL7QFo7zVkMDdvhvC_KIAOEJaV34SM-AwShli0eovE5zKm9oPuDSrUs4Af1lxczZHGX63B2cNVrwzv6tiwYLCWoS3BbNKSOWgCVNCYC/s1600/Slide1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx0XgDgy6MD5lVh2uWbRkvQr76X4y27MS9UPN-nmL7QFo7zVkMDdvhvC_KIAOEJaV34SM-AwShli0eovE5zKm9oPuDSrUs4Af1lxczZHGX63B2cNVrwzv6tiwYLCWoS3BbNKSOWgCVNCYC/s640/Slide1.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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The remnants of our dinner table probably don't mean much to you, and I'm well aware that if I left those fries sitting out for the next year they probably would look exactly the same. (I know these things because our family time capsule, T<i>he Minivan</i>, has preserved several beyond their typical shelf life in the past year or so.) </div>
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But, I slyly snapped this picture as we were finishing up tonight because it symbolized so much more than the quick meal that it was, grabbed by B and Becks on their way home from guitar lessons tonight. (He's started a band. It's called Wikkid Vömit. It is awesome.)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbcG7yTi-VouO0oImvauhO4-S9fbmK3SoqtoYi7O-pZK18tS5KNqWpXNMMrw6E9-XF9bIaFttB0UMdcOECA2lpATSBiK7iUINbUyDxU7drSyUdhaNs0pNyg3RV6zuk5-t0ruyyj5ebE-ju/s1600/Slide2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbcG7yTi-VouO0oImvauhO4-S9fbmK3SoqtoYi7O-pZK18tS5KNqWpXNMMrw6E9-XF9bIaFttB0UMdcOECA2lpATSBiK7iUINbUyDxU7drSyUdhaNs0pNyg3RV6zuk5-t0ruyyj5ebE-ju/s640/Slide2.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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Something about it seemed so completely normal. </div>
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Because normal, busy families compromise their dietary values for a value meal at Mickey D's when life got too busy that day to thaw chicken or click through Pinterest for something healthy. They sit around their dinner table with their little ones, opening cardboard clamshells and spilling fries into their compartments. They look at the lids to fountain sodas to determine which beverage belongs to who based on which button is pushed down to indicate diet. They peel cheap toys from plastic wrapping and serve bites of french fry to the baby. Normal family stuff.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVCkO4F5gGanaaQ_kfr0NG3Ulq3NEoC_TiiSVZodLDzSUvIHPqDeMqMDE5X9dENpHHy-LJpxq8XDktkT3CHKhphKzy8FxfvM2Lrq7d6IhsoC9vLwkS1ulACh7Fnyd6tz8p-YCG8XIuOsYC/s1600/Slide4.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVCkO4F5gGanaaQ_kfr0NG3Ulq3NEoC_TiiSVZodLDzSUvIHPqDeMqMDE5X9dENpHHy-LJpxq8XDktkT3CHKhphKzy8FxfvM2Lrq7d6IhsoC9vLwkS1ulACh7Fnyd6tz8p-YCG8XIuOsYC/s640/Slide4.png" width="640" /></a></div>
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So many days, even weeks, have felt very, <i>very</i> far from normal lately. Even a year after I wrote <a href="http://theinspiredapple.net/2015/03/this-is-life-lately.html">this post</a>, I still don't feel the steady equilibrium that I felt before parenting a kiddo with a chronic illness. </div>
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In fact, the Abby that wrote posts before November 2013 isn't the same Abby that writes now. </div>
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I have a deeper understanding and appreciation for life. A wisdom that comes from knowing another world that is foreign to most. A strength and endurance I can only attribute to my Heavenly father. The wholeheartedly ability to admit that I <i>cannot</i> do this life on my own. </div>
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A greater love for the average, normal day.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnZBnKPzk_4N9b3AU5pIkA4yAaRII34oMRvpqGFi16XxFh5Dn_v0xvwtvI7M4BUlRA0nO9WIWxe6p6xWx4hGsjrZcSZy7Y9AfbwHV5LccOycKdxghDyjHJgZ3dUb3XxnN_pq2uQ22esWBI/s1600/Slide1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnZBnKPzk_4N9b3AU5pIkA4yAaRII34oMRvpqGFi16XxFh5Dn_v0xvwtvI7M4BUlRA0nO9WIWxe6p6xWx4hGsjrZcSZy7Y9AfbwHV5LccOycKdxghDyjHJgZ3dUb3XxnN_pq2uQ22esWBI/s400/Slide1.png" width="400" /></a></div>
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(Thanks for the awesome new saying,<a href="http://www.amandadonaho.com/blog/"> neighbor</a>!)</div>
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Happy Tuesday :) </div>
Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-66976483848577702282016-04-16T07:34:00.002-04:002016-04-16T07:34:36.313-04:00Hello. It's Me.<div style="text-align: center;">
Well, stop the world. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzDXoT6XEhh-zu3D5BMlk3VYGW-SVxEs-m8DZFtbB8FFMfp9jH9t5J1-Rw5OpEeCTTeKQZnz_I7qF1dNel-jBkh1bQur7NzEEhBuU7LJWRGV0CcySDysu9XZsTnEZmzliD2YXpEy2Xu5Hw/s1600/12072566_726126517524108_6314307352448756033_n.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzDXoT6XEhh-zu3D5BMlk3VYGW-SVxEs-m8DZFtbB8FFMfp9jH9t5J1-Rw5OpEeCTTeKQZnz_I7qF1dNel-jBkh1bQur7NzEEhBuU7LJWRGV0CcySDysu9XZsTnEZmzliD2YXpEy2Xu5Hw/s320/12072566_726126517524108_6314307352448756033_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I am writing a blog post. </div>
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Two years to the date of my <i>last</i> blog post, which I wrote less than a month after Faith came home from the hospital in 2014. <i>2014 was TWO years ago. Oh. My. Word. </i>So much has changed! I use emojis and hashtags in everyday dialogue, had a baby, and drive a minivan! #allthehearteyes</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrjaPpfaxkncQ2YNZYTgIaXH6YwjLDrK5XoifjxniH2HWOnyePe_Sbc7XNDB-p4EUTBCExUL-XRXtghzUSYVHyyHJs7UEDQx2kW9Hy0gRqkukoF1GFfccc-XCH_2-UDkB4sUbo9tshYZKD/s1600/12993530_732668920203201_8075979251756702375_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrjaPpfaxkncQ2YNZYTgIaXH6YwjLDrK5XoifjxniH2HWOnyePe_Sbc7XNDB-p4EUTBCExUL-XRXtghzUSYVHyyHJs7UEDQx2kW9Hy0gRqkukoF1GFfccc-XCH_2-UDkB4sUbo9tshYZKD/s400/12993530_732668920203201_8075979251756702375_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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And, how pretty are things?! Things being the little facelift sweet <a href="http://jumpingjaxdesigns.com/">Becca</a> gave <i>Babbling Abby</i>, of course. She's a doll and I highly recommend her.</div>
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At one point, I said I was going to close this space and print it into a book for posterity's sake, closing this chapter of my blog life. I didn't do either. And, I'm glad. (Though I really would like to print and bind it all someday. Have you done that?) I have continued to write about life and school-related fare over at <i><a href="http://www.theinspiredapple.net/blog">The Inspired Apple</a></i>, so I haven't been completely gone. It just became a little overwhelming to maintain two blogs. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK3T3lS85qHCPJL3zE6AFTxFCDZy0B1KoJz_bUty544KA7ciiBVcmo4IU1WNZv8J0vLFytzBu6Fbj8TZtcOef-cDmWJCTMzDXzI_XsEm0Pzdaf7fiiY0UHakGoEMQgIQYMRJPzIteMAbrt/s1600/1233278_716905401779553_8318534704277886206_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK3T3lS85qHCPJL3zE6AFTxFCDZy0B1KoJz_bUty544KA7ciiBVcmo4IU1WNZv8J0vLFytzBu6Fbj8TZtcOef-cDmWJCTMzDXzI_XsEm0Pzdaf7fiiY0UHakGoEMQgIQYMRJPzIteMAbrt/s320/1233278_716905401779553_8318534704277886206_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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But, here I am with good intentions to set the bar very, <i>very </i>low for the upkeep of online journaling. Low expectations are everything these days. Helps me cope with the massive amount of crumbs throughout the kitchen (but the dishes are clean!), piles of laundry (again, clean!), and normal days (turns out I <i>love</i> normal!). </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUg1ZhugK1Nlb8C281OQz124Aqbq8kVIzArV-TqL0LDAAtLlXJzUSYrpsj9vFHfPMwlLmsrdtT2_weGoHV_d5hK2qJrgtW_JfZXfIlF3XH1YV3H7YyIoq5mXcsa0jCuR-twCiCFrRwltPw/s1600/12998494_732668913536535_7606165686203452248_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUg1ZhugK1Nlb8C281OQz124Aqbq8kVIzArV-TqL0LDAAtLlXJzUSYrpsj9vFHfPMwlLmsrdtT2_weGoHV_d5hK2qJrgtW_JfZXfIlF3XH1YV3H7YyIoq5mXcsa0jCuR-twCiCFrRwltPw/s640/12998494_732668913536535_7606165686203452248_n.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Here's to more random babbling! Happy Saturday, friends!</div>
Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-5378619756708944032014-04-16T09:46:00.000-04:002014-04-16T09:46:11.512-04:00Sorrynotsorry. <div style="text-align: center;">
So, the first sentence I typed and then deleted was this:</div>
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<i>I don't want to come across as complaining, but...</i></div>
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Then, I realized, complaining is <i>exactly </i>what I want to do.</div>
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<i>Sorrynotsorry.</i></div>
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Why, as women, do we not want to complain? Is there a biological reason we want to preface our conversations with phrases like:</div>
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<i>I don't want to sound ungrateful, but...</i></div>
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<i>I don't want to complain, but...</i></div>
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<i>Don't think I'm unappreciative, but...</i></div>
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Seriously, this is something I do all the time.</div>
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Now, I don't mean complain in the whiney, all-the-time, annoying kind of way (friends on your FB feed are probably popping into your mind right now). Just in the, <i>Hey! I lead a real life where everything is not perfect all the time!</i> kind of way. </div>
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So, I'm going to complain! And, I hope you don't think I'm being ungrateful. Because that would be the understatement of the year. </div>
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Here goes...</div>
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<b>I HATE IVs, TUBES, CORDS, MEDICAL EQUIPMENT, ETC.</b></div>
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I hate setting them up, I hate lugging them around everywhere, I hate that Faith can't lead a normal baby life because she's attached to them all the time, I hate that I feel stressed when we go into public, I hate dressing and cap changes and anything else that requires sterility, I hate the risk of infection, I hate planning life around IV windows. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjegZbxICzuhBOIureUsA44ktn5KsnrcqLm5XJu08mbDhdyUWjVlYmszXpXWOPz-3xaP-malUi07k8HOGjUDloGsNDEHIeszb_FNP838IjbUivwG9Ax43N8V7Ilm9mc2Kphf36u8DtOfeCk/s1600/IMG_9213.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjegZbxICzuhBOIureUsA44ktn5KsnrcqLm5XJu08mbDhdyUWjVlYmszXpXWOPz-3xaP-malUi07k8HOGjUDloGsNDEHIeszb_FNP838IjbUivwG9Ax43N8V7Ilm9mc2Kphf36u8DtOfeCk/s1600/IMG_9213.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">The bag I've converted into our IV tote. Make note that they make no cute bags for the purposes of toting around IV bags and pumps. So annoying!</span></div>
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I know they are life-saving and allow us to be home with our daughter instead of in the hospital. I get that. </div>
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But, they can GO AWAY and I will NOT miss them.</div>
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It's not a fun aspect of life right now. </div>
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It puts regular old childhood illnesses into perspective. Give me an ear infection ANY DAY.</div>
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All of this comes after a particularly challenging day where Faith cried the entire time I performed some necessary central line care. Unfortunately, I have to 'reverse swaddle' her, if you will - meaning, I use a blanket to hold her arms down, tucking it underneath her back so that the weight of her body keeps her arms from flailing while I'm working on her chest. Yeah, not fun for anyone, especially Faith. Sometimes, this puts her to sleep. But, not yesterday. </div>
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Then there's the bubble flicking. Before you run the IV you have to rid the line of any air, and this is accomplished by flicking the line. This is <i>never</i> an easy process, and I'm sometimes sitting on the floor praying that gravity will allow that last bit of air to run out. Ya know, to avoid pulmonary embolisms. <i>No pressure. </i></div>
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Dressing changes are my least favorite thing. Her central line site is completely exposed, running the risk of infection every time we access it. Hate. That. She has to be reverse swaddled, it's time consuming, and makes me have a minor panic attack until it's redressed. </div>
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<i>UGH.</i></div>
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Okay. I'm finished. Thanks for listening and not judging. Little Sis is worth every single second of every single procedure we have to do every day. But that doesn't mean it won't be a glorious day when the docs tell us it's all over. </div>
Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-12353276096289859272014-04-14T22:34:00.000-04:002014-04-14T22:34:55.073-04:00The Manic-est Monday.<div style="text-align: center;">
I didn't really expect today to be manic at all.</div>
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It was rainy. I had a quiet cup of coffee. Worked a little bit. The day was slow. </div>
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Until it wasn't. </div>
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Until suddenly the home health nurse was at my front door and my hair was half dry and my face only half done. And, of course, it was at that very moment that the doorbell rang that I realized I was supposed to throw a couple of cotton balls in Faith's diaper <i>before</i> the home health nurse arrived so she could collect a urine sample. </div>
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<i>Fail</i>.</div>
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I threw the cotton balls in anyway and apologized for my forgetfulness, praying that Faith would pee sometime during the visit. Well, sister one-upped me and did #1 and #2, thus contaminating the specimen. At that point, I had to leave to get Becks, and was going to have to collect and drop of the specimen myself.</div>
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So, go ahead. Ask me if I squeezed pee from cotton balls into a specimen cup in the parking lot at tae kwon do today. </div>
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<i>Oh, yes. Yes, I did.</i></div>
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#winning</div>
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The good news? (It has nothing to do with pee.)</div>
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Becks got his new orange belt and his gear at TKD today. The squishiness of his cheeks in that helmet thing make my heart happy. Bless it. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrtkhYQa7RuuL04_AWnIWEsLYqzXR5066KhY6dReKW1KdhY_s2WDFVrRL_NvkYcSLwkwRjQLxV9bA_Ho1i4M8VP3gDVplLUtERcmSWaqU3Qp_Lj367uWNuRF2BGkxaf4v6eigruxpLpgJ/s1600/photo+(4).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIrtkhYQa7RuuL04_AWnIWEsLYqzXR5066KhY6dReKW1KdhY_s2WDFVrRL_NvkYcSLwkwRjQLxV9bA_Ho1i4M8VP3gDVplLUtERcmSWaqU3Qp_Lj367uWNuRF2BGkxaf4v6eigruxpLpgJ/s1600/photo+(4).JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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I wish you could've seen his face when he realized the purpose of the included protective cup. <i>You mean this is for...oooooooh. </i>It was an ah-ha moment of epic proportions. Big eyes and all. I told him daddy would help him figure it out. Cups, in my world, are glass and filled with ice and Diet Coke. </div>
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Anyway, after dropping off the cup-o-pee to the lab and booking it home on time to reconnect Faith to her IV, I somehow managed to cook a really lavish dinner of omelet and hash browns. A large, singular omelet. Take out your parenting notebook and write that little token down under Time Saving Parenting Dinner Advice. No one gets to pick what his omelet will contain, as everyone gets the same omelet with whatever vegetables happen to be chopped in the fridge (red and yellow peppers) with cheese! Yum! <i>Oh, you don't like peppers in your omelet? Sorrynotsorry. EAT IT.</i></div>
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The night ended with a failed attempt at molding a plastic mouth piece, two episodes of Full House, and a sassy little sweetheart giving me a run for my money. I'm afraid to tell you just what a good baby she is, but it's true - she rarely fusses. Except tonight. She had the fussing turned up to mega-fuss. To test me. To see if I've still got 'it' almost six years out of babydom. </div>
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Turns out, I do. The rock-bounce-shush combo (and twelve pacifier reinsertions) prove to be just as effective as they were back in 2008. </div>
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And, now, B is on his way home from work, and I'm praying he walks in the door with two scoops of Salted Caramel Brownie from Graeter's. Momma squeezed pee in a parking lot today and she needs it. </div>
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Night!</div>
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{PS. I <i>totally </i>jinxed myself by posting about my non-manic-Monday early this morning over on my teaching blog! What was I thinking?! See <b><a href="http://theinspiredapple.blogspot.com/2014/04/manic-monday.html">HERE</a></b>.}</div>
Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-43112965240681557552014-04-11T11:24:00.000-04:002014-04-11T11:24:01.162-04:00Of character clothing and dandelions. <div style="text-align: center;">
When Becks was a baby, I was fairly adamant that he was <i>not</i> going to wear character clothing. No super heroes. Nothing seen on The Disney Channel. And definitely not anything cartoon related. Polo and Baby Gap were more my style. Even if they were thrifted. </div>
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Then he fell in love with <i>The Avengers, </i>and who was I to decide he couldn't wear an Iron Man shirt? I would be denying him of his passion. His God-given right as a little boy. Right up there with being dirty and having skinned knees.</div>
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Now that he's almost six (<i>WHAT?!</i>) and I've matured in my parenting past the point of caring what he wears, in exchange for caring more that he has nice manners and takes a shower a few times a week, he can pretty much wear what he wants. Character clothing or otherwise.</div>
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But, today, in a fashion statement only Becks could make, he came downstairs wearing this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRHQJrgC9Q7M7aNMYZMRrdbzN6g_JMpGuc62QGyxikSWuu5c2X1dZ7T_xDf4ZL3LZ0NobNRjKIudQ3l0uMrRj0tdMxmQiLfjQTMIkbv_xWGuFlCGEjxU31yy5kEvCjiIpj4TvkvGG-4hL7/s1600/photo+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRHQJrgC9Q7M7aNMYZMRrdbzN6g_JMpGuc62QGyxikSWuu5c2X1dZ7T_xDf4ZL3LZ0NobNRjKIudQ3l0uMrRj0tdMxmQiLfjQTMIkbv_xWGuFlCGEjxU31yy5kEvCjiIpj4TvkvGG-4hL7/s1600/photo+(2).JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">That would be a bomber jacket, sports shorts, snow boots and an oversized backpack. #winning</span></div>
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<i>You know I'm going to have to take a picture of that, </i>I said to him, giving him the once over. </div>
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His response: <i>Yes, m'am. </i>In the sweetest voice. </div>
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Sure, it makes a great picture - but it epitomizes his personality, carefree spirit, and childhood innocence. Quite frankly, he rocks it. <br />
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He went outside and returned moments later with his hands behind his back.<br />
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<i>Close your eyes, mom.</i><br />
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I obliged. <br />
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<i>Hold out your hand.</i><br />
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I did.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZyWR35l9PWip6IIcZWy53LJIkk9gNdKcdYD5nVy8elf1UcPKgjMnaHpMrxkl_NKEzJWaA9y3t4Vz4i5S44GUrBa8lt_CQLjVyJ7ZsxMk3841ZVUtC8_KdP-85V-Nctltv7KxMA1AZfs40/s1600/photo+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZyWR35l9PWip6IIcZWy53LJIkk9gNdKcdYD5nVy8elf1UcPKgjMnaHpMrxkl_NKEzJWaA9y3t4Vz4i5S44GUrBa8lt_CQLjVyJ7ZsxMk3841ZVUtC8_KdP-85V-Nctltv7KxMA1AZfs40/s1600/photo+(3).JPG" height="640" width="480" /></a></div>
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First dandelion of the season. I'll be ordered to put a lot of these in small glass vases over the next several months. You can never have too many. Even from a kid that wears character clothing and bomber jackets in the spring. </div>
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<i>I love you, Beck Man. </i></div>
Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-27299444101992917212014-04-09T09:03:00.001-04:002014-04-09T09:03:40.201-04:00To be human again.<div style="text-align: center;">
We, as parents, have to don the occasional Super Hero Cape. Some would argue that we wear our capes on a daily basis, as we pack lunches, kiss boo boos, and cheer from the sidelines. And, I would agree. To some extent. But, let me tell you, I am <i>ecstatic</i> to shed mine in exchange for my bathrobe and a cup of coffee. To hang it up right next to our five month hospital stay. To tuck it away in the back of the drawer and leave it there for a good long while, worn and ragged from months of use. </div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Here's a legit Super Hero. He wears his cape, er, <i>shell, </i>by choice. </span></div>
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On that regular, old Monday morning in November, no one told me that I would be performing Super Hero duties for the next five months. That, in reflecting, I would wonder how bills got paid, how we didn't die of starvation from lack of grocery shopping, or how we managed to function on little sleep, lots of stress, and an overwhelming love for our son and daughter. Hard to believe menial tasks like that are considered Super Human, but they really seem quite monumental when much of your mind strength is devoted to considering sickness, life support, and sometimes even death, on a daily basis. </div>
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So, I'm feeling human again. </div>
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My house is messy. There are Legos everywhere. Sometimes diapers. Mounds of laundry. A whole room devoted to medical supplies. There are IV bags in my refrigerator and an IV pole we tote around the house. We had a whole dinner consisting of cheesy bread one night, though I did insist Becks have a fruit cup and some yogurt, too. There is a half-eaten lunch plate <i>still</i> taking residence on the kitchen table. Yet, baby life is crazy and good. </div>
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<i>And</i>, I get to drink coffee in my bathrobe. <i>Not</i> my Super Hero Cape. </div>
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I kinda like it. Not even <i>kinda.</i> I REALLY like it. </div>
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Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-77366292009990381762014-03-26T22:41:00.002-04:002014-03-26T22:41:26.033-04:00A New Season.I know it's been a long while.<br />
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And, there's plenty of catching up to do.<br />
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But tonight, I sit perplexed by the fact that <i>next week</i> is April. In my mind, Christmas was just last week. Right? <br />
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I know I'm wrong. I know the calendar will flip, and March will tiptoe quietly out of 2014, waving goodbye in a swirl of snow and sunshine. Maybe not snow. Sunshine would be better. You just can't trust that Polar Vortex, though. <br />
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Something about the changing season makes me a little emotional. A lot emotional, actually. <br />
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Maybe it's those dang pseudo-pregnancy hormones, escaping at last, after festering in the interim of hospital life as I awaited the day I would actually bring my baby home. There's been plenty of tears, cried in joy and in pain, but the tears I feel tonight don't belong to either of those emotions. <br />
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Transition Tears, maybe? The kind of tears you cry when your life is at the crux of Old Life and New Life. Bidding farewell to what you've known and what you've become comfortable with, in exchange for something new and undiscovered. Uncharted territory. <br />
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In our case, it's living our life with a medically fragile child. Tubes and pumps and IVs and doctors appointments. Leaving the confines of the safe hospital where <i>our people</i> are. <i>Our People </i>being the medical staff that we've come to know, love, and trust with our daughter over the past five months.<br />
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FIVE MONTHS.<br />
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Which brings me back to the calendar and seasons changing and my Transitional Tears. <br />
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We made the ultimate transition just today - bringing our daughter home. <br />
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Tonight, she is asleep in the pack-n-play right next to me. It will be the first night she's actually <i>slept,</i> peacefully in her home, uninterrupted every four hours by hospital staff checking vitals, refilling her feeds, clearing her pumps. That's not to say that tonight will be restful. For any of us. <br />
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There's the churn of her feeding pump. (Doesn't bother her, kind of annoying to me.) Rainwater flowing on the noisemaker. (I figure that silence would be too drastic a change from her busy hospital room.) The beep of her pump at four hour intervals asking for a refill. (Just like getting up with any other newborn, right?)<br />
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I remember those early days with Beckham, waking every three hours to nurse, feeling like morning was days away. Turning on the TV just to have the company of whatever random salesperson happened to be on an infomercial, pitching something I could own in three easy payments of $39.99. <br />
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There were Transitional Tears then, too. So, I feel a little bit more normal knowing that feeling abnormal is completely normal during a time of transition. <br />
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A new season. A new normal. <br />
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Here we go...Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-60075091662242273802013-08-19T23:44:00.001-04:002013-08-20T18:48:10.403-04:0011 weeks and counting.<div style="text-align: center;">
Hi. It's been a long time. Summer was way busier than I anticipated. A little too busy.</div>
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And, in a fleeting second, it was gone. Like that.</div>
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Suddenly, we're 11 weeks from expanding our family and sharing our lives with another beautiful blessing. He's established himself in my heart. <i>Growing in my heart, not my belly</i>, as the cliched adoption quote goes. It's true, though.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">{Becks showing how big his baby brother was compared to an eggplant}</span></div>
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In the beginning, I had a hard time figuring out how I was going to live out the waiting process. Because there's all those <i>what ifs</i> that could really keep you up at night if that's the kind of game you want to play. It's not a game, though. It's a miracle in it's own rite and I needed to wade through the waiting waters in my own way and on my own time.</div>
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When we were first matched, I can only describe it as looking into a photograph and seeing that blurred "bokeh" effect. Nothing was in focus. Was this real? Was it happening? It's too good to be true, but I think it's true. She picked <i>us</i>? <i>Really???</i></div>
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I kept trying to look, to see what I was supposed to see months into the future. </div>
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And...nothing. </div>
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I couldn't see anything but fuzz. </div>
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Then we met her. The lovely and wonderful and selfless woman who was making the most admirable and loving decision she could make for her child. That's when things started to take shape. </div>
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Less fuzz. Less bokeh. </div>
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For a long time, I pretended that I didn't really want to buy a pair of footed jammies. Or pick out crib bedding. Or find the perfect name. Because, <i>what if?</i></div>
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I finally had this moment of clarity where I decided that I needed to live out this waiting period for me. The way I wanted to live it out despite the what-ifs. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSPnhIYdcfFfnDx10OSr-Ewa3lPWeRKJlfuoXvKY51R4mY2DCPDwSlg0VKrWOs3y1Hl-_VOzgv-6QRanBEKJxOl87fHnlBNtZThh9kI0RhMs9_JRRwjUYoaoZkZv4-ZVW2YNrhidCcOY6h/s1600/IMG_2837.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSPnhIYdcfFfnDx10OSr-Ewa3lPWeRKJlfuoXvKY51R4mY2DCPDwSlg0VKrWOs3y1Hl-_VOzgv-6QRanBEKJxOl87fHnlBNtZThh9kI0RhMs9_JRRwjUYoaoZkZv4-ZVW2YNrhidCcOY6h/s200/IMG_2837.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_OSvJu-LY1TOO9IcV3UwytyFzkd4KvyrNwfOud6FufAGPXsDswwEfisSGtxAXyaij00f0ICefg_zkcIEuEM-_hVAb2-ewdfQ59OoogVwtUcSwiRurIeEo6zFuLZbuXBO02BZEuu9wiHrx/s1600/IMG_2952.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH_xoM0T3KTSYOjmtGWfqqZ1cmwKgfl632CM8Z1b1v8GpL75Ac8EuTEk0ijhjlNcQulaJLECADzvFICO7NktG5K1AIycxytKSQc339_gqHEg43nJ1Bh7BntRLUyxoCJM8IyzYwRZ907R6I/s1600/IMG_3022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjH_xoM0T3KTSYOjmtGWfqqZ1cmwKgfl632CM8Z1b1v8GpL75Ac8EuTEk0ijhjlNcQulaJLECADzvFICO7NktG5K1AIycxytKSQc339_gqHEg43nJ1Bh7BntRLUyxoCJM8IyzYwRZ907R6I/s200/IMG_3022.JPG" width="200" /></a><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_OSvJu-LY1TOO9IcV3UwytyFzkd4KvyrNwfOud6FufAGPXsDswwEfisSGtxAXyaij00f0ICefg_zkcIEuEM-_hVAb2-ewdfQ59OoogVwtUcSwiRurIeEo6zFuLZbuXBO02BZEuu9wiHrx/s200/IMG_2952.JPG" width="200" /></div>
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<br />
So, as the weeks have progressed into months, I've embraced my pseudo-pregnancy with fervor. Nesting and all. The picture is really starting to take shape. There's nursery furniture. A crib. Ordered bedding. Onesies and bottles and bibs. Washed and ready hand-me-down blankets from Becks' infancy. A bring-me-home outfit. A first pictures outfit. A stroller. </div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">While there are many uncertainties and questions, I don't think I will understand God's picture until the day we meet this baby and share a sacred bond with his mother. We'll cradle his sweet little head into our arms and admire all of his little perfections for the first time. </span></div>
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I've never wanted to hold His hand tighter, as he leads me through the next several weeks, and I pray for peace and health and clarity. For Jesus to be present every step of the way. </div>
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74 days.</div>
Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-7350517385663796262013-06-30T14:59:00.003-04:002013-06-30T14:59:18.412-04:00Adoption is Awesome :)<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">{I posted this at <a href="http://www.theinspiredapple.blogspot.com/">The Inspired Apple </a>and forgot to post here! Oops!}</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So, we have news!!!!!!!!! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">And, because many of you have written me personally with your well-wishes and have been with us in prayer throughout this journey, I am beyond thrilled to share...</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.98611068725586px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">On May 13th, we received a life-changing phone call - an expectant mother was making an adoption plan for her baby and had chosen us as potential parents! On Monday, we confirmed that it is a BOY! We are so excited for the amazing opportunity to be parents again...and, of course, Becks is thrilled to be a Big Bro. Please pray for the expectant mother, the baby, and our family during this exciting time <3</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 17.98611068725586px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Truth:</span></span></div>
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Keep praying, friends!!!!!</div>
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XXOO</div>
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Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com30tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-73287793790612228872013-05-30T09:38:00.000-04:002013-05-30T09:38:30.145-04:00Of lily pads and faith.<div style="text-align: center;">
The first real day of summer started out swimmingly. </div>
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Unfortunately, I failed to sunscreen appropriately and have one of the worst sunburns I can remember. Ouch.</div>
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Becks has a little more independence at the pool this year. He's taller and can swim. He makes buddies with anyone who's carrying around a squirt gun. Yet, I can only get through about a half a paragraph of a book before I feel the urge to check on him, or before he's calling out to me to watch him sit under the dunk bucket that pours gallons of water onto waiting little heads. He loves it. </div>
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I remember going to the pool with my mom and sisters when we were young, swigging from yellow Hi-C juice boxes and munching on lunch during adult swim. It's funny how some things never change. How a different generation is now seated in the lounger, goggles secured, swigging from a juice box, munching on lunch, and waiting for the whistle to signal all can swim again. </div>
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Becks has also independently mastered the lily pads. The kids in line behind him must have incredible patience because he takes his precious time in maneuvering from pad to pad. </div>
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So, today feels a little bit more like summer than Tuesday did. I'm so grateful for sunshine and warm temperatures. </div>
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I'm also grateful for this.</div>
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Because faith isn't easy. But it is promising and full of hope. It is bigger than I am. And - even more comforting - is that He already knows of the things my heart desires and He knows where my faith will take me. </div>
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Happy, happy Thursday :)</div>
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Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-76231354515344046232013-05-28T17:20:00.001-04:002013-06-30T14:39:02.714-04:00The start of summer. <div style="text-align: center;">
I simply cannot believe there was a time in my life where I blogged multiple times a week. Becks was small and confined and napped a whole lot. Now, he's big and active and wears himself out by 7pm (and me!) with no nap. By the time he's in bed, I want to do mindless activities. Like nothing. </div>
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One of the best parts of our new home is that it's located in an actual neighborhood. WITH KIDS! They're everywhere, so Becks has other little people to occupy him. It also means that the windowpanes on my door are smudged up with kid prints and my doorbell is constantly ringing. It's kind of nice. </div>
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If summer were a handful of dollar bills, I'd feel like I already spent quite a few on pre-planned trips and meetings and things that need to be done before August rolls around and school is back in full swing. Just today - less than a week after closing down the building for the year - we had a professional development. Totally the last thing I wanted to with one whole day of my summer vacation. And, with this past weekend being a whirlwind of holiday activities, I feel like summer hasn't even officially begun. </div>
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Maybe tomorrow, when I'm drinking my coffee before my sleepyhead wakes up...and B is at work...and we have absolutely <i>nothing</i> on the agenda...maybe then I'll feel like summer is official. Maybe when I can prepare a nice, homemade dinner and have it on the table when B comes home...maybe then it will feel like summer. Or maybe it will be when I'm at the pool, reading an actual paperback, and Becks is splashing away...maybe then it will feel like summer. </div>
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Until then, I'm going to pop a readymade pizza in the oven, open a Summer Shandy and call it a day :)</div>
<a href="http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/2389637/?claim=nhyc8hw6dgz">Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-3066412867939639142013-04-17T22:08:00.000-04:002013-04-17T22:08:02.405-04:00Never go to HoGo without a plan. <div style="text-align: center;">
It's no secret. I have a thing for home decor. </div>
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I love to shop for it, change it out, rearrange it, and look at it from different angles in my house. Because that's normal.</div>
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While my friends <a href="http://aoonthego.blogspot.com/">Ashley</a> and <a href="http://livenergized.blogspot.com/">Treenah </a>were over helping me unpack, they came to the following conclusion. I like all things white and ceramic. Tell me something I don't know. I also have a penchant for pillows and side tables. They just didn't get to unpack those boxes :)</div>
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Fortunately, I also like cheap. And, if I'm not thrifting it or pulling it from someone's curb, it's probably from Homegoods or Target. Which brings me to my venture to all things home and good and why it was a major bust today.</div>
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<b>Problem A.</b></div>
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I took this ding dong with me. Love him dearly, but have mercy this kid keeps me on my toes! When he wasn't singing loudly (i.e. making robot noises), he was trying to distract me by trying to touch things on the shelves. I spent a lot of time brushing his hands away from shell wreaths and yard animals. </div>
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<b>Problem B.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEJsFkD0LgVT_2fzjRmR6Rh8oPWQtiu-faI_IpejlxlaT-vQCg3FJOIGX3BapVA1GgaEuvIYcSl_tEtN-JnrpHLhgQ_ir8rJEGiHBn48Cx_913s680AZULpBevhCWpCVYVxRWa0xh4Bzam/s1600/IMG_1445.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEJsFkD0LgVT_2fzjRmR6Rh8oPWQtiu-faI_IpejlxlaT-vQCg3FJOIGX3BapVA1GgaEuvIYcSl_tEtN-JnrpHLhgQ_ir8rJEGiHBn48Cx_913s680AZULpBevhCWpCVYVxRWa0xh4Bzam/s400/IMG_1445.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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The bigger problem. I went with no plan. I was lost among all the home goodness, passing through aisle upon aisle of accessories questioning my motives. Did I come for bath rugs? Do I need a 4 foot ceramic apple? This rooster? A stone buddah figure? SOMEONE HELP ME!!!!!!!!!!!</div>
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I actually came looking for my mantle. But, again, no plan. I didn't even Pinterest before I went. </div>
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Here is the mantle and built-ins in very early stages. I'm so not satisfied. I (read: B), needs to paint behind the TV and bookcases to lighten them up. Probably a shade of gray. I will also paint the cabinets white. Depending on how both of those work out will determine whether or not I also paint the stone surrounding the fireplace. </div>
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So, I bought nothing. Sigh. But, I did Pinterest when I came home. Here's some pinspiration...</div>
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<a href="http://media-cache-lt0.pinterest.com/736x/be/51/55/be51555fa8560f772abfd89450275175.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://media-cache-lt0.pinterest.com/736x/be/51/55/be51555fa8560f772abfd89450275175.jpg" width="208" /></a><a href="http://freshome.com/2012/11/14/10-creative-ways-to-decorate-your-non-working-fireplace/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://media-cache-ec4.pinterest.com/736x/29/1f/cf/291fcfcd516242439801c531e8d0efbd.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://refreshrestyle.com/2012/09/fall-mantel/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://media-cache-ak1.pinimg.com/736x/0c/6c/20/0c6c203e0aa89879085ae1a6b583e6e2.jpg" width="425" /></a></div>
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I'm leaning toward the reclaimed wood box full of hydrangeas. With maybe a lantern-looking thing one end. Maybe my vintage blue Ball jars, too? And a mirror? Some candles? I don't know. Obviously, I have a lot of thinking to do. Commitment is hard. </div>
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Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-44505663387208432282013-04-14T08:32:00.001-04:002013-04-14T08:32:55.809-04:00Blind, bold faith.<div style="text-align: center;">
While folding laundry the other day, I believe - for the first time that I can notably remember - I felt like God was directly speaking to me: <i>She's coming</i>. Out of no where. I don't know who <i>she</i> is or in what context <i>she'll</i> be arriving, but I feel strongly that He sent me that short message as a sense of reassurance. </div>
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Only the day before, I learned from our adoption worker that our profile was shown to an expectant mother who chose another family. One without kids. Ouch. Strangely, that sting was short-lived and after crying to my mom for a quick minute, I just felt at peace. That baby was meant for another family, and our baby is <i>still </i>our baby - whoever he or she may be. </div>
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In a fit of crazy, perhaps, I washed a load of girl clothes that I've collected over years of thrifting. They're not even infant clothes! <i>She, </i>of course, might not be a baby girl. Might not even be an expectant mother. But, in any event, I got to spend a few minutes folding cute baby clothes :)</div>
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The bigger picture, though, is how He used that message to draw me closer to Him and His word. I paged through my Bible with nothing specific to read, but let him guide me to what He needed me to hear. </div>
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I flipped until I came to Luke 11 - Jesus teaching on prayer. Verses 9 and 10 stood out...</div>
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<i>So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; he who seeks will find; and to him who knocks, the door will be opened.</i></div>
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Wow. Just wow.</div>
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Notice, however, that he doesn't say "tomorrow" or "soon." He just reassures you that He will provide. And, so, as I seek this morning, I pray for the <i>she</i> who is coming and how I can meet whatever need <i>she</i> may have. I pray that I might serve her and glorify Him through it all.</div>
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Happy Sunday :)</div>
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Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-17666179008989555782013-04-12T23:15:00.000-04:002013-04-12T23:15:25.974-04:00Well, hellllllooooo, April.<div style="text-align: center;">
So, don't ever pray to be busy. Unless, of course, you're prepared to be <i>really</i> busy. Like REALLY busy. Like only the kind of busy that can be brought on by praying to be busy. </div>
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Because God, yeah, He really does listen to and answer prayers!</div>
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This girl has been bizzzzzzzzzeeeeeee.</div>
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After praying and specifically asking God to fill my time and keep me busy back in Janurary, He responded by making my February and March practically disappear into appointments, activities, conferences, work, home, and family goings-on. </div>
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And, for that, I say thanks. Though during those months I was absolutely saying, <i>Why did I ever ASK to be this busy?! I'm so busy I can't see straight! I get it, God! I'm busy!</i></div>
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So, what have we been up to in the past two months? </div>
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Well, we bought a house! We left our darling little Cape Cod and moved to a delightful neighborhood where the kiddos are plentiful, biking in the cul-de-sac is a nightly ritual, and WE HAVE MORE THAN ONE BATHROOM! And, stop the world, there is a laundry room on the second floor. I've never been so excited to do laundry in my life! We've been here for two weeks and just love it :)</div>
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Hmmm, what else? Well, my kiddo is growing like a dang weed. Seriously, I bet he'll have grown 4 inches by the time we make it to his yearly checkup in June. Y'all, he's going to be a KINDERGARTNER. Kindergarten! Ah! </div>
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Still no baby at the Mullins' household. We continue to pray and have faith in His plan and are still anxiously awaiting the day that we grow into a family of four. If you know anyone who is considering adoption, please don't hesitate to put them in touch with me! My email is babblingabby@gmail.com. I hadn't really considered doing it before, but I've been thinking about putting our crib together in the would-be nursery. It's an empty room right now and it looks so lonely. Also, if you would pray for us, I would really appreciate it :)</div>
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Also, B graduated from Nash Academy in Lexington. He's an official dog groomer. So proud!</div>
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Hope y'all are well! Off to catch up on my blog reader to what's going on with you!</div>
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<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "http://images-onepick-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?container=onepick&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*&url=http%3A%2F%2F2.bp.blogspot.com%2F-AgNOq7U8O1M%2FUWiidbekN_I%2FAAAAAAAAKd4%2FwesnKoSHSQQ%2Fs1600%2Fc7c0bec1265b7559f34c6c3e754308ff.jpg" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBTzg1iQX4TJh-xIGgt0Agfappfg9MSMLN8D2egr4X-ASPW02dvGgdl1OSURwuzFqNAN3NmLJ5YRhOrCJ5zIcOBWhdgTfMpeuflWXbDNqsrrCweBvws9Cqi7WsbOABHvtJKGi3LNM0fg/s1600/c7c0bec1265b7559f34c6c3e754308ff.jpg" -->Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-53267316652537408422013-01-27T15:46:00.001-05:002013-01-27T15:46:27.523-05:00weekend update.<p> </p> <p><img style="display: block; float: none; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto" src="http://a1.s6img.com/cdn/box_005/post_15/597325_2348177_lz.jpg" width="261" height="336" /></p> <p align="center">I  mean, right?!</p> <p align="center">Obviously, it didn’t matter that I <em>wanted </em>to have another baby by the time I was 30.  Or that I thought that baby would come from my belly.  <em>The Lord’s purpose</em>.  Now that is a plan right there.  And, I can’t sit and call him and be like, <em>Hey, God?  So, about that baby…</em>  I wish I could :)  So, I guess that’s the best adoption update I can give you right now.  It’s not about <em>my</em> plan – it’s about <em>His </em>purpose.  And, won’t the day that His purpose is made clear for our family be a day?! </p> <p align="center">We’re just living life around these parts.  Trying hard to muddle through January.  It’s just one of those months you get through.  It’s cold and dreary.   You’re combatting the let down from all that holiday momentum.  Suddenly you’re like – <em>oh, you mean we don’t have plans EVERY minute of every day OR a fridge stocked full of appetizers and cookies anymore?</em>  And the loss of the glow from the Christmas tree.  And the soft sound of Christmas music floating through the house. I miss that.  Then I try to think of all things shiny and new and I get excited about spring.  Which, naturally, leads to thoughts of summer.  Ahhhhh, summer.  </p> <p align="center">Wishing my life away.  But trying hard not to.</p> <p align="center">Becks and I have spent our time indoors arts and crafting.  Totally up my ally.  Leave all that superhero stuff to his daddy because this mama loves to be at a table with all sorts of markers, glue and paper in front of her.  </p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-EcRaF0KLiYI/UQWSDUbxiPI/AAAAAAAAGMU/HWP59naT9eI/s1600-h/002%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="002" border="0" alt="002" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-qvEpQFieA8w/UQWSD6fB6pI/AAAAAAAAGMc/I9MS6oDyjbs/002_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="390" height="266" /></a>   <a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-tThPQY6_HXo/UQWSEQZnLXI/AAAAAAAAGMk/OJMNwF9ccD4/s1600-h/009%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="009" border="0" alt="009" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-UESTVbjW1NE/UQWSE-QhM3I/AAAAAAAAGMs/79OKvCCduMU/009_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="175" height="267" /></a></p> <p align="center">  <a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-XFmZLjqHJFc/UQWSF1kubYI/AAAAAAAAGM0/HOsCaNiJBg8/s1600-h/photo%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="photo" border="0" alt="photo" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-picviSVlfzI/UQWSGorRt6I/AAAAAAAAGM8/CAlq0oui26s/photo_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="356" height="365" /></a></p> <p align="center">I’m still trying to balance working out and eating.  I like to do both, you know.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-3YixPl6b_RQ/UQWSHBybFUI/AAAAAAAAGNE/j7m4ZqNGr7M/s1600-h/019%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="019" border="0" alt="019" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-kh7rvzrzbxw/UQWSHhY5k9I/AAAAAAAAGNI/PuOsZPlC2tY/019_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="196" height="299" /></a>  <a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-yeBHUsFmBAs/UQWSIPNCI1I/AAAAAAAAGNU/pXfdRRzeuGk/s1600-h/007%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="007" border="0" alt="007" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-am5nQSo9BlA/UQWSIiCMd7I/AAAAAAAAGNc/J8JSEmDOyzc/007_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="436" height="298" /></a></p> <p align="center">Though, I’ve done a lot more eating and a lot less working in the past week.  I got the FLU.  Even after getting the flu mist – which I will never do again.  I’ve always had the shot and haven’t had the flu since 7th grade.  Henceforth, only shots for me.  Flu = 5 days of a miserableness.  </p> <p align="center">So, happy-end-of-weekend.  Have a great week!</p> Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-69348368628179444902013-01-06T21:21:00.001-05:002013-01-06T21:21:35.730-05:00Filling my time, not my face.<p align="center">So, decidedly, I am going to either get fat and/or go broke as we wait for that fateful phone call.  All the running and working out I’m doing is completely cancelled out by the fact that I immediately come home and eat an entire can of Salt-n-Pepper Pringles.  Thank goodness there are no Girl Scout cookies in the house.  Yet.  </p> <p align="center">I also find myself wanting to shop.  Like every day.  I could tell you the placement of every chevron patterned item in Homegoods.  And, how much the boots are that I want to buy from Zappos. ($135. Plus shipping.  That’s outrageous.)  And which shelves have been recently restocked at Kroger.  </p> <p align="center">I’m not kidding when I say that He is teaching me patience.  And faith in His timing and perfect plan.  It’s hard.  It’s challenging.  But, I love Him for it anyway.  <em>I will praise Him in this storm</em>.</p> <p align="center">I’m committed to choosing a healthier habit, that will hopefully keep me out of the store <em>and </em>the Oreos.  It’s called READING.  I tend to forget how much I like it.  And that “getting lost in a good book” is a rather real and time-consuming phenomenon.  So, I’m stocking my shelves.  And, not the ones in the pantry :)</p> <p align="center"><img src="http://img2-1.timeinc.net/ew/i/2012/07/20/Where-we-Belong.jpg" width="172" height="258" />           <img src="http://www.familychristian.com/media/catalog/product/cache/1/image/9df78eab33525d08d6e5fb8d27136e95/9/6/968931.jpg" width="194" height="266" /><img src="http://www.frugallivingnw.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/bloom-kelle-hampton.jpg" width="257" height="257" /></p> <p align="center">   I’m almost finished with <em>Where We Belong</em>.   My neighbor lent it to me after learning we were planning to adopt.   So many interesting coincidences in this book - from adoption, to the mention of my maiden name, to the protagonist’s love for Michigan.  It was like I was meant to read it.  How true is it to the actual experience of adoption?  I’m not real sure, but it’s a good fictional read.</p> <p align="center"><em>Jesus Calling</em> was recommended by a sweet friend in my Life Group after I shared that I have difficulty just picking up the Bible to read.  I just purchased it today.  There’s a short and sweet devotional for each day of the year, along with a passage from the Bible to look up on your own.  </p> <p align="center"><em>Bloom </em>is a memoir by the amazing and talented and inspiring and thoughtful and funny and gorgeous (and I could go on and on) Kelle Hampton.  She blogs at <a href="http://www.kellehampton.com/">Enjoying the Small Things</a>, and she makes every day living beautiful and inspiring.  She keeps it real.  This book is in my cue at the library.  </p> <p align="center">So, that’s a start, right?  And, non-caloric.  Plus, mostly free.   A win-win!</p> <p align="center">Happy Sunday night, friends!</p> Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-21750203087680982322013-01-05T23:17:00.001-05:002013-01-05T23:17:11.488-05:00All kinds of no plans.<p align="center">There was no real game plan for weekend.  Just how I like it.  So, we had an impromptu spaghetti-dinner-sleep-over with the cousins.  They stayed up waaaaay too late for being in the under-6 crowd.  B had to walk across the hall to lay down the law once or twice.  I woke up suddenly a little after midnight, shocked to not hear little voices.  I snuck over to check on them, and PTL everyone was sound asleep on the floor.  Seeing them all snug makes me long for the day that Becks has a sibling to stay up late with :)</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-wVROjiweKUo/UOj6c-23-OI/AAAAAAAAGII/VeQvvthNrL4/s1600-h/IMG_0712%25255B1%25255D%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="IMG_0712[1]" border="0" alt="IMG_0712[1]" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-SmRsEVrM_7s/UOj6dC7KSyI/AAAAAAAAGIQ/aekqWSelc2o/IMG_0712%25255B1%25255D_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="240" /></a>       <a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-tjmUrQJhL1c/UOj6edZOXgI/AAAAAAAAGIY/cFOYAEIx-O0/s1600-h/IMG_0714%25255B1%25255D%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="IMG_0714[1]" border="0" alt="IMG_0714[1]" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-4kCxs5e56mU/UOj6e56SGaI/AAAAAAAAGIc/D6YpBgcdgRM/IMG_0714%25255B1%25255D_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="315" height="242" /></a></p> <p align="center"></p> <p align="center">Earlier today we visited the Cincinnati mecca of all super markets: <em>Jungle Jims</em>.  </p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-JFm4qPUqMPM/UOj6ftz-qAI/AAAAAAAAGIo/KtDydqK0j6g/s1600-h/IMG_0717%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="IMG_0717" border="0" alt="IMG_0717" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-m5iCK0Qah0E/UOj6gDcQjnI/AAAAAAAAGIw/FuaH_NWD9_k/IMG_0717_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="301" height="408" /></a></p> <p align="center">Jungle Jim’s is a crazy big super market mecca of everything. Like forty dollar ostrich eggs.  In case you ever need the equivalent of 36 eggs.  In one egg.  {Sidenote: that <em>completely </em>grosses me out.}</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-D0Td-rUi6Yc/UOj6g2AjP5I/AAAAAAAAGI4/exUvLAY0_eE/s1600-h/IMG_0724%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="IMG_0724" border="0" alt="IMG_0724" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-epdbdT9vnDE/UOj6hpNrssI/AAAAAAAAGJA/InigzbnwbMk/IMG_0724_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a>   <a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-tHco-RYA10Q/UOj6ianuNgI/AAAAAAAAGJI/ViPgc2F5Z-E/s1600-h/IMG_0728%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="IMG_0728" border="0" alt="IMG_0728" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-4HQfN9sDreU/UOj6ixVjedI/AAAAAAAAGJQ/XRcgPSAF8Jg/IMG_0728_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a>   <a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-y3oHvMzKPa8/UOj6jhvTemI/AAAAAAAAGJY/bXKVhu-6OKY/s1600-h/IMG_0739%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="IMG_0739" border="0" alt="IMG_0739" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-YjFab5LYYCg/UOj6kfOEJJI/AAAAAAAAGJg/3HeGtYSIee0/IMG_0739_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p align="center"></p> <p align="center">We bought Becks that coconut.  I have no idea what we’ll do with it.  He’s pretty excited about taking a hammer to it, though.  Sullee and Chels went with us, too.  Dang, she’s cute.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-hMfHqdLP7pA/UOj6k1nIMPI/AAAAAAAAGJo/k_ntRtKdOZA/s1600-h/IMG_0723%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="IMG_0723" border="0" alt="IMG_0723" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-tKyDxgxPEgI/UOj6l2Lp7fI/AAAAAAAAGJw/J6RQy6oCuiU/IMG_0723_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="553" height="424" /></a></p> <p align="center">They have an entire mile of the store dedicated to candy.  It caused a lot of internal debate for Becks as he had to choose from a wall of a thousand Pez dispensers.  #kidproblems</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-K9itu3burwk/UOj6m59ox9I/AAAAAAAAGJ4/LDkmeAtg6zU/s1600-h/IMG_0733%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="IMG_0733" border="0" alt="IMG_0733" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-FYyJGywnGV0/UOj6nvYBEMI/AAAAAAAAGKA/CMnopN41PkA/IMG_0733_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a>   <a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-7TT7wfSlWH4/UOj6oao2ZRI/AAAAAAAAGKI/Czb-JmlLzxU/s1600-h/IMG_0735%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="IMG_0735" border="0" alt="IMG_0735" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-zvbeX2j9Xj0/UOj6o5stAbI/AAAAAAAAGKQ/76wRqxQgkG0/IMG_0735_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="240" height="180" /></a><a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-bACI96kyBQE/UOj6p2R79lI/AAAAAAAAGKY/vsdmAewRqZs/s1600-h/IMG_0738%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="IMG_0738" border="0" alt="IMG_0738" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-rxAShTzMs3w/UOj6qnV3bVI/AAAAAAAAGKg/wvhSrFXG_B0/IMG_0738_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="477" height="366" /></a></p> <p align="center">We had a lot of fun.  I felt like a tourist.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-kZg-3TduZ4A/UOj6rPcHOXI/AAAAAAAAGKo/XptZbf9dIXU/s1600-h/IMG_0736%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="IMG_0736" border="0" alt="IMG_0736" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-6Vm5BmFvo4o/UOj6r7UK71I/AAAAAAAAGKw/JapDFwNTNeY/IMG_0736_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="207" height="281" /></a>      <a href="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-8EYmGSfJcyI/UOj6sZG9sCI/AAAAAAAAGK4/rsr6FkdioZs/s1600-h/IMG_0740%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="IMG_0740" border="0" alt="IMG_0740" src="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-T7ZK1iEQJzc/UOj6tH67vuI/AAAAAAAAGLA/vsXxJwpv9Ww/IMG_0740_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="275" height="280" /></a></p> <p align="center"></p> <p align="center"></p> <p align="center">The day ended with dinner at my parents house – pinto beans, cornbread, and mustard greens.  SO YUM.  There might’ve been a little flying the friendly skies via Papa Airlines, too.  Oh, to be four.</p> <p align="center"> </p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh4.ggpht.com/-z2d2EshInwk/UOj6uC-rE1I/AAAAAAAAGLI/3lW5NhcxWJc/s1600-h/IMG_0745%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="IMG_0745" border="0" alt="IMG_0745" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-ZXWNOeAND54/UOj6u6eDepI/AAAAAAAAGLQ/0FBhQYByy8o/IMG_0745_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="317" height="243" /></a>   <a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-dtozkMQGKW4/UOj6vg-vvPI/AAAAAAAAGLY/0sXuqaXGrWA/s1600-h/IMG_0746%25255B4%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="IMG_0746" border="0" alt="IMG_0746" src="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-L10bB1A92gQ/UOj6wBJICgI/AAAAAAAAGLg/sq2MOe0FBDY/IMG_0746_thumb%25255B1%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="180" height="240" /></a></p> <p align="center">Then we came home and Becks decided he wanted to sleep on the floor again. I let him.  What’s another night on the floor?  Plus, there will be a day when he doesn’t sleep on the floor, in a spot I made, with Snoopy and the gang.  And, I’ll miss it.  So, sleep on the floor he will.  </p> <p align="center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4TOjPhJIR7vXPwMHtOIUjbb2VFUnqfkFt6xw4IOrjsQyNESBxLpzzZjZjGxNZjGTvT16H7Gwgv7GP75ffbhTiq4NOGckeGWNypsykIEr8oFdN82FXcbk3C7PRb1GRWBg9riRmVMW7qEIf/s1600-h/IMG_0752%25255B5%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-right-width: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top-width: 0px; border-bottom-width: 0px; border-left-width: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="IMG_0752" border="0" alt="IMG_0752" src="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-GXDFeD6VeHs/UOj6xSgUsNI/AAAAAAAAGLw/rHECyWgXCYE/IMG_0752_thumb%25255B2%25255D.jpg?imgmax=800" width="383" height="519" /></a></p> <p align="center">I love having no plans weekends :)</p> Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8568110501770109156.post-7914194596405574152013-01-01T20:54:00.001-05:002013-01-01T20:54:32.780-05:00Remembering 2012<p align="center"><a href="http://lh6.ggpht.com/-KeaTLPX2cpY/UOOTT13nZXI/AAAAAAAAGGs/iD7iB_MIO3o/s1600-h/2012%25255B4%25255D.png"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="2012" border="0" alt="2012" src="http://lh3.ggpht.com/-8OLgiuyqhhY/UOOTUbeiQRI/AAAAAAAAGG0/v73JPjcoU2E/2012_thumb%25255B2%25255D.png?imgmax=800" width="650" height="149" /></a></p> <p align="center">This past year has been no less than incredible.  God worked in my life in ways that I once never thought possible, and all I can do is reflect {in awe} of His plan.  I’m happier than I’ve been in years, and can truly say I’ve felt his presence during some very dark and difficult times over the past 12 months.  I owe Him all the glory, as I don’t think I could’ve accomplished anything without Him leading the way.  </p> <p align="center">I’ve never considered myself to be very outwardly “religious.”  I’m certainly not preachy, and there’s nothing that intimidates me more than someone with questions about faith that I simply cannot answer because <em>I </em>don’t know.  But, I just felt it on my heart tonight to tell you that He loves you, is there for you, and he wants a relationship with you.  He wants to hold your hand and lead you through the good times and bad.  He wants to be all up in your 2013!</p> <p align="center">Just thought I would share :)</p> <p align="center">* * * * * * </p> <p align="center">And, now, for my year in pictures – in no particular order - with an explanation in words afterwards.</p> <p align="center"><a href="http://lh5.ggpht.com/-u4IDaGrTEfo/UOOTVH8NiQI/AAAAAAAAGG8/lg0hvR52lto/s1600-h/2012-07-10%25255B7%25255D.jpg"><img style="background-image: none; border-bottom: 0px; border-left: 0px; padding-left: 0px; padding-right: 0px; display: inline; border-top: 0px; border-right: 0px; padding-top: 0px" title="2012-07-10" border="0" alt="2012-07-10" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglGXZ7wp4MowC7Vs_bh21oXxxbClB_bXjhTL3lDL1bcX4vsuuw872K4M-b1JVeoirkq-G8z1A5veiyF2Aw8pllN1Vqr9Ha3Kdml4aYTMacRk-iV17F14fr-YqP4UbTJ33uPrU3hyphenhyphenUROo2g/?imgmax=800" width="688" height="532" /></a></p> <p align="left">1.  I bought a unitard.  <em><a href="http://www.babblingabby.blogspot.com/2012/01/today-i-think-ill-by-unitard.html">Remember?!</a>  </em>I mean, there is no better way to start 2012 than in an adult onesie.  Let’s be honest.</p> <p align="left">2.  Though I graduated in December 2011, I didn’t receive my new certificate until this summer when my pay raise could go in effect. Yay!  </p> <p align="left">3.  Brandon and I began fertility treatments.  That pick was taken by a sweet waitress at First Watch before our second IUI.  Though it wasn’t successful, it was certainly a challenging time for us as a couple and we grew stronger because of it.  </p> <p align="left">4.  We had our first “official” family pictures made!  LOVE THEM!  Those boys just make my day.</p> <p align="left">5.  B became a stay-at-home dad.  A great decision for our family.  He makes some world class enchiladas and cinnamon chip snickerdoodles, keeps up on laundry better than I ever did, and rocks the parent pick-up line at preschool.  So proud of him.</p> <p align="left">6.  My marriage became stronger, and my love for my husband grew with each passing day.  He’s such a great guy and genuinely makes me the happiest girl <3</p> <p align="left">7.  I went to Chicago and met up with my favorite online friends!  I can’t say enough about their friendship over the past year, and I’m so grateful to have finally met them in person!  Looking forward to our next gathering already :)</p> <p align="left">8.  On December 23rd, yours truly turned the big 3-0!  B worked together with my friends to throw me a surprise party two months before the big event.  So. Blessed.  I cannot even wait to see what my 30th year will hold!</p> <p align="left">9.  My pumpkin continues to be the love of my life and we’ve shared a gazillion silly moments over the past year.  He never ceases to crack me up {or test my patience!}.  He’s one of a kind and I just love him!</p> <p align="left">10.  I left the classroom, and became our school’s Title I teacher.  I LOVE MY JOB.  Moreover, I work part-time, allowing me to spend more time at home enjoying my family and life.  I can’t tell you how happy this made me, and give a whole lotta PTLs for this opportunity!</p> <p align="left">11.   We decided to discontinue fertility treatments and pursue adoption! What a blessing! I pray every day for our sweet baby and his or her mother, and can’t wait to share the news that we have a wee one in our home again.</p> <p align="center">So, there’s 2012 in sum.  What a fantastic year!  2013, here I come!</p> Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15076952934764015215noreply@blogger.com13