tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5294230578607486432024-03-13T23:26:31.419-05:00Speed BumpFamily, career,
and everything in between.Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.comBlogger633125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-30384156954717954242019-10-07T18:33:00.000-05:002019-10-07T18:33:06.765-05:00New blog post, new website!!Hello faithful Speed Bump readers! I recently updated my blog and created a new website, paigegeiger.com<br />
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Please head over to check it out and find my latest blog post by clicking <a href="http://paigegeiger.com/little-chats/" target="_blank">here</a>!<br />
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Thank you!<br />
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<br />Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-50367590234832507722019-05-16T00:30:00.000-05:002019-05-16T00:30:01.034-05:00Il Mercato Centrale<i>Reflections on Florence, Italy, circa 2001</i><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #111111; font-family: , "blinkmacsystemfont" , "san francisco" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "ubuntu" , "roboto" , "noto" , "segoe ui" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">Photo by </span><a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/-gOUx23DNks?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out 0s, all 0.2s ease-in-out 0s; white-space: nowrap;">ja ma</a><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #111111; font-family: , "blinkmacsystemfont" , "san francisco" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "ubuntu" , "roboto" , "noto" , "segoe ui" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;"> on </span><a href="https://unsplash.com/search/photos/italian-market?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out 0s, all 0.2s ease-in-out 0s; white-space: nowrap;">Unsplash</a></span></div>
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I am immediately struck by the sweet perfume of flowers, the pungent odor of the fish counter, a whiff of fresh bread. The blare of horns and rattle of buses on the street outside give way to a steady hum of voices, peppered with shouts from the fish monger and the distant whack of a knife striking wood. I gaze up at the cavernous roof of the Mercato Centrale, a clear blue sky visible through the glass and steel rafters. I’ve stepped inside the Florentine equivalent of a circus tent, with vendors and shoppers buzzing around the food and flower stalls, readying for the show. I stand transfixed by the rhythm of the market place.<br />
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I begin walking slowly past tables piled high with green, orange and yellow peppers, vast varieties of tomatoes I don’t recognize, and citrus fruit in neon colors that look as if they could have been plucked from a tree that morning. I peer down into bins of olives in every shade of green, floating like shiny jewels in their brine. I taste the sweet flesh of a strawberry and chew on a walnut the size of my thumb. I pass wheels of Parmigiana Reggiano that could double as foot stools and let a paper-thin slice of the nutty cheese melt on my tongue. I step carefully around the puddles of water near the fish stalls, peering over the shoulders of Italian grandmothers as they point at mussels, clams, and whole fish packed on ice.<br />
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I stop to watch a woman making pasta, her muscled arms deftly moving the rolling pin back and forth, back and forth, her cheeks marked with flour. Rolling, cutting, pressing, each precise move born from years of practice in mastering her craft. She stacks ribbons of pale yellow fettucine and dusts her work table with flour. “Dimmi,” the woman says without looking up. I realize I am standing alone in front of the pasta case and her words are directed at me. I hesitate, my mind racing to conjure the Italian words in reply.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #111111; font-family: , "blinkmacsystemfont" , "san francisco" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "ubuntu" , "roboto" , "noto" , "segoe ui" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;">Photo by </span><a href="https://unsplash.com/photos/4nXkhLCrkLo?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out 0s, all 0.2s ease-in-out 0s; white-space: nowrap;">Jorge Zapata</a><span style="background-color: whitesmoke; color: #111111; font-family: , "blinkmacsystemfont" , "san francisco" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , "ubuntu" , "roboto" , "noto" , "segoe ui" , "arial" , sans-serif; white-space: nowrap;"> on </span><a href="https://unsplash.com/search/photos/italian-market?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText" style="background-color: whitesmoke; box-sizing: border-box; color: #999999; transition: all 0.2s ease-in-out 0s, all 0.2s ease-in-out 0s; white-space: nowrap;">Unsplash</a></span></div>
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Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-46739542618467649192019-03-22T10:01:00.000-05:002019-03-22T14:07:05.198-05:00Children know best<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I’m with my Mom, sitting next to her in a crowded restaurant, and yet I feel alone. I should be warmed by her proximity, by my ability to put my arm around her shoulder and squeeze her towards me. I can swing my leg three inches to the left and our knees will bump together. But she is light years away. She is the earth and I am the moon. She is a falling star glimpsed out of the corner of my eye; I’m fervently making a wish upon that star, my mother the star.<br />
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I'm in the middle of my life with an established career, strong marriage, and healthy and active children of my own. But my Mom's dementia has only made me realize how much I still need her. There are so many things I want to tell her, so many lessons she has yet to teach me. I think about my Mom's life and my own, the similarities and differences, the choices we both made. We've always been close, I thought I knew her well. But there are so many things I've never asked her, so much about her I don't know. I’m running out of time to ask her all the things.<br />
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I want to know what sorts of things she thought about and struggled with when my brother and sister and I were young. Did she feel isolated being a stay-at-home mom? With my Dad working so many hours, how did she do so much of it on her own?<br />
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I want to ask her what she remembers about being 45, the age I am now. Did she ever feel disappointed in how her life turned out? Would she have done anything differently? What made her want to take writing classes and why did she stop?<br />
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The best time of day to hear her stories is in the morning when she has energy and focus. Asking her about something that happened years ago when she was newly married, in college, or even as a child, is like turning back the clock on her disease. She transforms into a version of herself that is most familiar to me, what I think of as her true self. Her voice lifts with an almost song-like quality, she is animated and attentive. She is very funny. She has her father’s dry sense of humor, a personality trait I miss more and more with each passing day, week, month.<br />
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Alzheimer’s Disease is like a muzzle, silencing my Mom, changing her pattern of speech, the sound of her voice. It ruthlessly takes her confidence and individuality. Often I am lonely in her presence, physically close and yet emotionally separated as if the disease were a giant fire-breathing dragon sitting between us. Try as I might, I can’t see through it, around it, over it. Our conversations go in circles. But if I ask Mom a question about something that happened long ago, the dragon immediately flies away and there she is - visible and real, the version of my Mom that makes me feel most like myself. <br />
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But some days I don't want to go backwards, I want to live in today. Some days I can't fight back my fears of the future. Some days, most days, all the days! I want the version of my Mom I've always known. I want her to be whole, intact, available and there for me - to answer my questions and fill in my blanks. Who am I without her guidance and insight, without her love? I won't be okay unless she tells me so.<br />
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Mom is quiet as conversations buzz all around her in the busy restaurant where we've gathered to celebrate family birthdays. All her grandchildren are here and she is happy, content to be near them, to watch them. I'm siting on one side of her and my nephew is on her other side. I listen as they talk about his high school basketball team. I've noticed my oldest nephew always makes an effort to be near Mom and talk with her - so kind and sensitive for a kid just turning 16. I’m sure he misses the grandmother she once was to him, but he embraces who she is now and loves her just the same.<br />
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Mom paces the room while holding her youngest granddaughter, disappearing inside the world that is her and the baby. She murmurs in the baby's ear, hums a tune, talks to her about who knows what? It doesn't matter. While she's holding the baby, Mom doesn’t have to explain herself, find the right words, or keep up with the conversation. She can play the role of world's best grandmother despite her memory loss.<br />
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I watch my 8-year-old daughter hug my Mom and begin telling her a long, rambling story that doesn't make much sense. But my Mom laughs long and hard at the story. They share a perfect moment. The kids seem to instinctively know how to love my Mom now. They love her without expectations, without wanting something from her in return.<br />
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I want the mother I've always known - the one that has loved me unfailingly and unconditionally all my life, the one that celebrates and soothes me like no one else can. She is here with me, but I have to find new ways to reach her. I have to meet her where she is, not where I want her to be.<br />
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I'm watching the children and studying their ways, hoping I can give my Mom the unselfish love she's always shown me. I'm here with her, sitting close, waiting for the next little sign that she is here, too.<br />
<br />Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-62423100296994537212019-03-14T07:50:00.000-05:002019-03-14T07:50:31.688-05:00Why I Write #TBT to a blog post from a few years ago that still rings true. I write my way through things that are troubling me, to gain perspective, and often because I simply feel compelled to put events into words. Writing is a reverse translation that helps me make sense of the world.<br />
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I've been going through my old journals lately and I've found a story there I want to tell - a story that is pulling me out of bed and to my laptop every morning. I'm reliving my story as I write and it's wonderful and scary and makes me feel alive.<br />
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I've kept a journal for as long as I can remember. I started writing down my thoughts from the time I was in grade school and kept journals through my mid-thirties. My writing changed when I started this blog. No one, not even me, would want to read the sort of drivel I wrote in my journal on a daily basis. Nonsense, ramblings, internal drama that I needed to work out. It was cathartic at the time, but as a general rule I don't like reading back over my journal entries. The exception to this is when I wrote while traveling or living abroad - my journal entries take me right back to a camel ride in Cairo, a trail run in Vienna, a bottle of wine sipped underneath the Eiffel Tower...<br />
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For me, writing blog posts is very different than writing in a journal. There are pros and cons and I waver back and forth as to which forum I like best. I am careful about what I write in this space, while I had zero filter when I wrote with paper and pen. I edit, rewrite, and sometimes censor my own thoughts and words on this blog. I stay true to myself always, but I think twice about revealing certain things or about how a particular story might sound to others. And unlike my journals, I enjoy going back through my blog posts and re-reading them now and then.</div>
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I came across <a href="http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2015/01/19/writing-your-way-to-happiness/?_r=0">this article</a> the other day that considers whether the power of writing your personal story can lead to behavioral changes and improve happiness.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 23px;">The concept is based on the idea that we all have a personal narrative that shapes our view of the world and ourselves. But sometimes our inner voice doesn’t get it completely right. Some researchers believe that by writing and then editing our own stories, we can change our perceptions of ourselves and identify obstacles that stand in the way of better health.</span></blockquote>
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There are times when I am just itching to write about something that happened - knowing the process will bring clarity and resolution. I write about my struggles with balancing career and family on this blog often because the process of telling my story, even if no one reads or responds, helps me find perspective. Writing about a challenge or an unexpected triumph helps me learn and continue to grow. Writing ensures the experience doesn't leave me but continues to exist, stamped in time. <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , "times" , serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 23px;"><br /></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 23px;">These writing interventions can really nudge people from a self-defeating way of thinking into a more optimistic cycle that reinforces itself...</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 23px;">...Writing forces people to reconstrue whatever is troubling them and find new meaning in it.</span></span></blockquote>
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If you've never written your way through something that is troubling you, I highly encourage you to try. It can be for your eyes only, or you could find your brave and send your thoughts out into vast cyberspace. You might be surprised by how it feels to write and rewrite your story.Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-23902968531848071852019-02-08T11:08:00.001-06:002019-02-08T11:08:28.948-06:00Journal entry, Oxford England 2001<i>#TBT to a journal entry** (in its rough form!) when I was living overseas and traveling in England to give a few research talks. The world was a scary and unknown place in the initial weeks post 9/11, irrevocably changed in a way we didn't yet understand. I was giving a talk at Oxford University and they put me up for the night in the coziest dorm room in a building straight out of a Harry Potter movie. Having just come from the busy streets of London, I couldn't wait to get outside for a quiet morning run in this magical place. Along the River Thames I found beauty and peace in a time of uncertainty and sorrow. </i><br />
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S<b>eptember 17, 2001 </b><br />
<b>Oxford, England</b><br />
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A new morning in a new place...it is so peaceful and beautiful here. I slept like a rock in my room in the castle and woke to hear the sounds of birds - foreign and exotic, outside my tiny windows. The sun shone through the tops of the trees in a clear blue sky - beckoning me out from under warm blankets and into the crisp morning air.<br />
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The air felt like fall in Minnesota yet there was green all around me. I tried to stretch the sleeves of my light jacket over my fingertips. Yet once my body began to move, the chill was gone and an infusion of beauty and life took its place. I found the entrance to the Corpus Christi Meadows down a long narrow and gated path. At the end of the shaded path the meadows opened up revealing new paths to explore, fresh air to take in all around.<br />
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I followed the path to the right along the River Thames. The path was shaded with heavy brush and trees - light breaking through at various spots. The birds sang to me, little critters rustled in the brush as I crunched past them on the dirt path. A rower in a single shell moved gracefully through the water as I listened to the familiar whoosh of the oars. Her coach bicycled next to her on the path along the river - "Use your legs and body for power, your arms just to follow through!" she called.<br />
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I passed other runners, cyclists, walkers, had a face-off with a fox across the river. Saw grey squirrels, geese, ducks, crows, and other animals I only heard but couldn't see or recognize. The town was so quiet in that early morning hour. As I turned for home, I caught glimpses of the amazing old buildings of Oxford University through the trees, spires reaching high - a fortress waiting quietly for my return.<br />
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The English gardens surrounding the college are so simple and natural - stone paths and gray wooden benches worn with the elements, flowers crawling up the old walls and spilling over the top. In its simplicity and naturalness it is more beautiful than any crafted, orderly garden. Its untidiness and disdain for confined boundaries its charm.<br />
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How do I get in these places? Am I really here? The day awaits - a new world will unfold before me. So lucky.<br />
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**I promised myself I would not edit these journal entries, they have to exist as is and as what they are - hastily scribbled words of events in my life I never want to forget.Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-57869208734303113012019-01-16T09:54:00.004-06:002019-01-16T22:45:00.979-06:00A reason to celebrate<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The house is quiet as the snow falls outside my window. The world is
awash with white, hushed and still. Branches bend under the weight of the wet
snow; there are no cars passing by on the street. Ryan took the kids sledding
and Hazel is curled up and sleeping on the couch after a romp through the
fresh snow.<o:p></o:p><br />
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My Mom and Dad left yesterday for their annual month-long stay in
California, just escaping the snow storm. It was this same weekend last year,
the day after my parents left, that my brother’s house caught fire. <o:p></o:p><br />
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It was just after midnight on Saturday night and my brother, sister-in-law
and their three kids were all sleeping in their second floor bedrooms. The fire
started in the basement. My sister-in-law woke to the scream of the smoke alarm
in their bedroom. They opened the bedroom door to find smoke waist high in
the upstairs hallway. After going half-way down the stairs and glimpsing flames
through the floor grate in the kitchen, my brother ran back upstairs to get
everyone out of the house. He bumped up against the wall at the top of the
stairs and it was hot to the touch. The fire had been burning a long time. Not
long after they rushed out the front door wearing only what they wore to bed,
the main floor collapsed into the basement. <o:p></o:p><br />
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They lost everything - their family home, all their furniture, pictures,
clothes; a cat and a pair of hamsters were never found. <o:p></o:p><br />
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I didn't see the house myself, never made it out there after the fire. But I
saw pictures and the image of the house ablaze is seared in my memory. The
beautiful home that they designed and built themselves 13 years ago lit up the
night sky like a giant torch. It continued to burn all night and through the
next day, from the basement up to the second floor, from the center out to the
ends. The smell of smoke was overpowering when I finally saw my brother the
next day and could give him a hug. He smelled like a chimney, like he’d bathed
in smoke. He was dazed and exhausted, up all night living a nightmare.
Firefighters fought the fire for over 12 hours, dumping hundreds of gallons of
water on the house to no avail. Once the smoke cleared, only a shell of the
house remained. <o:p></o:p><br />
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Somehow the firefighters retrieved my sister-in-law’s wedding ring from
their upstairs bathroom. They were able to push my brother’s truck out of the
garage and it only had minor smoke damage. Dodge, their golden retriever-lab
mix, was spooked by the fire, but safe. The kids spent several hours in the
back of a police car watching their house burn until they could get to my
parent’s house 20 minutes away. They never did find out what caused the fire,
and now that every trace of the old house is gone, we’ll never know.<o:p></o:p><br />
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The next day my sister and I took our niece and nephews to buy the most
basic things - shirts, socks, underwear. My 10-year-old nephew needed shoes -
he went out the door barefoot in the middle of a freezing cold January night.
My oldest nephew needed basketball shoes to go to his high school practice the
next day, my niece needed clothes to wear to cheer practice. Winter coats,
shampoo, tooth brushes. They lost their phones and couldn’t call their friends
- and yet I never heard them complain, never heard them say <i>why me</i>? They
were so incredibly brave beyond their years.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
I wasn’t there when the fire happened and it wasn’t my home, but I've felt
the loss in a big way. I came too close to losing five people I love very much.
And I mourned the loss of their home - a place that came to mean something to
me for all the time we spent there celebrating family birthdays and holidays. I
remember how exciting it was when they were first building the house, the times
I babysat for them there before I was married, and how my children loved the adventures
that came with visiting their cousins. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Theirs was a home in the best possible sense, full of the marks and memories
of family. My sister-in-law adorned the house with big and small pieces she
found in the West Bottoms and brought back to life, art she and the kids made,
treasures from her family’s farm. There was a piece of an old windmill from the
farm on one wall, and black and white photographs she took of the kids jumping
across hay bales on another. A huge school room black board leaned against the
living room wall where it cheerfully announced the latest family celebration. A
crowd was always welcome. Gatherings were unfussy, noisy, never ordinary. As
someone who grew up in the same house my father and his father grew up in,
where three generations of children's heights are marked on a bedroom closet
wall - I can't imagine losing all the reminders of my childhood.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<br />
But we have many reasons to celebrate the anniversary of the
fire, to recognize all that was <i>not</i> lost. Terrible things happen in life
and we endure. Facing adversity makes us stronger. If we're lucky, a traumatic
event teaches us something. In this case the lesson is simple - people matter,
stuff is replaceable. My brother and his family made it through and have a
story to tell. I wish the fire had never happened, but I’m so incredibly
grateful for the ending we got. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Family, friends and an amazing local community have supported my brother's
family over the past year. Starting over from scratch is incredibly stressful,
tedious, and exhausting. My brother and his wife chose to see it as a chance to hit refresh - to improve the home
layout to work better for their now teenage kids, to slowly curate a new wardrobe
just so, and add a bigger deck in back for drawn-out Sunday barbecues. The rest of us followed their
lead and never looked back. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Construction will be done in a few short months. Their new home, built on
the same firm ground as the old one, will always be a reminder of what matters.
And soon it will be filled with noise and laughter and people - and we will
celebrate, just because. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br />Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-11874537075422892732018-12-18T12:44:00.004-06:002018-12-18T13:09:28.144-06:00Memories madeWe made new memories last Saturday. <br />
<br />
Somehow we found a day when everyone could get together to make Christmas cookies. We were three generations in a place that has been my family's home for at least that long, and all was right in the world. Mom was having a good day and was energized with all of her family at home. KU won a big basketball game earlier in the day making everyone, especially my Dad, happy. The girls made cookies while the boys played basketball on an especially warm December afternoon. Our cookies weren't Pinterest-worthy, but they were delicious. <br />
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Mom was much more interested in taking care of her newest granddaughter, 5 month-old Hartley Paige, than in helping decorate cookies. She lights up and is her happiest when around the baby. Hartley has this effect on all of us. Any hint of sadness gets snuffed out with her around. Baby smells, baby sounds, a touch of her soft skin, those big eyes smiling up at you - that's all a person needs to fill their soul and renew their spirit. Babies need a lot of attention and care - feeding, rocking, holding, changing, loving - you have to be right there in the moment with a baby in your midst. It's a good practice for all of us.<br />
<br />
I'm grateful for baby Hartley and her presence in our lives for so many reasons. She doesn't know what a gift she is to us, but I plan to tell her when she's older. She's a lucky girl. She will carry her Gram's fierce, unconditional love with her always, just like the rest of us. <br />
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<br />Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-7295939316325772392018-12-13T14:58:00.001-06:002018-12-13T14:58:24.283-06:00Making memoriesI pull myself out of my warm bed and shuffle in the dark towards the kitchen
to make a pot of coffee - a must before braving the frigid morning air to walk
the puppy. Dim lights from a holiday wreath blink from the living room wall and
I realize I forgot to turn the lights off the night before. The batteries that power the string of lights in the wreath are from last year, replacing them is on my to-do list. I decide I like the softer,
muted effect on the lights and I’m not going to replace the batteries just yet. <br />
<br />
It’s December. That crazy time of year when my kids run on candy canes and
sugar cookies, and each day they wake with the hope that an overnight snowfall
will cancel school. They are 9 and 7 this year, old enough to know Santa isn’t
real, but still wanting to believe. My son differentiates what he calls the
“mall Santas” from the real thing - proving to me, and to himself, that he
still believes. The season is filled with the promise of magic and the
innocence of believing. We pack it all in, not wanting to miss a thing. <br />
<br />
The December holiday crush can be overwhelming. There are family holiday
traditions we must honor - trimming the tree, watching our favorite Christmas
movies in pajamas, attending a performance of the Christmas Carol or the
Nutcracker. Letters to Santa need to be penned and holiday cards addressed.
Gifts need to be purchased and wrapped. As December pushes on, work and school
obligations continue as if the month-long party did not exist. Family dinners,
cocktail parties, and visits to Santa must be squeezed in and around homework,
basketball practice, and grant deadlines. We find time for decorating cookies,
making batches of granola to give to teachers, being a shepherd in the church
Christmas pageant. No matter how tired I am at night, I must remember to stuff
a small something into the numbered stockings that serve as our advent
calendar, to move the elf from his shelf. <br />
<br />
Despite the craziness, I love this time of year. I am fortunate to be close
to my family and to get along with my in-laws. I like my coworkers and have a
flexible work schedule that allows me to fit everything in. But not everyone is
equipped to ace this joyous month. For your classic introvert, there is no time
to catch your breath, no time alone to recharge and regroup. For many, the
holidays can be a reminder of loved ones lost and of traditions long past. For
some, the holidays can be filled with too much time alone, surrounded by
familiar strangers. A new cancer diagnosis doesn’t wait until after the
holidays, money that barely pays the bills in November doesn’t suddenly stretch
to afford all the wishes that appear in December. I’ve always known the
holidays can be difficult for many people, but I’ve never felt it myself until
this year. <br />
<br />
It is a holiday tradition in my family to bake and decorate sugar cookies at
my Mom’s house. My sister and I did it as children, through college, and now as
adults with our own children. My Mom is in her element with her kitchen full of
people. She lights up as the noise, laughter and chaos grow. She doesn’t
bat an eye as flour spills to the floor and red icing drips from the counter.
Perhaps because my Mom does not like to cook, she has never been worried about
the mess in her space - a trait she and I do not share. I’m certain her
attitude is a big part of the fun as the kids feel free to create, spill, and
glob on all the icing. As we make a mess in the kitchen, Christmas carols play
in the background, the dog barks over the din to be let outside. My Dad watches
football in the next room, regularly coming in and out to observe the fun and
steal a cookie. <br />
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Last year was the first year Mom did not make the Royal Icing for the sugar
cookies. Every year my sister and I make the cookie dough and help the kids cut
out angels and snowmen with cookie cutters while Mom makes the icing. Royal
Icing is a simple recipe of powdered sugar, egg whites and vanilla extract, a
recipe Mom always knew by heart. She always makes a large batch of icing and
then divides it into small bowls for us, each bowl ready for a different drop
of food coloring. Last year she looked puzzled when I said we were ready for
the icing.<br />
<br />
“Oh, do I make the icing?” she asked with surprise. Happy to help, Mom
accepted the new-to-her duty at once. I recited the ingredient list and watched
as she retrieved a large bowl from a low cabinet, set it next to the powdered
sugar already on the counter. But before she could get out the mixer or the
vanilla, my niece asked her for a snack, then the phone rang, a package was
delivered to the front door. After each interruption, Mom would notice the bowl
on the counter and remember her chore. In that instant she would ask me again
for the list of ingredients, at some point I wrote them down. Confused, Mom
asked me where she kept the vanilla, if I had seen the mixer. I watched as Mom
would start to make the recipe and stop, start and stop, again and again.
Eventually my sister made the icing and Mom laughed about how she was no help
to us at all. <br />
<br />
“Good thing I can still clean up all the dishes!” Mom joked. The youngest
grandkids echoed her laughter and my daughter called out, “Gram, you forget
everything!” My Mom pulled my daughter close, kissed the top of her head, and
smiled brightly at all of us. My sister and I exchanged a quick glance, the
oldest grandkids did not look up. They knew what the younger ones did not -
that Gram had Alzheimer’s Disease and her memory would continue to decline.<br />
<br />
Our holiday tradition of baking sugar cookies is the perfect activity to
share with my Mom at this stage of her dementia. With all the people she loves
in the same room, she can share in the joy and fun. Being present in the moment
is what she does best right now. Mom can no longer follow a simple recipe, but
she cheerfully refills my cup of tea over and over. She shows me the Christmas
cards sent to her from friends, taking her favorites down from a spot on the
hallway mirror and bringing them over to the counter where I’m frosting
cookies. As she shows me the same card for the fourth time, I smile and nod.
I’m happy she can recognize old friends in the photos, glad so many of the
cards list the family names so Mom can read them and remember. <br />
<br />
After returning the cards to their spot on the mirror, Mom sits with my
sister and me at the kitchen island. The kids have gone to play in the snow,
leaving us with more than half the cookies to frost ourselves. My sister
comments that the cookies Mom decorates look more like aliens than angels. This
isn’t a result of her disease; her cookies were always the worst in the bunch.
Every year she defies the holiday color schemes and gives her cookie angels
green hair, lopsided yellow smiles and smudged red eyes. We can still laugh
with Mom about her strange Christmas cookies, even if she’s forgotten the
running joke.<br />
<br />
I do not know what my Mom will and will not remember this time next year.
She is the same person she’s always been, and she is different. My family
is a constant source of strength in my life, but our roles are changing, the road ahead unknown. My Mom is still with me, and yet I grieve her
loss every day. <br />
<br />
This holiday season my mind is lost in memories, my joy hushed like the dim
lights on my living room wreath. Thankfully, my children remind me to look for the
magic on days the calendar feels overwhelming, days the meaning behind all the
holiday bustle escapes me. If you see me out and about this month, forgive me
if the conversation lags or if I skip out early on the cocktails. My thoughts
are someplace else. I’m in the kitchen with Mom, telling her all the things
only mothers can understand. I sip my tea and watch as she stirs drops of green
food coloring into the Royal Icing.<br />
<br />
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-27670223668215970782018-11-29T17:14:00.002-06:002018-11-30T09:23:00.042-06:00Grading on a curveI give myself a B for today’s parenting. Breakfast was uneventful (if slightly less than nutritious), the dog was a bit less crazy than usual, lunches got made and we all got out the door with completed homework and full water bottles. Importantly, there were no tears and no yelling. Success. <br />
<br />
I try not to grade my parenting daily, but more often than not I end the day feeling inadequate. Some days I feel like an outright failure as a parent - days that begin with a hurried morning to get to an early meeting, a meeting where nothing gets accomplished and that I should have skipped. Days that start with forgotten lunches and misplaced library books lead to an evening where I’m late to drive the soccer carpool and dinner gets on the table at 8:45. Everyone is tired, some of us cry, some of us yell. No one goes to bed happy. <br />
<br />
But even on the days I give myself an F, I hug my kids before they go to school. I feed them a healthy dinner and tuck them into bed with a kiss. I ask them about their day, I sign the field trip permission form, I rsvp for the birthday party. Every day they are loved and they know it. No matter what else I might do to mess up my kids (and the billion dollar self-help industry assures me I am messing them up), knowing they are loved has to be the most important thing at the end of the day. <br />
<br />
I’m reading Sarah Smarsh’s book <i>Heartland</i> right now and it is riveting. She writes of growing up poor on a farm outside Wichita, Kansas and all the lovely and messy aspects of family that shaped her youth. She writes of longing for affection and love from her mother as a child. She says she remembers her mom holding her only once - when she was about 3 years old and got her ears pierced at the mall and her mom carried her out of the store crying. I’ve permanently destroyed my left hip from carrying my children so often when they were babies and toddlers, and when they were too big to be carried. I often look at Charlie and his now lanky 9-year-old legs and wonder when I carried him last. Whenever it was, I didn’t recognize it for the significant milestone it was when it took place. If I think hard I can still feel them on my hip, legs once too short they stuck out straight, and then so long they wrapped around my waist. Now Izzy’s legs hang down, her feet brushing my knees and making it difficult to walk.<br />
<br />
There are kids on the border right now with only the clothes on their back and little food to eat. They sleep where they can, each night a different place, each day a new danger. As we make our Christmas lists, we think of those children who have nothing and wonder how we can help them. Can we send them a toy? Money? I tell myself that if those children go to sleep knowing their parents love them, if they are hugged often, surely they will be ok.<br />
<br />
Even on the days I feel I’ve failed, I remind myself how lucky we are. Our problems and worries are simple in the grander scheme of life. I worry about math scores and whether ipads are the best learning tool in second grade. We set impossible standards for ourselves as parents, almost ensuring our failure. How can it matter that I missed the boat on Taylor Swift tickets this year or that I never think ahead to schedule play dates? I didn’t sign Izzy up for Daisies (Brownies?) because I selfishly don’t want to spend the time. We are the only family Charlie knows without a game system. But am I permanently harming them with these perceived slights? I know the answer to that question, of course. I just forget to ask myself in the daily mash up of work, school, and life. <br />
<br />
As parents, we shouldn’t try to be some version of perfect. Our children need to see our imperfections, our failures. It helps them know it is ok to fail, too. When I lose my patience and yell, I apologize and ask for forgiveness. On the days I deem I’ve failed, I really should cut myself a break and grade myself on a curve. In my safe, Midwestern, suburban hood where everyone buys organic and children’s birthdays are planned for months, we are all straight A parents. <br />
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Life is pretty darn good. The kids will be just fine. <br />
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<br />Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-90312190205012631432017-12-23T12:57:00.002-06:002017-12-23T13:47:50.858-06:00That Christmas feeling....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
My grandparents' Christmas with Conniff record was my favorite thing about Christmas when I was a child. If they had other Christmas records, I definitely don't remember them. I only wanted to hear this one over and over again. My request to hear the record was never denied, even in the middle of Summer. Hearing the traditional Christmas songs channels everything good about Christmas for me. I used to listen to the CD when I was away from home in college, graduate school and across the pond. This record always transported me back home and put me in the holiday spirit.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I don't remember one present my grandparents gave me for Christmas as a child. Not one. I'm sure there was a special doll or toy each year - they always tried hard to get my brother and sister and I just the right gifts. My grandparents did not have much money and I remember my grandmother used to put things on lay away (remember that?!) at the small department store in my hometown. The gifts were not extravagant, but they were carefully selected. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
I don't remember the presents, but I remember exactly where the mistletoe hung in their kitchen. I remember what we ate for dinner, my grandmother's delicious fudge. I remember where these little Christmas figurines were placed in their living room. <br />
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I set them out now in my own house and, together with the Conniffs singing, I'm flooded with my favorite holiday memories. <br />
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<br />
We are on the edge of belief in our house this year. Charlie practically begged me last night to confide in him as to whether Santa is truly real. His friends all tell him Santa isn't real, and yet he wants to believe. We still put Buddy the Elf through the motions every night - hiding him in the frig, in the doll house, on top of the tree. Charlie and Izzy delight in finding him every morning, and then they whisper to me suggestions of where he could hide the next day. They still want to believe in all of it and I'm happy to help them if I can.<br />
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I'm sure my Mom felt the rush of Christmas and the pressure to find just the right gifts. I mean, there was no Amazon Prime! Can you imagine?? But if my Mom was stressed out by the holidays, I never saw it. Just like I hope my kids don't see it now. I'm as guilty as the next parent of trying to fit in all the traditions - trips to the Nutcracker, ice skating, seeing the Plaza lights, baking Christmas cookies. I try to remind myself that we don't need to do all these things every year. I tell myself to go with the flow and phase out old traditions in favor of new ones as the kids get older. It doesn't matter that they didn't have on their holiday attire when they saw Santa. They saw Santa! I remind myself that a really messy kitchen can be cleaned up. Let them use ALL the frosting.<br />
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I strive to create a feeling of wonder and joy this time of year just like any other parent of young children. And yet I'm pretty sure the most indelible Christmas memory for my kids to date is when our Christmas tree came crashing down last year, smashing every ornament and traumatizing us all. We can laugh about it now, if we couldn't then. Sometimes the best holiday memories are the unexpected and imperfect ones. We can't plan them, but we should embrace them. <br />
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I'm off to bake the granola and listen to the Ray Conniff singers with Love Actually playing in the background. Wishing you a merry, bright and perfectly imperfect holiday!<br />
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<br />Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-20275365311640464612017-12-22T10:04:00.000-06:002017-12-22T10:10:38.698-06:00Roxie and my babies<br />
Thinking about and missing Roxie this time of year....The similarity of these two photos of Charlie and Izzy at almost the exact same age (about 8-10 months) with Roxie is amazing, but not surprising. She was the most patient of dogs and wonderful with the kids from the time they were born. <br />
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Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-6313561152600889042017-12-21T13:27:00.001-06:002017-12-21T13:27:45.907-06:00Failed Holiday Photos 2.0 - #TBT Izzy's first Christmas<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I would be remiss if I didn't include my valiant attempts at getting a Christmas card picture on this blog. I started early this year, knowing two kids would be more challenging than one. I am happy with the picture we used for the cards (none of these) but a few of these are cute, funny and perfectly imperfect.</div>
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Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-59773909620720122102017-12-14T00:00:00.000-06:002017-12-14T00:00:57.617-06:00Failed holiday photos - #TBT Charlie's first Christmas (and Roxie photos! ❤)<div style="text-align: left;">
Charlie's first Christmas. A must-have photo, right? We spent the long Thanksgiving weekend in pursuit of the perfect picture. You will see a similar trend, beginning with this cheery family photo....</div>
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<a name='more'></a>It was a beautiful sunny weekend and I put Charlie in a red plaid shirt and let him play in the yard. Surely a spontaneous photo op would present itself. This one had potential, and is still a favorite, if only dog or child would have paid me any attention.</div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_L-7IQnbVm9M/SxvkV5WUktI/AAAAAAAAAoU/TUM7CLGAXE0/s1600-h/08+pics+051.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412170442038612690" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/_L-7IQnbVm9M/SxvkV5WUktI/AAAAAAAAAoU/TUM7CLGAXE0/s640/08+pics+051.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><span style="font-size: 20.8px;"><span style="font-size: small;">I soon resorted to more forced measures. Charlie did not understand my use of props and clearly had no interest in helping me get my picture.</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_L-7IQnbVm9M/SxvkL3SR1jI/AAAAAAAAAoM/ByYPxPTYymw/s1600-h/08+pics+050.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="640" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412170269686093362" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/_L-7IQnbVm9M/SxvkL3SR1jI/AAAAAAAAAoM/ByYPxPTYymw/s640/08+pics+050.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="480" /></a><span style="font-size: 20.8px;"><span style="font-size: small;">Roxie was rolling around in the grass behind me, distracting my subject.</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_L-7IQnbVm9M/Sxvj_z99gtI/AAAAAAAAAoE/nuhMklUm9yI/s1600-h/08+pics+039.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412170062637138642" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/_L-7IQnbVm9M/Sxvj_z99gtI/AAAAAAAAAoE/nuhMklUm9yI/s640/08+pics+039.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a><span style="font-size: 20.8px;"><span style="font-size: small;">This photo shoot wasn't working and tears were imminent. So we called it a day.</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_L-7IQnbVm9M/Sxvj1ASbceI/AAAAAAAAAn8/hhKkQnOrktM/s1600-h/08+pics+043.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="480" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412169876965650914" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/_L-7IQnbVm9M/Sxvj1ASbceI/AAAAAAAAAn8/hhKkQnOrktM/s640/08+pics+043.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="640" /></a>Of course it was much colder the next day, but surely a trip to the park would bring out the smiles.</div>
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Not so much.</div>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_L-7IQnbVm9M/Sxvjpzdmu_I/AAAAAAAAAn0/GAtqmdpdTrk/s1600-h/08+pics+070.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="640" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412169684544306162" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/_L-7IQnbVm9M/Sxvjpzdmu_I/AAAAAAAAAn0/GAtqmdpdTrk/s640/08+pics+070.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="480" /></a><span style="font-size: 20.8px;"><span style="font-size: small;">The wood chips in this playground were fascinating and apprently tasted good, too.</span></span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_L-7IQnbVm9M/SxvjO5KvciI/AAAAAAAAAnc/5IB1sx0D1Xk/s1600-h/08+pics+037.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="640" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5412169222219330082" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/_L-7IQnbVm9M/SxvjO5KvciI/AAAAAAAAAnc/5IB1sx0D1Xk/s640/08+pics+037.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="480" /></a><span style="font-size: 20.8px;"><span style="font-size: small;">It seemed like a good idea at the time.</span></span></div>
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❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤</div>
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Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-78648548231636971862017-12-04T14:03:00.001-06:002017-12-06T14:30:53.970-06:00Just say Yes!I had the best, unexpected and unplanned Sunday with Charlie. Izzy had a busy social calendar (first grade girls do not mess around), Ryan was busy and Charlie and I found ourselves alone. What to do?<br />
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Sundays are our catch-up days at home and our parental to-do list is usually long. I don't enjoy it, but it is the one day we go to the grocery store, do laundry, vacuum, run errands - all the stuff that has to get done around the house when both parents work all week. Most Sundays we encourage the kids to play outside, have a neighbor friend come over and basically entertain themselves. On Sundays, I say 'No' a lot. No, I don't have time to play. No, I can't throw the football. No, I can't play dolls or dress up. No, no, no. There just isn't enough time in the day, in the week, to get it all done.<br />
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This Sunday I asked Charlie what he wanted to do and he said he wanted to make a saxophone! To back up a bit, Charlie's third grade class went on a field trip last week to the <a href="https://americanjazzmuseum.org/" target="_blank">American Jazz Museum</a> and he has been talking about jazz, jazz, jazz ever since. I cannot say enough great things about the museum and how they inspired Charlie - and no doubt many, many young children in Kansas City. We are truly lucky to have such a treasure in our backyard!<br />
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Charlie was especially interested in learning about Charlie 'Bird' Parker (Charlie has a friend in his class named Parker, so Charlie Parker...you get it). Anyway, he voluntarily wrote a 500 word essay about Charlie Parker last week after the museum visit and has been talking about learning to play the saxophone nonstop. While we're not ready to commit to saxophone lessons at this point, I am enjoying the evening switch from questionable rap music on Spotify to soothing jazz tunes.<br />
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"I want to make a saxophone and I found a YouTube video that shows you how," Charlie told me Sunday. Instead of saying no immediately as I usually do, I let him show me the video and amazingly, it didn't look too difficult. So I said yes. Not maybe, not later, not someday. Yes! The shocked look on Charlie's face alone made it worth it.<br />
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We made some notes about the supplies we would need and headed to Home Depot. It turns out when you tell people at Home Depot that you are making a PVC saxophone, you get plenty of help! The nice man in plumbing cut the PVC into the four sizes we needed (18, 8, 6, and 4 inches, fyi, but any lengths will do) and walked us three aisles over to get just the right heavy duty tape. Another employee took us all around the store looking for a funnel. They all loved Charlie's saxophone idea.<br />
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Armed with our PVC, we headed to a music store to get a mouth piece as suggested in the You Tube video (Note - you <span style="text-align: center;">can buy a clarinet reed for the mouthpiece or make one out of a small piece of stiff plastic and tape it on, super easy). </span>The young guy in the music store was so excited about Charlie's PVC saxophone he made him promise to bring it back in when he finished. Will do!<br />
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An hour later, we had all our supplies (for around $30 but you could make it even cheaper if you fashion the mouth piece out of PVC, too) and Charlie made his own You Tube video on how to build a PVC saxophone. While it is going to take a little practice for him to get it down, the thing really does sound a bit like a saxophone! Sort of...if you use your imagination...check out <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FLamYePLDC8" target="_blank">Charlie's video</a>!<br />
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I can't drop everything and turn our home into a Makerspace every Sunday. No one can. But it felt really good to follow Charlie's lead and do what he wanted, no ifs, ands, or buts. We hear it all the time, we say it ourselves all the time. Time goes too fast. They grow up too soon. It's cliché. And yet it's all too true. A family from our school lost their littlest to cancer this weekend. She was four years old. My heart breaks for them. I can't fathom the sorrow. What they wouldn't give for one more Sunday, one more chance to say Yes.<br />
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In their honor, I will think twice before I say No next time my kids ask me to do something. The cliché is real. Life is too short. Just say Yes.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Busking already!</span></td></tr>
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<br />Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-55856741652835042912017-10-30T13:21:00.003-05:002017-10-31T09:58:15.562-05:00The Halloween Sweet Spot<br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">8 and 6. Those might just be the absolute perfect ages for
Halloween. Costumes, candy, school parties, ‘booing’ friends, carving pumpkins,
ghost stories – they love it all! </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I will admit that I loved coordinating the kids' costumes when they were little and they made for some pretty darn cute pictures.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">But when they were that little, Halloween was more about what I wanted and the kids didn't really get it. Now, I happily sacrifice the cute coordinating outfits in favor of them using their imaginations. I love seeing what costumes they come up with each year. And as long as I don't have to make it - anything is fair game! Trick-or-treating with little ones can be hard work, and one scary clown sighting can ruin the entire night. We're past the hard work/scare easily stage and in what might be the very best stage. My kids are so excited to go trick-or-treating this year - and they want to go with us, their parents! Another couple years and they will be going with friends and <em>my</em> trick-or-treating days will be over. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">So it's been Halloween all day every day at our house this October. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I confess I am not a decorate-the-house-for-every-holiday sort of
person. I do not have stashes of turkeys, Santas, and bunnies to haul out for
the season. I’m more of the add-some-fresh-flowers and switch-out-the-couch-pillows-twice-a-year type. Except when it comes to Halloween. </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">My fascination started small,
just a few spooky spiders and ghosts here and there. But every year I add to
the pile, and this year I feel like I hit a critical threshold. When my
husband, aka Mr. Minimalist, says I’ve perhaps gone overboard, I know I’ve got
it just right. We are surrounded by bats, spiders and mice.</span><br />
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I<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> hope my kids will look back and<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>laugh at how Mom went a little nuts on Halloween every
year. Most days are spent teaching them serious things - lecturing them on
trying hard in school, using their best manners and treating others with
kindness. I give way more lectures than I'd like. I want to teach my kids it’s okay to be silly, even ridiculous (!)
now and then. Find something that makes you happy and go all in. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">And maybe I feel the need to amp up the fun more acutely this year than any other - because they are at that just right age, because they are growing up before my eyes. I
want to hold on tight to the laughter and the fun. We are
confronted with the opposite all too often. Just last week the kids heard Ryan
and I talking about a senseless, horrific incident that took the young life of
someone we knew. I told the kids the truth about the tragedy. They were
incredibly sad thinking about the little kids who wouldn’t get to hug their Dad
when they came home from school that day, will never get to hug their Dad again. Life can
change in an instant and there is too much reality waiting in this world for my
children to grow up and face. My heart breaks thinking of that family this Halloween, and for every holiday that will never be the same for them. All I know to do it say a prayer and not take this day for granted. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";">So bring on the ghosts and the skulls, let them have another piece of candy, and tuck an image of those wide-open
smiles deep in your soul. Be a kid for a day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> 8 and 6 might just be the Halloween sweet spot, but I’m
thinking 44 is right up there too.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "calibri"; font-size: large;">Happy Halloween!</span></div>
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Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-58358001239254583132017-10-26T13:53:00.001-05:002017-10-26T14:09:26.668-05:00Pumpkin Patch circa 2011 #TBTThis is one of my favorite Fall posts and Izzy's first trip to the Pumpkin Patch! Hey kids, what's with the expressions? <br />
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Better late than never. We made it to a pumpkin patch this weekend. The pumpkin pickings were a little slim, but so were the crowds so it all worked out. Combined with the beautiful weather on this late Saturday afternoon, we couldn't have asked for a lovelier day.<br />
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Ok, good enough. Now go run.</div>
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Izzy was still under the weather and not her usual smiling self. I know I've seen that look before...</div>
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It really was beautiful out in the country.</div>
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Maybe Charlie is actually a country boy at heart. He was in heaven at the pumpkin patch - tractors and dirt, cows and chickens, with no boundaries, roads or cars for miles to get in his way. We let him wander off as far as he wanted. He would look back occasionally, check and see if we were still there. And then he just kept walking, carrying the small green pumpkin he selected (he got one for Izzy, too).<br />
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Until the tractor came back to pick us up just as the sun was setting.</div>
Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-21541336265394084702017-10-23T12:51:00.000-05:002017-10-23T14:32:22.279-05:00I Heart Words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Family, time, love, work, friends, age, health, laughter, happiness, grief, life. These are just words - words that fail to convey the tangled web that is my thoughts these days. But that's how life is, sometimes words just aren't enough. And other times words are everything. Words can fall far short of conveying our thoughts, but there is also nothing more heart wrenching than words left unsaid. Finding the right words and putting them down can offer perspective, be restorative, and help process a life event. </div>
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I have a friend who wears a shirt that says "I ❤ words." It always makes me smile. I need to get one of those shirts!</div>
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I love finding the right words and having them exist beyond my thoughts. I love to write and I miss doing it here.</div>
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I don't know how many people actually read this blog in the past, but I'm always surprised when someone mentions it to me out of the blue - often someone I've never met. That happened to me yesterday and it made me miss this blog. I think one of the reasons I always enjoyed writing in this space is because I never tried to write for anyone else. I never tried to write in a way I thought others would like or to increase traffic. It was never about that for me. But it is nice to know that my words resonated with others on occasion. No matter what you are going through in life, it helps to know you are not alone. </div>
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I've written a lot about my babies - figuring out how to get them to sleep, what to feed them and how to know if they were hitting those all important developmental milestones. I've written about going back to work after having kids and finding a happy medium in my time spent at work and with family. I guess you could say this blog has focused on my role as a mother, and certainly in the first 5 years of my children's lives, that was an all consuming aspect of my life. But my children are no longer babies, and I don't want to write about them in personal ways that they might object to now that they are old enough to understand life for themselves. I still have challenges at work, but now those challenges are less about achieving the benchmarks of success as they are defining what a meaningful career looks like to me. I've never written much about my married life on this blog - perhaps because I feel that is so very private. Perhaps because I'm afraid to reveal too much of myself. It takes courage and guts to throw your thoughts wide open to the world. I go back and forth on my willingness to do that on any given day. </div>
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All this to say that I'm not sure what this blog will look like in the future. Do people still have blogs? Has everyone shifted to twitter and IG stories? Perhaps. And so maybe I'll just write in this space for myself - and that's perfectly fine with me. The posts on this blog are a scrap book of my life in many ways and I'll never regret having access to those moments and the thoughts that accompanied them. So tune in here if you're interested in further musings and life moments. Let me know if you like something you read - or stay anonymous, that's fine too. </div>
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Life moves too fast, and before I know it Charlie and Izzy will be taller than Baby Jay! I'm going to write things down so I don't miss a thing. </div>
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<br />Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-58180973842642340622016-01-07T15:51:00.000-06:002016-01-07T16:25:51.366-06:00Sports and Swings <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I stumbled across these images the other day and thought at first about how much these two amazing little people have changed. But then I realized how much they have stayed the same. Charlie has always been happiest on a court or a ball field with a bat or ball in his hands. Charlie's favorite parks were the ones with a tennis or basketball court nearby. I usually kept a bat and ball in the trunk of my car and on a nice day we would stop at a park on the way home from work.<br />
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And from day one, Izzy has been content to go with the flow and follow along - she only needed her fingers and some space to explore.<br />
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And as brothers do, they take their sisters things just because they can.<br />
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Barely walking, not talking, and she could tell her brother what she wanted. My hat please!<br />
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Not that he would listen...<br />
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That look! I have seen this exact look a million times on my now almost 5-year-old girl.<br />
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Another day, another empty court...<br />
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Even if I forgot a bat and ball, Charlie would find a way to play. On this day, it was with Izzy's stuffed bear.<br />
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These days he wears a football uniform, helmet and mouth guard 24/7 - always ready should anyone want to throw the football around. Game on.<br />
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And some days, we would drag Charlie away from the court so this happy little girl could swing.<br />
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Oh my, were they ever this little?Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-24944246117300219292015-09-16T17:37:00.000-05:002015-09-16T18:02:53.991-05:00School DazeSchool took off in a flurry and we're moving at mach speed in only the second week of September. First grade has been a much easier adjustment than Kindergarten (love our teacher!), so of course we had to put Izzy in a new school to keep it complicated. New schedules, new drop offs and pick ups - even dress codes we have to pay attention to (no jewelry or finger nail polish - so sad for Iz!). Her new school is Montessori and we love it. But every time I walk in the building I feel as if I shouldn't touch <i>anything</i> for fear of moving something out of place. Wow, what a system! Oh, and construction delayed the start of her school year, which is really not cool. But we have a part-time nanny who has continued from the summer and oh.my.goodness she is amazing! She saved us from the construction-schedule debacle. We are looking into adopting her very soon.<br />
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Today we had First Grade Lunch on the Lawn with Charlie. This is not a friendly event for working parents. Lunch starts at 10:50 (No wonder he is starving every day after school!!) and ends at 11:15, so the whole day is thrown by this 25 minute parent involvement activity. It was a lovely day and we parked ourselves on a blanket in the grass and watched Charlie eat his lunch and roll around with his classmates. Lunch with these goofballs made for a pleasant Wednesday, no doubt.<br />
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Of course, some of you might say this lawn event was one better skipped by said working parents. But judging by the attendance at this event, you would have to say all the first grade kids in Charlie's school must have two stay-at-home parents, or absolutely every parent comes no matter what. So there you have it. </div>
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Now I'm off to the store to buy ingredients for the 2 dozen cookies I said I'd bring to Friday's Open House for Izzy's school (at a favorable time for working parents in the evening, hooray!). It is imperative that I impress the new parents with my dedication to my child by baking my best, from-scratch, chocolate chip oatmeal cookies. Some folks never learn...</div>
Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-46853267314816819262015-08-12T11:14:00.000-05:002015-08-12T11:31:19.944-05:00Back to School!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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How can it possibly be that time of year again?! Summer went way too fast. We have two half days of school and one full day this week, so I'm pretending this isn't really it, the end of Summer. We've had a good Summer and I want it to last and last. I also want time to slow down as C and Iz are growing up way too fast! First grade and Pre-K this year, doesn't seem possible!<br />
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Both Charlie and I were a bit nervous, but we put on our brave faces and only a hint of tears surfaced for both of us. Ryan and I walked him into the building and Charlie held our hands. One of these days he won't want to hold our hands, won't need us to walk him inside and to his classroom.<br />
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The teachers had written all over the sidewalks of the school with chalk, things like "It's a Great Day to be a Dragon!" and "New Friends" "Smile" "Learn." And my favorite, "Hug Your Mom!"<br />
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I know Charlie will be just fine. He will learn, thrive, grow and make new friends. But there is a part of me that doesn't want him to go, that wants him to stay right next to me, safe and sound and in my sight. I imagine I'll feel this way with every first day of school, even when he stands a head taller than me and my hand is the smaller of the two.<br />
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Adventure awaits!<br />
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Click <a href="http://maniger.blogspot.com/2014/08/kindergarten-one-week-in.html" target="_blank">here</a> for pictures from our first day last year - proof of how much they've grown up in one year!Paigehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09176308067303023086noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-15149804779261330562015-06-08T12:06:00.001-05:002015-06-08T14:16:14.059-05:00How does your garden grow?<br />
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I've never had a green thumb and I've never met a house plant I couldn't kill off, but I am really enjoying my vegetable garden this year. Last year was our garden's rookie year and while we had some cucumbers and peppers and a few cherry tomatoes towards the end of the summer, that was about it. Squirrels got all our tomatoes, some things never grew, and I had no idea what I was doing.<br />
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In year 2 we've made significant improvements, including going with a <a href="http://squarefootgardening.org/square-foot-gardening-method" target="_blank">Square Foot Garden</a> approach. We also put a wire net around the bed to keep the rabbits and squirrels out, and so far it seems to be working. I did a little research into companion planting (which plants grow well next to each other and which don't) and focused on planting things we like to eat and that would be fun for the kids to watch grow. I did not start seeds indoors or anything like that, so some plants like carrots (Charlie's favorite!) are slow to grow and harvest. I planted many of the vegetables from seeds this year, something that really intimidated me last year, but saves a ton of money. Plant seeds are so inexpensive compared to buying starter plants. With the crazy amount of rain we've had over the last month, the garden is growing like mad! <br />
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In a square foot garden, each square (divided here by string) contains a different vegetable. It is amazing how much you can grow using this approach. The garden bed is 4' x 8'. 32 squares!<br />
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The swiss chard looks amazing, so pretty!<br />
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I started this lettuce from seeds and I'm pretty excited about how well it is growing.<br />
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The snap peas (above) have overgrown their trellis and I need to brace them up again. I had no idea they would grow taller than I am! These are really fun for the kids to just pick off the vine and eat.<br />
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Izzy helped me pull up a radish to see if they are ready to pick. Not yet!<br />
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Our first tiny tomato!<br />
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This weekend's harvest of swiss chard, lettuce and kale. I love growing my own greens. </div>
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I'm learning more every week (last week I had to go after some bugs on my tomato plants with some soapy water) and am really enjoying the process. I'm still trying to figure out which vegetables need additional feeding and how often. I am using this really cool app called <a href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/app/plant-it!/id519679594?mt=8" target="_blank">Plant It!</a> to help me figure it all out. </div>
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Now if June will just usher in more sunshine and less rain, my garden and I will be very happy.</div>
Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-28371423578135733502015-05-11T10:34:00.000-05:002015-05-11T10:34:01.442-05:00Another season in the books<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Another season of playing and coaching soccer has come and gone. We had a lot of fun with this group of boys. They are really learning to play!<br />
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And guess who has a new pink soccer ball? After 3 years of tagging along to all of Charlie's practices, next fall Iz will get a team of her own! Watch out.<br />
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Note: Photo credits to Corie English.Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-75416457618128462582015-03-16T12:53:00.000-05:002015-03-16T12:53:00.619-05:00CaliforniaWe had a fabulous trip to California! How I wish we were still on the beach...<br />
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Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-72910508681073409272015-03-12T12:50:00.000-05:002015-03-12T12:50:08.550-05:00To be six!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
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In true Charlie style, we celebrated his birthday with much jumping, running and playing this year. He invited some school friends to Pump It Up, and that we did.<br />
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Who doesn't want to be King for a day??<br />
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Little sister had fun at this party too!<br />
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We had another celebration with family and one of Janelle's amazing cakes...legos this time! She had to make each of the legos using a small mold - it turned out great!<br />
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This year Charlie's birthday was on Super Bowl Sunday - just as it was the day he was born. Seems like so very long ago!<br />
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Papa gave all the kids harmonicas to finish off the festivities. Happy Birthday sweet Charlie!<br />
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Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-529423057860748643.post-59515995487814106552015-01-25T23:43:00.000-06:002015-01-26T10:34:21.035-06:00Why I write<div style="text-align: center;">
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I've kept a journal for as long as I can remember. I started writing down my thoughts from the time I was in grade school and kept journals through my mid-thirties. My writing changed when I started this blog. No one, not even me, would want to read the sort of drivel I wrote in my journal on a daily basis. Nonsense, ramblings, internal drama that I needed to work out. It was cathartic at the time, but as a general rule I don't like reading back over my journal entries. The exception to this is when I wrote while traveling or living abroad - my journal entries take me right back to a camel ride in Cairo, a trail run in Vienna, a bottle of wine sipped underneath the Eiffel Tower...<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">I purchased these beautiful journals while living in Florence. They make me want to return to pen and paper. </span></td></tr>
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For me, writing blog posts is very different than writing in a journal. There are pros and cons and I waver back and forth as to which forum I like best. I am careful about what I write in this space, while I had zero filter when I wrote with paper and pen. I edit, rewrite, and sometimes censor my own thoughts and words on this blog. I stay true to myself always, but I think twice about revealing certain things or about how a particular story might sound to others. And unlike my journals, I enjoy going back through my blog posts and re-reading them now and then.</div>
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I came across <a href="http://well.blogs.nytimes.com/2015/01/19/writing-your-way-to-happiness/?_r=0">this article</a> the other day that considers whether the power of writing your personal story can lead to behavioral changes and improve happiness.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit; line-height: 23px;">The concept is based on the idea that we all have a personal narrative that shapes our view of the world and ourselves. But sometimes our inner voice doesn’t get it completely right. Some researchers believe that by writing and then editing our own stories, we can change our perceptions of ourselves and identify obstacles that stand in the way of better health.</span></blockquote>
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There are times when I am just itching to write about something that happened - knowing the process will bring clarity and resolution. I write about my struggles with balancing career and family on this blog often because the process of telling my story, even if no one reads or responds, helps me find perspective. Writing about a challenge or an unexpected triumph helps me learn and continue to grow. Writing ensures the experience doesn't leave me but continues to exist, stamped in time. <span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: georgia, 'times new roman', times, serif; font-size: 16px; line-height: 23px;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 23px;">These writing interventions can really nudge people from a self-defeating way of thinking into a more optimistic cycle that reinforces itself...</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; line-height: 23px;">...Writing forces people to reconstrue whatever is troubling them and find new meaning in it.</span></span></blockquote>
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If you've never written your way through something that is troubling you, I highly encourage you to try. It can be for your eyes only, or you could find your brave and send your thoughts out into vast cyberspace. You might be surprised by how it feels to write and rewrite your story.Speed Bumphttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12250093520022485479noreply@blogger.com1