tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17902592046541947962024-03-13T12:41:45.091-07:00Still Seeking SanityI never was normal, but then I had kids! The daily thoughts and adventures of a stay at home, homeschool mom of four kids. It ain't always pretty, but it's my life.Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.comBlogger591125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-32140670002924019292017-02-06T14:36:00.000-08:002017-02-06T14:36:18.123-08:00In Loving Memory of Mom<div style="text-align: center;">
Sharon Leone Hulten</div>
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June 21, 1939 - January 7, 2017</div>
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<i>I wrote this to read at Mom's memorial service. I wanted to say something but knew I needed to write it ahead of time and practice reading it till I could get through it all without breaking down.</i><br />
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My mom was the mom who made birthday cupcakes in little ice cream cones, frosted them to look like ice cream, and brought them to school on my birthday, which was a huge hit in first grade. In second grade, just before my birthday, kids asked me if Mom was bringing “those amazing ice cream cones again” and I felt like a really cool, popular kid for the first time in my life.<br />
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She had the ability to make people feel special and cared for. She was a genuinely kind woman with a ready smile and quick wit, a true lady who showed grace and hospitality to everyone I brought home, even though some were less-than-favorable companions.<br />
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Mom was the ultimate grammarian. She insisted that Jeff and I learn to speak with proper grammar, she would tell us that “ain’t ain’t a word” but she would get irritated if we said that phrase too often because she didn’t like hearing the word “ain’t.” I can vividly remember one time riding in the car with Mom and my brother Jeff, and while talking Mom said something was “more funner”. Jeff and I completely lost it and laughed so hard, because it was so completely out of character for Mom to say something like that. “More funner” became a phrase in our household for years, and every time we would say it Mom would roll her eyes and give us “the look.” Only once did I say, “Wow Mom, your face looks more funner when you roll your eyes like that.”<br />
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That didn’t end well.<br />
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Mom was a puzzle master; she could solve any crossword, logic problem, or anagram out there. Back in the 80’s when personalized license plates were so popular, Mom was the one who could figure out the intent behind the seemingly random assortment of seven letters and numbers. If I was out with friends and we saw one we couldn’t understand, we would write it down to ask Mom, and she always got it.<br />
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My mother had a deep connection with God. She prayed fervently throughout her life, and that connection was one of the last parts of her that remained. Even when she didn’t know my name or that I was her daughter, she knew how and when to pray. Just this last summer we were at their house and one of the kids got dirt in his eyes from climbing the tree. As we were trying to clean it out and the child was crying, Mom leaned over the table to reach her hand towards him, and she was praying passionately. Her connection with God stayed with her even when everything else disappeared.<br />
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Towards the end, as the Alzheimer’s stole her language skills and she lost her ability to form thoughts into words, she would lean in close to your face and snort. This baffled us at first; my mother was always graceful and polite and would never have tolerated such crass behavior from her children! But we soon realized that a snort meant she was happy. A snort and a smile meant she loved you. Her eyes would light up and she would snort, and that was her way of showing love when she didn’t have any other way to communicate. I hope to always remember the twinkle she had in her eye when she would lean in and snort.<br />
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Mom’s passing has been devastatingly difficult, but it has also been a blessing in many ways. As Alzheimer’s stole her personality and her intellect, we would mourn the parts of her that were gone. Throughout her journey, we focused on, and grieved, all she had lost. Now that she is gone, our hearts are able to focus on how she lived. It has been such a joy to remember Mom as she was before the disease, and I am thankful for that.<br />
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She was once an amazing woman, who had a quick wit and could solve puzzles faster than anyone else. She still holds the family record for skipping rocks; she once skipped a rock 11 times. She was bright, she was brilliant, she was kind, and she was funny. That part of her will live in our hearts and our memories, and hopefully will be modeled in our own lives as well.<br />
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I love you, Mom. My life was more funner because you were part of it.<br />
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Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-48649351967074512692016-08-24T21:56:00.002-07:002016-08-24T21:56:41.151-07:00Grieving My Mother While She's Still HereI have spent many years wanting to write about my journey with my mother's Alzheimer's disease, but afraid to make it public. This has been, first and foremost, my mother's journey, and I never wanted to say anything that might betray her privacy. How do I write about my hurts and frustrations, knowing she could still read it? How could I share with my friends my pain, knowing that many of my friends were her friends as well? What if she didn't want people to know the details? How could I be the one to tell when she is the one effected most?<br />
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Yesterday Mom moved out of the home she built with my dad almost 40 years ago and into a memory care unit where she will live out her remaining days. She will never read these public words because she can no longer recognize letters, and she cannot understand many words or comprehend thoughts. She hasn't known my name for a long time. She doesn't know that I am her daughter, she does not know how many children I have or where I live. She knows my face and she knows she loves me, and at this stage, that is enough.<br />
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Mom still doesn't know that she moved. We were instructed not to tell her, and she may never actually realize that she has left her home. I have watched this slow decline in mental ability over the past 14 years, and I am still amazed that she no longer knows the home she has lived in for so long.<br />
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I have decided to start writing again. Honestly, I have been writing this whole time, but leaving heartache and tears in the drafts folder, anxiously hitting "save" after pouring my pain into words and hoping I don't accidentally hit "publish" instead.<br />
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This is my mother's journey, but it affects us all.<br />
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I was out with some friends today, pushing myself to stay busy so that the grief doesn't overwhelm. My friends, being caring souls, asked some questions that made my cry. "Would you say this is like a death? Are you grieving this like she died?"<br />
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Honestly, it is in a way. These last 14 years have been a slow, painful grieving of her life as pieces of who she is gradually ebb away. I went through a period of grieving about four years ago, and I described it as grieving her passing. I know that sounds morbid and horrible to someone who has never experienced a disease like this, but my mother is gone. The woman who raised me, the one with the quick wit and sharp intellect, who still holds the family record for skipping rocks across water (eleven skips, if you need to know) is gone. And we have grieved each piece as it goes, some immediately and some as we realize it months later.<br />
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I read something on social media a while back that said, "there was a time that your parents held you on their hip, set you down, and never picked you back up again." None if us really know when that was, it's a occasion that goes unmarked and unnoticed till years later when you are left with a memory of time past and a curiosity as to when it ended. When was the last time she called me by name? When was the last time I talked with her on the phone? When was the last time she spoke a full sentence that made sense?<br />
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Monday night we had a family dinner, and I brought along my sister-in-law (and incredibly gifted photographer) to capture this last dinner. It was the last time we all gathered at our family home, the only family home my brother and I have known. I teared up as I realized all these lasts were happening and I was fully aware. The last time I hugged my mother goodbye in the front foyer. The last time we walked in the backyard, watching the kids climb the fruit trees. The last time I saw her sitting in her familiar chair in the family room, which has been her spot for as long as I can remember. The last time she waved goodbye from the driveway.<br />
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Tears.<br />
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The dinner was wonderful. I had prayed for a long time that she would be in a good frame of mind, and she was incredibly joyful and cheery. She knew she loved us, and she showed us her love with bright smiles and cheerful words that didn't make any verbal sense but spoke clearly with her tone and the light in her eyes.<br />
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It was a perfect last.<br />
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I have spent a good deal of time in the last couple of days crying. I am mourning the loss of my mother. The woman she was is gone, but her body was still a familiar presence in her home and now we are mourning that part of her life as well. They say that Alzheimer's is called "the long goodbye", and I could not agree more. It really is a long, long process of slowly losing someone you love, and I would not wish it on anyone.<br />
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I love you, mom.</div>
<br />Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-15840714548419314932016-07-14T19:43:00.001-07:002016-07-15T05:37:55.710-07:00We All Have Different FantasiesFor many years, I was a self-proclaimed Football Widow.<br />
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My husband has been a die-hard football fan since childhood. He was a Seahawks season-ticket holder for ten years or so, and even asked my dad for my hand in marriage at a Seahawks game. His family gave up the season tickets when the Hawks moved into their new stadium and prices went up accordingly, but he has been a Hawks fan for life.<br />
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My darling husband was, at one point, in <b>four</b> Fantasy Football leagues. If you are not familiar with Fantasy Football, it's an online game where you and some of your football-loving friends pick your own teams of real NFL players to make up an imaginary team, and play your imaginary team against other imaginary teams throughout the season, hoping that your best players don't get busted for illegal drugs, or deflating footballs, or child abuse. It's like Dungeons and Dragons where everything can end badly at any time and it's not in your control. OK, I've never actually played Dungeons and Dragons, so I have no idea what the game consists of, so that example might not make any sense at all.<br />
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I mocked my husband relentlessly for this hypothetical game that he played with not one but f<i>our</i> groups of friends who all had their own various fictional teams. This means my husband had four imaginary teams himself, each consisting of different players, and he would somehow remember not only who was on each team, but who was out for injuries and who was out for steroid use and so on. My brain is muddled by thoughts of which of the kids need new shoes and who was given the red marker last in order to know who to blame for the red marks on the carpet, so all this extra info was completely lost on me. Hubby would want to watch many of the week's football games as possible in order to see how his players were doing, since how they did in real life effected their scores in the imaginary-pretend-fantasy world. It was frustrating and stupid and annoying and I just wanted to have a life and not be tied to football scores each week. Was that too much to ask?<br />
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My brother took pity on me and invited me to join his fantasy football league of people who didn't know much about football and just played for funsies. I was a little unsure, as my football knowledge was limited to whatever slipped through my thoughts as I tuned out whatever my husband was telling me. <i>"I have to remember to go get bread tomorrow, and how much grocery money do I have left this month? Oh, I don't think I've said anything in a while, better nod in agreement,</i><i> </i>'Mmmmhmmm.'<i> How many pairs of jeans do the kids each have stocked up for fall? '</i>Oh, totally.' <i>Wait, what did I just agree with? Dang, better pay attention and see if I can figure out what he is saying. Oh, that Roethlesberger guy is still a total douche-canoe. I didn't miss anything new. Where IS that smell coming from?"</i><br />
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However, I was tempted by the promise that I could attend the draft without children in tow, and there would be smoked chicken and brisket. I can be swayed easily by smoked brisket and time with adult conversation and not wiping butts. I mean, I don't wipe anyone's butt but my own nowadays, but this was a few years ago.<br />
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I wasn't expecting it, but I found my tribe.<br />
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I showed up to the first draft and was informed that the "GB Packers" stood for Great Britain, and the "Cle Browns" were from Cle Elum. There were no bonus points for knowledge. We all just had fun, no one cared if you made a stupid mistake, and it was awesome. Oh, and the food was fantastic.<br />
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I snacked on brisket and chose my players based on uniform colors and how awesome their hair was, and I won the Super Bowl my first year. I was hooked. Then, the Seahawks started playing well, and football became a lot more interesting.<br />
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Now, I have been a Hawks fan forever, I just haven't always been a <i>football</i> fan. My first crush as a kid was none other than the amazingly beautiful Steve Largent, and I had the poster on my wall to prove it. I really didn't understand the game, though, and I think that makes it challenging to enjoy a sport when you have no idea what is going on half the time.<br />
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You know, like life. And why adulting is so hard.<br />
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Anywhoo. Here I am, a few years down the road, and I'm already planning my fantasy draft at the end of August. However, my planning is limited to pinning goal-post decorations on Pinterest and calculating if the tootsie-pop foul flags would actually cause injury if we threw them at each other when someone takes the player you wanted next. Who is playing this sport this year? I have no idea. OOH! Taco dip shaped like a football field? I'm IN!<br />
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Basically, the tables have turned. My darling husband is now completely annoyed by ME each and every football season.<br />
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Hubby: "Who is your backup running back?"<br />
Me: "Huh? I don't remember. He has brown wavy hair and looks scary."<br />
Hubby: "..."<br />
me: *blinks innocently*<br />
Hubby: "I just. I got nothing."<br />
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Hubby: "Do you have any Cardinals going this week?'<br />
Me: "I dunno, why?"<br />
Hubby: "Because they are playing tonight."<br />
Me: "What? Why are they playing? It's not even the weekend!"<br />
Hubby: "BECAUSE THE NFL PLAYS GAMES EVERY THURSDAY NIGHT. YOU SHOULD KNOW THIS BY NOW. AND YOU HAVE THEIR RUNNING BACK."<br />
Me: "Oh, today is Thursday? Whoops. Who is the running back? Wait, I won't remember names anyway, what does his hair look like?"<br />
Hubby: "I hope you lose."<br />
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Hubby: "Did you start Julio Jones?"<br />
Me: "No, I decided to start that other guy instead. I had a good feeling about, what's his name? Lemme look... OH! Larry Fitzgerald."<br />
Hubby: "WHAT? He hasn't scored a touchdown in four weeks!!"<br />
Me: "Yeah, but his hair looks<b> fantastic</b>."<br />
Hubby: "You don't get to have <i>good feelings</i> when you have no idea what you are doing!! Oh my gosh, you are insane!"<br />
--Later that week--<br />
Hubby: "So you lost this week?"<br />
Me: "No, I won. Fitzgerald scored two touchdowns and that other guy didn't get anything. I told you I had a good feeling!"<br />
Hubby: "... I hate you."<br />
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Really, he loves me. And he just might be filled with a <i>teensy bit</i> of jealousy that I keep winning. I'm sure that's it.Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-64962114679861086922016-07-13T00:27:00.002-07:002016-07-15T05:37:02.058-07:00Catching Up Like Old Friends Where Only One Person Talks The Whole TimeIt's time to start writing again.<br />
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I actually do write often, but most of what I write stays in the drafts folder and never gets published. Stuff about dealing with my mom as her Alzheimer's progresses isn't for the public eye, at least not yet. Most of my funny stuff ends up on facebook. So here I am, nothing to put on my blog, and needing to breathe life into this poor, neglected dot on the internet.<br />
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Basically, I'm broke and I need to bring in some money. Really, I want a job where I can drink wine while working and those jobs are apparently very limited. I don't have the skills to be a wine tester (unless some company needs a tester for cheap wine or boxed wine or some other low-brow vintage) (think of it, "I think this wine has a slightly winey taste with a hint of, what is that? Ah, grapes.") and apparently my particular skill set does not mix with a nice (or cheap) glass of Moscato while maintaining a high level of quality work. This blog has never really been considered a "high level of quality work" with all its poop stories and me being peed on in public places, so we're good.<br />
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Here we are. Let me catch you up, since I've been neglecting our relationship. This summer, my darling husband and I will celebrate 14 years of marriage. A great majority of that has been wedded bliss, but not all. Thankfully, our relationship has hovered more in the realm of "there's no one else I'd rather annoy for the rest of my life than you," and less in the category of "Honey, does this rag smell like chloroform?" I'm taking that as a win.<br />
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The kids' pictures on the sidebar are terribly out of date. I am the mother of a 12 year old, twin nine year olds, and a seven year old. This fall we will enter the realm of homeschooling all four children. We have homeschooled for the last two years, but never all of them at once. <i>This is why I need wine while working.</i> I had been so looking forward to the day the youngest went to kindergarten and I could have time to myself, but the year the youngest went to kinder I started homeschooling two others so I have never had that break I so desperately wanted. Well, that's not entirely true. The kids went to VBS last summer and I had a week where they were gone for 30 hours and let me tell you, I got more done that week than I have in the year since. VBS is coming again in 18 days. I am planning everything that week. Maybe I will come up with a new blog design. I will accomplish it all. I will pray no one pukes.<br />
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Our family has expanded to include three cats and a dog, which are mildly entertaining but more in the annoying way where people want to show you eight hours of home video of their baby trying to crawl and it just isn't nearly as fun for everyone else. We have two kittens, and they are hysterical. Google "funny kitten videos" and what is there is pretty much what they do, with their little kitten paws in the air in surprise and all their kitten chasing and pouncing. Like the kid thing, they are so much cuter because they are ours, but they are pretty much just kittens to everyone else. I'll attach a five hour video of them sleeping. Watch it all. It's good.<br />
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Speaking of videos, did you know there were videos on youtube for you to play for your cats to watch? I had no idea, but then I stumbled across one one day and the kittens were riveted. I wasn't sure if that much screen time was good for their growing brains, but then I allowed it because I've had four kids so now I no longer care.<br />
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So, what's new with you guys? Is anyone still there?<br />
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<br />Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-21206277495350773092015-12-10T12:16:00.000-08:002015-12-10T12:16:18.723-08:00Anti-Diarrhea Medicine and Crying on the Floor. Again.I never know when it will hit me, but it often does when life is busy and I am so focused on myself that I can't see past my own to-do list. December is especially hard that way, with its holidays and events and activities. Today, it happened again.<br />
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I was cleaning out the medicine cabinet, organizing the bins that have been mixed together over time so that instead of adult medicine, kids' medicine, first aid, etc., we had a jumbled mess of everything strewn all over. I began the process of checking expiration dates and tossing out expired allergy pills and grumbling over the fact that I somehow have three refills of Drew's asthma inhaler on hand and <i>they just don't fit in the bin right</i> and <i>this is a mess and we have too much stuff</i>.<br />
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I tossed out two packages of anti-diarrhea medicines. Add to that more kids' allergy medicines. I notice that the current box of allergy meds will expire in two months, so I make a mental note to buy another when I see a good sale. You know we always have to have that stuff on hand, just in case we need it, even though it rarely gets used.<br />
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I glanced at the growing pile in the garbage can, and suddenly faces started to fill my mind. Faces of sweet babies in Kenya, children whose parents can't afford life-saving medicines like I have the ability to just throw away. Faces of children who live in a place where the common cold can kill and asthma goes untreated.<br />
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And I started to cry.<br />
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I strongly believe that an abundance of wealth like we have here in the United States is not, in fact, the definition of a blessing. Yes, we are very blessed in that we have access to these drugs that can save our children's lives, but I think that we have so much that it becomes really easy to forget where it all comes from. It's not from my husband's paycheck, although he works very hard to support our family. It's not from the store, although we are blessed that we can just run to town and stock up on stuff just in case of a bee sting. But truly, it all comes from God. All of it. Every day. The fact that it is so easy for us to acquire makes us forget that all of our success is from God, not man.<br />
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Not a single one of my children would be alive today without our access to modern medicine. I don't take that blessing lightly, but I don't want to rely on modern medicine so much that I forget that it truly is a blessing from God.<br />
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And here I am, in my small-ish house that I complain about its size because it's filled with our possessions so tightly that we don't have places to put it all, and I whine and I grumble and I complain about this or that and I forget that all that I have is from God. I get so focused on my to-do list that mostly involves dealing with our over-abundance of stuff. Laundry, dishes, bathrooms, picking up papers and schoolwork and kids toys and dog hair and cat hair because we can afford to feed animals just to keep them around for fun and darn it, another lego on the floor!<br />
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I grumble and I grumble and I grumble and I forget to have joy and I forget to be thankful. I forget that I don't need all this stuff. I forget that most of the world doesn't have what we have. And suddenly, as I throw out another bottle of children's fever reducer, I cry on the floor and ask God to forgive me for being so selfish and materialistic and self-centered. I truly am thankful that I have the ability to have a fully stocked medicine cabinet on hand. I just wish I could remember to be thankful constantly.Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-53740148292233165782014-07-09T14:48:00.001-07:002014-07-09T14:48:57.287-07:00Love RemembersWell hello, old friend. I've missed you.<br />
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It's interesting how life changes over time. Stories that I want to tell about the children become abandoned in the drafts folder, as the kids are old enough now to have a choice in what gets shared publicly. Things that can be shared get quickly forgotten as the pace of life moves so quickly at times that once bedtime comes, once all the children are sweetly and silently sleeping and the house is still intact, once the feet are propped up on the couch with the laptop in the lap, all the memories of the day are gone. "What was that earlier that I wanted to write about?" I wonder to myself more often than not. Sometimes I remember, and often times I don't. Well intentioned plans to write things down as they happen are displayed by the large number of blank journals with fancy pens, covered in dust.<br />
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Day after day until the days become years. And it all goes by so fast, memories lost in a blur of good intentions and blank journal pages. <br />
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I've never written about this part of my life before, as privacy and respect are very important to me. I have permission to share with you today though.<br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">My mother has Alzheimer's disease.</span><br />
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Many know this, she is not secretive about it. However, there is a difference between talking to those closest to you about things such as this, and putting out there to all. <br />
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She was diagnosed ten or twelve years ago, after years of being told she had an amnesia disorder. She is doing remarkably well, considering how long it has been. But the decline is unavoidable. Alzheimer's leaves no survivors. <br />
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As a teen, I watched my mother lovingly care for my grandpa after he was diagnosed with the same disease. I watched him slowly slip away, pieces of him disappearing long before his body eventually failed. They say that Alzheimer's is known as "the long goodbye," and the truth in that statement is something you never fully understand till you have lived it. At the age of twelve, I remember visiting my grandpa in the group home where he lived, and he often thought I was his wife. Grandma had died a few years earlier, but he would sit at the kitchen table, holding my hand, and patting it as he told me he loved me. At the time, I was slightly creeped out ("he's not going to try to kiss me, is he?!?") but I obliged, knowing it would make him happy, and it did. <br />
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Now, I'm the daughter, watching my own parent go down the same path. And there is a 50% chance that my own children will walk that path with me. Genetics are a beast sometimes. <br />
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Our family is participating in the Walk To End Alzheimer's in September in Everett, WA. I want to raise money to find a cure. I never want to watch my own memories slip away, clouded behind a fog that can't be navigated. I don't want my children to know about their younger years by only what makes it into the dusty journal or from a blog. I want to be there to tell them, and I want to remember.<br />
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Will you join us? Please consider donating to the Alzheimer's Association or joining our team. Thanks.<br />
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<a href="http://act.alz.org/site/TR/Walk2014/WA-WesternandCentralWashingtonState?px=9386064&pg=personal&fr_id=5781" target="_blank">Click here</a> to go to the Walk To End Alzheimer's page, or copy and paste this: http://act.alz.org/site/TR/Walk2014/WA-WesternandCentralWashingtonState?px=9386064&pg=personal&fr_id=5781Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-41574562867581208112013-07-16T13:14:00.000-07:002014-08-06T13:22:41.277-07:00My Life or His Life?(This post was originally published at whatislovely.com so I am moving it here. It's been a while since I blogged, so I'll have it here in case you wanna catch up on who I am now. Or, who I was when I wrote this.)<br />
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Hi.<br />
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Nice to meet ya.
My name is Tiff, and I am so honored to be a part of this amazing group of women who have become my family. They are the sweetest, kindest, most loving and Godly women out there. And for some reason, they are allowing me to be a part of this, even though I tend to blog about poop.<br />
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I had four kids in four and a half years. Potty training twin boys (and another boy who was born just two years later) involves a whole lot of bloggable moments about pee and poop. If I had a nickel for every time I have been peed on in a public bathroom, well, I would still only have less than a dollar, but at least I would have something to show for it, rather than just clothes that were wet with pee.
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Anywhoo.
I am married to my wonderful husband Marty, and I stay home with the kiddos, mostly. Except for when I'm working as a wedding photographer. And except when I babysit extra kids, because really, six isn't much more crazy or loud than four. Oh, and when I'm working for an IT company doing administrative stuff. Really, I guess I'm a work at home mom. The kids are all potty trained now, so have no fear, there will be very few blog posts about children's bodily functions. It's no longer funny that I have to remind the boys "you may pee on a tree, but you may not try to poop on it. Now put your pants back on and come inside." <i>I am so thankful we live in the country.</i><br />
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I live in the beautiful Pacific Northwest, where everything is green year round and umbrellas are for tourists. I love it here, we are in the middle of farm country, just a few miles from the bay and a couple hours from the mountains. You really can't beat that. I love my home, and I love my life, but a big part of my heart is in the beautiful continent of Africa. I went to Kenya and Tanzania two years ago on my first mission trip ever, and I fell in love. I fell in love with the people, and their kind hearts and open smiles.
I fell in love with the children, with their pure joy and their laughter that doesn't stop. I fell in love with the red dirt and the mud huts and the slums and the garbage and the filth and the pure faith that shines through it all. I fell in love, and I can't wait to go back.<br />
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Thankfully, Yah saw fit for me to go back, and I leave soon to return to my beloved Kenya for a two week trip. My best friend (who just so happens to be my husband) will be going with me this time, which will be a wonderfully different experience and I can't wait for him to meet my Africa family, and for him to experience what I did when God totally and completely wrecked my life and started the process of making it His life, the one He had chosen for me. I know it sounds horrible to smile at my beloved and say, "I hope God totally destroys you!" but that's what I want for both of us. I want Him to destroy us, destroy everything about us that is of this world and to make us more like Jesus. You can't get there without completely shattering what is of this world first.<br />
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The kids are staying home, although they long to go with us at some point, it's not time yet. Some day, we dream of a family mission trip. We desire above all else to raise children who can see the big picture, who know that life is much more than the longings of the American dream filled with fancy cars and flat screen tv's and the latest tech gadgets. We want to raise kids who love to serve, and to honor God in all they do, and who put others first.
We don't want to live in Americanized Christianity, where an hour a week on Sundays is good enough. We want to give. We want to serve. We want to put Him first in all we do and in all we say.<br />
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I was listening to a wonderful speaker by the name of Ray Vander Laan recently. Google him. You will be blessed. One thing he said that so stuck with me is that many of us think that belief is enough. Now, I know that salvation is through faith alone, and belief and faith can sometimes be synonymous. However, we tend to think that belief is enough.<br />
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Think about this: do you believe that God created the heavens and the earth? So you believe that Jesus/Yeshua(his name in Hebrew) is the son of God, that He died on the cross to save us from our sins, and that he rose again on the third day? Do you believe that the only way to eternal life is through Him?<br />
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Yes?<br />
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Now, let me ask you this. Does Satan himself believe those exact same things? Of course he does, he was THERE! He saw it all, he watched it happen, he knows it better than we do. Knowing that an event happened doesn't save you, it is what you do after you know the Truth that does.<br />
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Are you believing in God, yet refusing to do what He is calling you to do to further His Kingdom?
I don't want to live in comfortable Americanized Christianity. To be honest, I lived like that for many years, claiming the promise of salvation and then doing whatever I wanted to do with my life, paying no regard to God or anyone else. I would call out to Him when I was in trouble, begging Him to save me from whatever I had gotten myself into; and ignore Him when times were good, but be pleased at all I had done for myself.<br />
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Anyone else been there?<br />
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Just me?<br />
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I am not fully there yet, but the information has been trickling slowly from he head to my heart, changing the way I see life and the world we live in. I want to see it through the eyes of Yeshua, who walked on this earth to show us how to live our lives. I know that Yahweh is God, I know that Yeshua is His son, and that He died for me. For ME! And because I know that, I know that He lives and I know that He loves and I know that He has a plan for my life, and I would be a fool to think my plans would be better than His because I'm an ignorant human and He is God.
Sometimes when you rock the boat, when you go out on a limb, when you do any of those other Christian clichés that basically tell people that you are different and weird, people question. And that's fine.<br />
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People can question our decisions to go to Africa, to give up pork and shellfish and eat Biblically clean, to follow Torah and celebrate the Feasts just like Jesus did. But we are ok with it. We are much more concerned with what God thinks of us that what those around us think. Yes, we fail him daily, and we are so thankful for grace. But we want to walk like Yeshua, talk like Yeshua, eat like Yeshua, feast like Yeshua, and live like Yeshua, from the inmost part of our souls.
More than anything in the world, I want to be like Jesus. I am nothing but a messed up sinner, saved by grace, who yells at her kids too much and sometimes smells of pee, but thankfully, God can change the world, and He is using me as a part of His great and mighty plan. I don't know why, but I'm honored to be a part of it. I invite you to come and join in. Ask Him how He desires to use you, how He wants to bless others through you. I promise you, whatever He desires for you is so much better than you could ever think up on your own.Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-83601289946495047982013-04-15T22:00:00.001-07:002013-04-15T22:08:43.885-07:00Life in 3DIt's amazing where this blogging journey has taken me. I know, I don't blog much anymore, and I know that I keep saying I plan to do better but I never end up consistently posting. Well, for the three of you who are left, thank you. Thanks for sticking it out, and thanks for reading. <br />
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Almost three years ago, I posted <a href="http://www.stillseekingsanity.com/2010/05/why-i-need-more-sleep.html" target="_blank">this story</a> about a dream I had about the author of a blog I just love, Sarah Valente. It was crazy, and rather than just messaging her saying, "Hey I know you don't know me, but I had this crazy dream about you," (which would sound rather stalker-y,) I decided to blog about it publicly (because clearly, that is the much less stalker-y option. Clearly.) Well, she wanted to see where the traffic was coming from and read my post and (thankfully) thought it was hilarious. Bloggers can appreciate the public posting of private matters, and she wasn't offended (or freaked out)in the least. A bloggy-friendship was born, which turned into a facebook friendship, which turned into a secret corner of the Internet where a little group of bloggy and facebook friends gathered to lift each other up, to pray together, to study His word together, and to giggle and just be us. I know it sounds nuts, but I developed some of the most incredible and meaningful friendships with these women whom I had never met in person through the Internet.<br />
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Yeah, I'd say it was crazy, too.<br />
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The thing is, when you build a relationship based on Christ, it's real. It's meaningful. And it's awesome.<br />
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So where is this going, you ask? <br />
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Well, last weekend it went to Colorado Springs.<br />
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From left to right: Beth, myself, Cindy of <a href="http://www.overkoffee.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Over Koffee</a>, Christi, Renee of <a href="http://www.queridafamiliablog.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Mi Querida Familia</a>, and of course, Sarah of <a href="http://kingdomtwindom.net/" target="_blank">Kingdom Twindom</a>, shiny hair and all.</div>
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We were missing a few, including Ellyn of <a href="http://www.profoundlyseth.com/" target="_blank">Profoundly Seth</a> and Ashley of <a href="http://adventuresintwinderland.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Adventures in Twinderland</a>, who couldn't make the trip.</div>
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Yes, I might be shamelessly name-dropping. But these are my peeps, yo. And I couldn't be more proud to be a part of this group. </div>
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We sat in Renee's house, and we chatted and laughed and drank wine (but not too much) and studies the Bible and worshiped the One who created us and brought us all together. It was fantastic. I loved every minute and I can't wait to see these amazing ladies again. It has been said that "if you show me who your friends are, I'll tell you who you are." Well, I really feel like I am totally unworthy of being included in this amazing group of women, but I'll take it. Go ahead, read their blogs. They are awesome. And besides, it'll fill the time till I blog again. ;)</div>
Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-54758273854560107152012-10-16T14:45:00.001-07:002012-10-16T14:45:28.163-07:00TimeWhere does the time go? The time since the kids were little, since summer was here, since I last blogged. Life is busy and shows no sign of slowing down anytime soon.<br />
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All the kids are in school. Yup, you heard that right, ALL of them. Emma is in third grade, the twins started Kindergarten, and Drew is officially a preschooler. Yes, Drew who is seven months old in the sidebar picture because I haven't taken the time to update them in three years. Although the pics on the blog are the same age as the most recent pics of my kids on the walls in my living room, so at least I am an equal-opportunity picture ignore-er. If the doctor's children are sick, and the shoemaker's kids go barefoot; I guess it makes sense that the photographer's kids get their pics taken often but they never make it out of the computer and up on the wall. Well, maybe they do at first. Just not after four kids.<br />
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My days have been filled with the normal everyday stuff that fills the days of a mom of four. I really thought that this "everyone in school" thing would free up my days, but I think I am busier than ever. Also, with Drew being here and no other children to entertain him, it has been challenging as there are no other children to tattle on him as he is trying to dance on the bathroom counter/climb the bookcase <b>again</b>/teach the cat gymnastics. OK, I don't think the cat would put up with being taught gymnastics. He's a feisty cat, which is a necessary skill for being an animal in this family.<br />
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Also, Drew is a talker. And when I say he is a talker, I mean that I have been working on getting him to understand that you have to stop and take a breath while you are talking, and that you cannot just continue talking while you are breathing in. No one can understand you that way, and it makes you dizzy. And drives Mama batty. And there isn't enough chocolate in the world to deal with that for six hours straight.<br />
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And I know all of you dear blog followers are just so excited because you have just missed reading a whole slew of sentenced that start with "and". You are welcome.<br />
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<br />Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-68294795006353824032012-08-28T11:54:00.001-07:002012-08-28T14:55:44.926-07:00Ungrateful and GratefulIt's been a year since I went to Africa. I can't believe it. The team went again this year, and I was not a part of it. I wanted to be, but God said to wait. I will say that the time the team was gone was a rough two weeks for me. I sat and watched as team members posted pictures on facebook of the sweet children that I got to love on last year, and the school that we were at and the slum that we walked through and experienced, and the very same park that we had brought the very same kids to, and I missed it all. I wanted to be crammed in a bus packed with children so tight that you couldn't move and you didn't know if that puddle on your lap was sweat form being pressed in with seven children on your lap or of you had been peed on, and there was no room to check. I wanted hear their little voices sing their little hearts out and smell the stench of rotting, burning garbage on the streets as we rumbled down pothole-filled streets, jostling and bumping for miles. <br />
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I stood in my bathroom and looked at my shiny, clean toilet. The toilet that I was so grateful for when I got home last year, the toilet with a seat and water that ran through it and that wasn't just a hole in the ground to hover over. And I was not grateful for my toilet like I had been, because I wanted nothing other than to pee in a hole while swatting flies and holding my breath with all my might because the stench was so strong.<br />
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I wanted that. I wanted to be uncomfortable and hot and sweaty as the children pressed in and to be constantly using hand sanitizer for fear of e-coli and typhoid and a host of other things carried on the children's filthy hands. Hands that I held, and loved, and caressed with all my might for such a short time. Hands that played in my hair, braiding and smoothing; hands that pressed into my white skin, amazed that it changed color with pressure. Fingers that fiddled with the rough skin on my elbows, fascinated for some reason. I miss it so much my heart hurts a physical pain in my chest and I want to go back.<br />
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And I laid in my bed and I sobbed. I sobbed with ungratefulness for my soft bed and my warm sheets and my house and my green yard. I cried out with the pain of heartache of missing these people, these lives that I experienced for such a short time but had such a profound impact on my entire being. I left a huge part of my heart in Africa, and my heart ached with the separation and I wanted to be there to feel whole again.<br />
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But God had told me to to wait. I had argued Him for a while, back in January when we had signed up for the trip, excited to go back, but whenever God and I disagree, He is always right. So I waited. My husband and I hope to go next year, if it is God's will. Oh, how I hope it is God's will, because if I don't go back I might explode. I want to see those kids, and love on those amazing people who have absolutely nothing that America deems of value but who have joy and contentment like I have never seen in this country because they know that stuff doesn't matter. The faith of those people is amazing, and my heart longs to be a part of that circle of faith again, even for a short time. Where the name of Jesus is intertwined into everyday conversation in the most natural way, because they know that they only have life and breath because of Him. I am tired of being afraid, afraid in a land where the name of our savior is spoken hesitantly to see if it will cause offense. To see if we will be labeled as a freak. Where we value a life of blending in and being "normal". I don't want to be normal.<br />
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Because we live in a society where Self is valued above all else, and I want to go back to where God is valued because I know that God is so much greater then Self. I hear people talk in words that whisper little nudgings that Self is the most important, that we "deserve" this or that reward or break or purchase because we need to put our own needs first and I just want to scream and to go back and to love on some people who teach me so much more than I cousd ever bring to them with all the money in the world. Because I know that what I deserve, and I know that what I deserve is not what I will get, because He died for me to make sure I don't have to feel the burn of the consequences of my choices. He saved me. He died for me. He is the most important.<br />
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I am grateful for my house, and I am grateful for my money, and I am grateful for my toilet. I am grateful that my children will not die of preventable disease or starvation. I am grateful and I am humbled and I am thankful that He chose to give this life to me. I also know that to whom much is given, much is required, an now that I have seen the difference in what I have been given I know I need to act. Much is required of me, and it is not to go to the mall because I "deserve it". It is to live to serve, and I'm still figuring out what that looks like, even a year later. But it will come, small stirrings in my heart to lead me down God's path for my life. <br />
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And I can't wait to see what He does.Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-58290472537322883412012-05-29T14:17:00.001-07:002012-05-29T14:22:23.126-07:00Things We Have Learned, Camping Edition1. Our families are awesome. That isn't something new that we learned, but rather something that we are constantly reminded of every time we all get together.<br />
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2. If you forget your camera on a camping trip, it's good to be related to someone like Holly who always brings hers everywhere. That way, you can lift pics off of her Facebook page and make a blog post. (Thanks, Holly!)<br />
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3. Our crew has finally reached the age where we can let them hang out at the campfire without constantly being within arm's reach. Hallelujah!!<br />
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4. Emma loves a good grandpa snuggle...<br />
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...and a good baby cousin snuggle...<br />
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...and another good grandpa snuggle, along with having her hair braided by Papa.</div>
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5. My mom can still skip rocks with the best of 'em. She has always been the most incredible rock-skipper I have ever known.<br />
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6. When you don't want to walk across the cold river, if you look at your older cousin Nate with big, adorable eyes, he might take pity on you can carry you across. You might lose your shorts in the process, but it's a small price to pay.<br />
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7. Mud is awesome. However, if you get yourself covered in mud because the river is too cold to play in, you will be dunked in the river anyway to get washed off. You will probably scream. Your dad probably will do it anyway.<br />
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8. Great Grandmas make good drinking buddies. They will share straws with you and clink your cup in cheers before every sip. Even if you feel the need to drink two or three cups full of lemonade in order to cheers with Great Grandma a whole lot of times.<br />
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9. Drew has no shame, and will pee on a tree in the open in front of everyone after a couple of cups full of lemonade.<br />
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10. Drew will actually run, buck naked, out of the motor home to go pee on a tree at the opposite side of camp, and will sing a little "I'm a nakey boy!" song as he proudly struts his way across the open camp in front of the entire family.<br />
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11. Camping in someone's field instead of a campground is the best choice for our family. Definitely the best choice.<br />
<br />
12. Camping in someone's field that is actually used as an airstrip is a wonderful way to entertain the kids. However, screaming, "Get off the field, a plane's coming in to land!" probably isn't something most parents yell to their kids during an average camping adventure.<br />
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13. Papa Wayne is the best deep-fryer around. And family potluck deep fry night is still a favorite annual tradition. <br />
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14. Deep fried onion rings look absolutely amazing after you find out you have to be gluten-free and can't eat them. Even if you've never liked onion rings before.<br />
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15. Butterfly nets are not just for catching butterflies. Sometimes they are for catching Aunties...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7gT7q_RdhvTHTwyoRqqdab7G3VrKILXNKh7BEladkZJW90pGRLBbiMLkUW6ULLuMIOVFVE0SyBtmQCZjONvMbwXZkYw_ls-9KsH4nQjGRlx2ImWRdZ8UlE5YSW5fYM8dEBKTbcgb7JcE/s1600/Camping+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7gT7q_RdhvTHTwyoRqqdab7G3VrKILXNKh7BEladkZJW90pGRLBbiMLkUW6ULLuMIOVFVE0SyBtmQCZjONvMbwXZkYw_ls-9KsH4nQjGRlx2ImWRdZ8UlE5YSW5fYM8dEBKTbcgb7JcE/s320/Camping+6.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
...and sometimes they are for catching Jack Jacks!<br />
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16. Camping on the mountain provides great kite-flying winds.
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNXiSdJE7JWNdcn4x09tYYge8oJy21DwnHNG36Nb_nImlIEhezmkKvrIlmdSaKzRU9vjvP4XxT9oklGyvdCVtP_rUdyUe7p4aFjaptDSDDbDy2qScWQ7BlwDkMphjK8U3SCU8bANy2UI/s1600/Camping+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtNXiSdJE7JWNdcn4x09tYYge8oJy21DwnHNG36Nb_nImlIEhezmkKvrIlmdSaKzRU9vjvP4XxT9oklGyvdCVtP_rUdyUe7p4aFjaptDSDDbDy2qScWQ7BlwDkMphjK8U3SCU8bANy2UI/s320/Camping+10.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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17. Riding your bike while trying to fly a kite from the dollar store only works till the kite string gets wrapped around the bike axle. The kite won't make it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5o_6KUJhxD5uVdCRTogRtCReonQKKN2QoghitDpwju_vW-QlB1U_fxoBL-Ma3K9NcjM20JSYrgY_qGRpQ_nUYRvCAlQiXi-D-ol1Wy47pjlrCxbpRiVvB1uVKzbTbSYYCo7reNzuFGZc/s1600/Camping+13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5o_6KUJhxD5uVdCRTogRtCReonQKKN2QoghitDpwju_vW-QlB1U_fxoBL-Ma3K9NcjM20JSYrgY_qGRpQ_nUYRvCAlQiXi-D-ol1Wy47pjlrCxbpRiVvB1uVKzbTbSYYCo7reNzuFGZc/s320/Camping+13.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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18. If you ask a five year old boy to "show me your cute face!" This is what you get. And I have to say, it's a <i>cute face</i>!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfAqCgp6fJxw8Sh_DAoAcPExU7W00XX2HIrzxLhULB8xd4OA5aAsHR9QjCnKF06YhBPgVsUAQAl1oSWGXL_U6F5a4YwYq2i0eZtK6rO33a67XnzP7dHOzoyGny_uOJhZIhuiqPPE7fcU4/s1600/Camping+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfAqCgp6fJxw8Sh_DAoAcPExU7W00XX2HIrzxLhULB8xd4OA5aAsHR9QjCnKF06YhBPgVsUAQAl1oSWGXL_U6F5a4YwYq2i0eZtK6rO33a67XnzP7dHOzoyGny_uOJhZIhuiqPPE7fcU4/s320/Camping+9.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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19. My hubby is a rock star and can run five miles in the rain, over rough terrain, through the mud and muck. Oh, and Wayne and Heather aren't too shabby, either!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRKAdT2vtELQyBrq9m8wQosDrHO3a-uxwIpNhbnarQ1F_tHktjE6RuXXFUb8a75VjfcZv8rnobXe-1wnwc_Gq51lw6MW7uFKDbahAqKdasT9hYfRL4rL0P9mVccvKbS26yXMQ70P68FNc/s1600/Camping+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRKAdT2vtELQyBrq9m8wQosDrHO3a-uxwIpNhbnarQ1F_tHktjE6RuXXFUb8a75VjfcZv8rnobXe-1wnwc_Gq51lw6MW7uFKDbahAqKdasT9hYfRL4rL0P9mVccvKbS26yXMQ70P68FNc/s320/Camping+1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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20. Jack Jack even looks adorable in time-out. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxzJDNjowpuylgG2xQ9oI9T_WXmPlsEp36BWxXVZpBhnIzAl-9xKiCBi5y0B3eg_vq3Gyue2S41Su0NmXzcru-M_AY3bKEPlgx5JzegWoVguo16aLTATsd0slgYbEe9m4VxmxzTk2cwps/s1600/Camping+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxzJDNjowpuylgG2xQ9oI9T_WXmPlsEp36BWxXVZpBhnIzAl-9xKiCBi5y0B3eg_vq3Gyue2S41Su0NmXzcru-M_AY3bKEPlgx5JzegWoVguo16aLTATsd0slgYbEe9m4VxmxzTk2cwps/s320/Camping+4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
And what was he in time out for, you ask? Well, that brings us to our biggest and most important Thing We have Learned, which is...<br />
<br />
21. Our borrowed motor home can be put into neutral by a three year old without the keys in the ignition or a foot on the brake. And it will roll off the blocks and go backwards about four feet.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="258" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/Sh9tpS_Nrb8" width="460"></iframe><br />
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<br />
22. Emergency brakes in motor homes are a really good idea.<br />
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(No one was hurt during the making of these memories. By the grace of God, the older kids had stopped playing hide and seek under the motor home about ten minutes before Jack Jack drove the motor home. We are very, very thankful to God for watching out for our family!)Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-29919769229464600502012-05-01T12:49:00.001-07:002012-05-01T12:49:31.444-07:00The Least of TheseSpring has officially sprung here in the Pacific Northwest, and with that comes not only longer days and pretty flowers, but also the affects of those longer days and sunshine. Namely, the ability to actually see the grime and gunk and algae that built up everywhere over the winter.<br />
<br />
So, last week I hauled out the old pressure washer and got to work on the walkways and patio. Every spring, I think "oh, this isn't too bad this year, maybe I'll just skip it this time," but I do it anyway and am always amazed at the difference.<br />
<br />
I have to say, the actual act of pressure washing is
relaxing. I love the monotony, the sound that drowns out everything
else around me, and the chance to be alone with my thoughts for a
while. This year was a little different, though. This year I had the
chance to be alone with my thought while watching gallons and gallons of
clean, pure water clean my sidewalk.<br />
<br />
Yes, that is the same way I have pressure washed before. But it's <i>different</i> now. <br />
<br />
Let me
back up a bit. Back in August, one of the things we did on our trip to
Africa was stay at the YWAM (Youth With a Mission) base in Arusha,
Tanzania. We were there for the dedication of the Tumaini house, an
orphanage that our church helped build; as well as a baptism of many of
the Maasai people, including the chief of the Maasai tribe. It was
incredible, but that is a story for another day. <br />
<br />
The
particular situation I was brought back to when I was pressure washing
was a time when we were relaxing. Papa Cho, who ran the YWAM base also
had built the New Vision school as a way to educate some of the local
children.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYwRAcXaGabS1jaFGH9eoag9vjXqkSSyk-TtLZMqUxKK_uQCCWHOiyIY4-abCK91TSft5zfZNLu_-q4dio7rVQEsMRFwIapTPZx1zXIpfFcyR5m3m4lElCScZUmc6Ujqaze30OjQYvPVo/s1600/Misc.+Tanzania-28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYwRAcXaGabS1jaFGH9eoag9vjXqkSSyk-TtLZMqUxKK_uQCCWHOiyIY4-abCK91TSft5zfZNLu_-q4dio7rVQEsMRFwIapTPZx1zXIpfFcyR5m3m4lElCScZUmc6Ujqaze30OjQYvPVo/s400/Misc.+Tanzania-28.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Vision School Arusha, Tanzania</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
To make a long story short, a man from Bellingham, Washington
went to Tanzania and found street children playing with a soccer ball
made of plastic grocery bags, and decided to make a difference. <a href="http://newvisionsoccer.org/" target="_blank">New Vision Soccer</a>
was born as a ministry to the street boys of the area, and they built a
full-sized, regulation soccer field and started the New Vision soccer
organization.<br />
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We went to watch this team of amazing boys play, and they played a game against some of the members of our missions team. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs7Yh2onr4T5Ca6LO5s3AJzM4i62FlcYiz3uQWW1TxQVNErqGxlt4ElGZJku9JujvDnKdNEpEtwzDquDynXZQmYW-JFlYgGi3grpWjjyRpBd9mDw60VjdvVMTY_j1Wkc2zb1hdGeLjRS0/s1600/Misc.+Tanzania-41.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs7Yh2onr4T5Ca6LO5s3AJzM4i62FlcYiz3uQWW1TxQVNErqGxlt4ElGZJku9JujvDnKdNEpEtwzDquDynXZQmYW-JFlYgGi3grpWjjyRpBd9mDw60VjdvVMTY_j1Wkc2zb1hdGeLjRS0/s400/Misc.+Tanzania-41.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Some of our team from Christ the King Church played against these boys, and the rest of us sat and watched while the neighborhood kids swarmed us.<br />
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<br />
As was the case most of the time, the kids were thrilled with the chance to get their picture taken, and see their image in the back of the camera.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBT8m_TMPaOz-0p3ZLQ5Y0JlGWnqAeDKvx-TvOrVxNzlkJI-UtXhkV7VQ3LUBisSsUKHz-3N-xot-B-lKQaivmHQxeH0hwijaLqOENRmYnZuCyBab-RE_z2O_Nj_1CxoR3H1940egmH1U/s1600/Misc.+Tanzania-34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBT8m_TMPaOz-0p3ZLQ5Y0JlGWnqAeDKvx-TvOrVxNzlkJI-UtXhkV7VQ3LUBisSsUKHz-3N-xot-B-lKQaivmHQxeH0hwijaLqOENRmYnZuCyBab-RE_z2O_Nj_1CxoR3H1940egmH1U/s400/Misc.+Tanzania-34.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
This is Adrain, hubby to the superbly awesome <a href="http://www.lemonademakinmama.com/" target="_blank">Lemonade Makin' Mama</a>.<br />
<br />
We sat with these kids, playing games, singing songs, and having a great time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicphyphenhyphenV6bQHoGJGOxL2nq4K7HJpDGJszQ7gCRwNDEx_uL4JHZlEYCZGLWy2-LokvXDbHFJhVxgtsC8p3PO_Vlz0CRHMEqs2jFh0I5PwLwFSxhemUluo7iJy_wSMxZsDnpHziLOyvIdoFtM/s1600/Misc.+Tanzania-47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicphyphenhyphenV6bQHoGJGOxL2nq4K7HJpDGJszQ7gCRwNDEx_uL4JHZlEYCZGLWy2-LokvXDbHFJhVxgtsC8p3PO_Vlz0CRHMEqs2jFh0I5PwLwFSxhemUluo7iJy_wSMxZsDnpHziLOyvIdoFtM/s400/Misc.+Tanzania-47.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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The kids were fabulous, as all the kids in Africa were. Happy and joyful and just amazing. However, they were thirsty, and we all had out bottles of water that we brought everywhere. That was the hardest part. We couldn't share our water, as we wouldn't have enough to go around and it wouldn't be wise anyway. Many of these kids were sick, and tuberculosis was common. Sharing water wouldn't help the kids, it would just spread disease.<br />
<br />
The water they had was scarce. A large reservoir filled with water was available for people to fill up jugs for their family, for a price. Considering the average family lives on less than a dollar a day, the cost of water is high so it isn't something families have a lot of.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvx3hREgUBIcw-ca7ViRdY5FCarhKqcJwHKy4Yl06H6VznqQLn1EY5UiTKEhguplYR-dUcYcJ4l6ymoTM7M7ZGCTX0GXrIJDCpKJSWVCazZOzQ2uD9GtWCnfksFDL6XvsjJlrg9fxXm6A/s1600/Misc.+Tanzania-27.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvx3hREgUBIcw-ca7ViRdY5FCarhKqcJwHKy4Yl06H6VznqQLn1EY5UiTKEhguplYR-dUcYcJ4l6ymoTM7M7ZGCTX0GXrIJDCpKJSWVCazZOzQ2uD9GtWCnfksFDL6XvsjJlrg9fxXm6A/s400/Misc.+Tanzania-27.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
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<br />
That which is available isn't of great quality, the kids' teeth are stained from what is in the water.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0VRddUTCO1MHPnJio6y5_Z66dvJ5cMPlZ5BRDnz_97YlrZ7bILJVWRYp4Ja1wqynhA0QIHCIapgAjMuA2lzuwcd6LL8yDm5BTGFVVuFeDGI9qkLnBECbAHq27rmDjJEIFhSo4Hra8qFk/s1600/Misc.+Tanzania-31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0VRddUTCO1MHPnJio6y5_Z66dvJ5cMPlZ5BRDnz_97YlrZ7bILJVWRYp4Ja1wqynhA0QIHCIapgAjMuA2lzuwcd6LL8yDm5BTGFVVuFeDGI9qkLnBECbAHq27rmDjJEIFhSo4Hra8qFk/s400/Misc.+Tanzania-31.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
Here we were, surrounded by thirsty children. And we had clean, pure water.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfIZPN-lLTcCicSv4kGX-V9weHl14uo2kizj0j1iwc4q6KRsAslrOIz9kOsQLhkvxFGxvK8JH3_H-Cn9OFain4z2smlzGAya6WdV5cg4QerOuCknrTGeXBmCpPVu9YHOyAQwo01-yt6k/s1600/Misc.+Tanzania-36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUfIZPN-lLTcCicSv4kGX-V9weHl14uo2kizj0j1iwc4q6KRsAslrOIz9kOsQLhkvxFGxvK8JH3_H-Cn9OFain4z2smlzGAya6WdV5cg4QerOuCknrTGeXBmCpPVu9YHOyAQwo01-yt6k/s400/Misc.+Tanzania-36.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
Matthew 25: 34-40<br />
<span class="text Matt-25-34" id="en-NIV-24043"><span class="woj"><sup class="versenum">34 </sup>“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. </span></span> <span class="text Matt-25-35" id="en-NIV-24044"><span class="woj"><sup class="versenum">35 </sup>For
I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you
gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, </span></span> <span class="text Matt-25-36" id="en-NIV-24045"><span class="woj"><sup class="versenum">36 </sup>I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’ </span></span><br />
<span class="text Matt-25-37" id="en-NIV-24046"><span class="woj"><sup class="versenum">37 </sup>“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink?</span></span> <span class="text Matt-25-38" id="en-NIV-24047"><span class="woj"><sup class="versenum">38 </sup>When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you?</span></span> <span class="text Matt-25-39" id="en-NIV-24048"><span class="woj"><sup class="versenum">39 </sup>When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’</span></span><br />
<span class="text Matt-25-40" id="en-NIV-24049"><span class="woj"><sup class="versenum">40 </sup>“The
King will reply, ‘Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the
least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.’ </span></span><br />
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These are <i>the least of these</i>. They were thirsty, and we could do nothing.<br />
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I stood on my patio, spraying pure, clean water to do nothing more than remove dirt and make it look pretty, and thought of these children and cried. It still haunts me, that time where we sat with <i>the least of these</i> and weren't able to give them a drink. I do know that we really couldn't have helped them, sharing our water would have brought them relief for a moment, but possibly have spread disease that would last. In an area that couldn't afford medical care, that would be devastating. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6NhUQKyTgGf5y6-jB0C-xE_FhtjJ1SYpnaHGMojTk2hXq_HV2QT6HDFs04AYGGynSuod61aLOxK_QQzz2zmXsJVgWTKLDlK3fwwWfiKtYmGQrgtN3_zO_03Gh2847J5DXsHps_gabbXo/s1600/Misc.+Tanzania-38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6NhUQKyTgGf5y6-jB0C-xE_FhtjJ1SYpnaHGMojTk2hXq_HV2QT6HDFs04AYGGynSuod61aLOxK_QQzz2zmXsJVgWTKLDlK3fwwWfiKtYmGQrgtN3_zO_03Gh2847J5DXsHps_gabbXo/s320/Misc.+Tanzania-38.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It was hard. It is still hard, on days when the gas line at Costco is long, or someone is rude at the grocery store, or when our power goes out for a few hours. It is hard to be frustrated in my selfish American way, and then the memories come back and humility sets in.<br />
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We live in an area that has so much, that some of our biggest inconveniences are waiting behind other wealthy people to buy whatever we want.<br />
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I am humbled.<br />
<br />
There was one little sweetheart in particular who touched me. I never got her name, and I don't even know for sure if it was a girl or a boy, but the painted toenails make me think it was a girl. She crawled up in my lap and cuddled close. Some of these children are orphans, some live with grandparents or relatives or are passed from relative to relative as none of their family has enough money to raise them on their own. Some live on the streets, where survival means following anyone who will feed you, so gangs and violence are common.<br />
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Safety is rare. Security is hard to come by.<br />
<br />
This little sweetie crawled up in my lap and within minutes, was sound asleep. Amidst the hustle and bustle of the noise of the other children, the soccer game, and the rest of our team singing and dancing, she found security in my arms, even if only for a short while.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivRu1j7pprUNw3OHUML1WqZAG9XidsAmmudonoUmY85KV3aWGE5rKfshKFQSrKFL6YPVCnT5QoKim2tUmhSKqt5wMA7BJiwAIKaKHciXnE2sIgmJoUn18DMW8FF10ex8OzZJ8oq6VWIzo/s1600/Misc.+Tanzania-68.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivRu1j7pprUNw3OHUML1WqZAG9XidsAmmudonoUmY85KV3aWGE5rKfshKFQSrKFL6YPVCnT5QoKim2tUmhSKqt5wMA7BJiwAIKaKHciXnE2sIgmJoUn18DMW8FF10ex8OzZJ8oq6VWIzo/s400/Misc.+Tanzania-68.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>
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We didn't speak the same language, but some conversations don't require words. So I held her. I held her as my arms started to ache and fall asleep, not moving at all for fear of waking her. I held her till the game was almost over, and her sister came and got her to take her back home, wherever that was.<br />
<br />
I sprayed my patio, listening to the sound of the pressure washer and the rhythm of the sprayer cleaning off the concrete. I remembered holding her, and although I couldn't give her what was obvious (water) I was able to give her something else. I wonder if she remembers me at all, or if this was just another day in her difficult life. I do know that I will never forget her.<br />
<br />
And I will never look at pressure washing the same way again.<br />
<br />
<i>Be sure to visit New Vision Soccer's website <a href="http://newvisionsoccer.org/" target="_blank">here</a>, and "like" them <a href="https://www.facebook.com/pages/NewVision-Soccer/248887468470089" target="_blank">on Facebook</a>. This is an amazing organization bringing hope to children who have none.</i><br />
<br />
Here's a link to a video New Vision made from the trip in August 2011:<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/TSXznhKT28g" width="420"></iframe>Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-33029780049141560752012-03-29T17:22:00.001-07:002012-03-29T17:22:34.723-07:00SurprisesIt has been a DAY.<br />
<br />
A day of tattling, whining, tattling, yelling, tattling, complaining, and tattling. My eye is twitching and even the cat has figured out that leaving me alone is really the safest option right now. This is not one of those days filled with joy and wonder of life viewed through the eyes of children, I am just ready for them to go to bed.<br />
<br />
I was in the kitchen making dinner, when I heard a bicker starting. I firmly believe that parents who involve themselves in every sibling spat are setting their children up to never be able to resolve conflict on their own, so I kept chopping chicken and waited to hear the inevitable escalation. When Emma came into the kitchen and started with the "Mooom?!?" I took a deep breath before I answered her.<br />
<br />
Exhale. Three hours till bedtime. <i>I can do this.</i> "Yes, dear?"<br />
<br />
"Mom, could you encourage Grant a little? He's drawing a lollipop and he doesn't think he is doing a great job, but he is doing really well. Do you think you could give him some encouragement so he will feel better about his drawing?"<br />
<br />
The concern in her voice sucked the remaining air out of my lungs, and I looked at her in awe. <br />
<br />
<i>Mama heart swoon.</i><br />
<br />
It is nice to have those little reminders every once in a while, amidst the challenges of four kids and the fighting that goes with that, that they really and truly do care about each other. <br />
<br />
Ben tried some encouragement of his own, "Gwant, that really is a good drawing. You are still a good draw-er, even if you are not as good as me!"<br />
<br />
OK, it's still a work in progress.Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-29208421198145948102012-03-27T10:38:00.002-07:002012-03-27T10:38:36.774-07:00Blissful Freedom<div style="text-align: center;">
Alrighty folks, it's official.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
After close to <i>eight years straight</i>, </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">thousands</span> of dollars spent, </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
countless <i>hours and hours</i> of my life,</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
many, many, <span style="font-size: large;">MANY</span> accidents involving bodily fluids on my legs and feet,</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I don't even want to know what we did to the landfills of our country,</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I have <i>finally</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>officially</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
changed the very last diaper I will <span style="font-size: large;"><b>ever change</b></span> on one of my children.</div>
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<br /></div>
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That's right,</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>Jack Jack is potty trained.</b></i></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(and the heavens open, the angels sing, and the Great Beam of Light comes down, basking me with Glory and Peace and a <b>much </b>nicer smelling house)</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I had all these plans for this time, rolling around in the buckets of money we would save, re-decorating my house with the extra time on my hands, and being filled with so much awesome at the new stage we have finally reached in our family. Instead, all the kids are going through a growth spurt at the same time, so all my buckets of money are going to food (seriously, one breakfast recently was two dozen eggs, a whole pineapple, a double batch of pancakes, and a whole package of bacon; and that was just the kids, Marty and I didn't eat,) which just leads to even more <a href="http://www.stillseekingsanity.com/2011/06/if-urine-is-sterile-can-i-bill-costco.html" target="_blank">trips to Costco</a> with one more boy who pees.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Still.</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Angel choir.</i></b></span></div>
<br />Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-23578997990842639922012-03-19T12:36:00.001-07:002012-03-19T12:36:30.576-07:00Even the Government Knows About Our CrazyI was recently having a conversation with my friend Kristen and we were talking about the square footage of our houses. Now, our house is small for America's standard for housing six people, but we make do. I thought our house was 1,300 square feet, but then Kristen said her house was 1,300 square feet, but her house has two living areas, and I just <i>know </i>it's bigger than mine. So I went on a hunt to see what the square footage of our house really is. Not that it matters, but I was curious.<br />
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Yes, this is sounding like a really boring blog post. But keep reading, <i>it gets better</i>. <br />
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Being that we live in an older double-wide mobile home, it's a perfect rectangle and measuring was easy. I measured the inside of the house, and included the walls and came up with 1,102 square feet. Marty said that was wrong because I needed to measure from the outside, but I don't think there is any way that I missed a whole 200 square feet just in the exterior walls. So I hit up the county assessor's website and checked, and it said our house was 1,323 square feet. I looked up Kristen's house and according to the assessor, the square footage is identical to ours at 1,323 square feet. <br />
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It is really weird that it's the exact same number, right?. Let's focus on <i>that</i> weirdage and not the fact that I actually looked up a friend's house on the assessor's website, <i>m'kay</i>?<br />
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I went back to the assessor's page for our house, and out of curiosity, clicked some of the other tabs. Didja know that there's tons of info available for every house on that site? It's really interesting. I looked under the "Property Image" tab, and was surprised to find a recent picture of our house, it looks like it was taken last spring or summer. The van is there, so we were home. I'm going to ignore the fact that somehow I didn't notice someone <i>photographing our house</i>. You can't tell from the picture, but the entire driveway area is fully fenced as well, so there's no way someone could just do a drive-by-picture. They actually entered our property and I didn't notice. Maybe I was busy cleaning up pee.<br />
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I was happy to see that amazingly, the flowerbeds looked pretty recently weeded and the sidewalk was relatively clear of toys and bikes. Of course, there is the ever-present grass growing in the driveway, but whatever. I like our house. It has very cute curb-appeal for being a 23 year old mobile home, <i>don'tchathink</i>?<br />
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Then I looked a bit closer. If you click on the picture, you can enlarge it a little and see what I saw. <br />
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Do you see it?<br />
<br />
Imagine my shock and laughter that erupted so loudly that everyone came running when I discovered that the <b>county assessor's website</b> has a picture of my cute little house, all sunny and cheery and looking adorable. <br />
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<i>With Drew standing in the windowsill.</i><br />
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<i><b>Topless. </b></i><br />
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Not only do I have this blog to document the challenges of raising this spirited child, now the government has photographic evidence as well.<br />
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Only my child. Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-63343577854408488242012-03-16T17:24:00.001-07:002012-03-16T17:24:12.172-07:00Today in a NutshellToday was typical, but different in that I intentionally wrote things down that were funny and/or cute so I could blog them. Here is today, in a nutshell. <br />
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This morning, in the mad rush to get Emma out the door and to the bus, I found Drew (a.k.a Jack Jack) who had made little steps out of his dresser drawers, teetering at the top trying to reach his backpack. While I am used to his antics, the memory of climbing my own dresser as a child and having it fall and being trapped underneath came rushing back. <strike>Luckily</strike> Purposefully, their dresser is long and wide instead of tall, so the danger of it tipping was quite minimal. But still. It's like he <i>wants</i> to go to the hospital again.<br />
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In true Jack Jack style, each of the four steps was perfectly spaced out from each other in an even, symmetrical stair-step pattern. He's like an OCD Evel Kenevil.<br />
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<i>Overheard this morning at the breakfast table:</i> <br />
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Ben: "You're grumpy, Grant."<br />
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Grant: (yelling) "NO I'M NOT!!"<br />
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Ben: "I found grumpy eyebrows on you."<br />
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Grant: (scowling) "When I'm done eating I'm gonna tackle you."<br />
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I almost choked trying not to laugh. Ah, the joy of five year old twins. I do have to say, I'm really proud that they are <i>using their words</i>.<br />
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Emma was perusing her baby book this morning. Her lovely, wonderfully scrapbooked album of memories, perfectly preserved and kept right next to the twins' empty scrapbooks, which still have the cellophane wrapped around them. Those are right next to the empty space that Drew's scrapbook might someday go if I ever buy one and/or get photos printed from his first year of life. Ahh, the progression of having four kids in four years. <br />
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Anywhoo, Emma was looking through the pictures, and exclaimed, "Oh, here's one of me crying with Daddy!" I lovingly responded, like the best mothers do, "he's probably picking on you." She came back with, "let me see here. Yup! he IS picking on me!" <br />
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Photographic evidence that the need for us to save for our kids' future therapy started <i>really</i> early.<br />
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We went to Costco. Yeah. My lovely husband met me on his lunch break, and we had a hot date with Costco hot dogs and a cart full of little boys. We got what we needed and as soon as we hit the checkout, Jack Jack predictably announced that he had to go potty, which set off a long string of boys exclaiming their need to pee. Marty innocently asked, "do you want to take them?" to which I replied, "no way, Jose. I don't want to take them to the bathroom, are you <b>nuts</b>?" <br />
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So he offered. And as he was taking the kids out of the cart, he said, "now there is one rule. Don't pee on each other, OK?" The man in line in front of us laughed, and commented, "that's a good rule right there." I responded, <strike>"dude, if you only knew"</strike> "well, we haven't always had the best of luck in this place."<br />
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Marty took them potty. I didn't ask how it went, but everyone seemed in good spirits and not reeking of urine when they came out of the bathroom, so I'll call it a successful Costco bathroom trip.<br />
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We picked Emma up from the bus, and headed straight out to get some groceries. On the way, I asked her, "How was your day today?" She responded quickly, almost like she was out of breath even starting. "Well, it was a good day, but I got my feelings hurt at last recess because a boy in Kindergarten made a sand castle at first recess, and by second recess it was gone, but I was building a big sand castle and he thought that I messed up his castle, but I didn't do anything, it was gone when I started building. But I built the biggest, most beautiful sand castle ever, and I went to go get some rocks to decorate it and he stomped all over it and wrecked it." Her voice wavered, and her eyes filled with unshed tears. I immediately responded, "oh, baby! I am so sorry, that would hurt my feelings, too." The twins were listening from the back of the van, and commiserated with her, Grant saying, "that's not fair, he shouldn't wreck your project!" Ben, calmly in his little-Ben way, said, "Emma, when I go to Kindergarten next year, you show me who he is, and <i>I'll</i> have a <i>talk</i> with <i>him</i>."<br />
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And this Mama grinned from ear to ear all the way to the Green Barn.<br />
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In another conversation, Grant asked for something at the Green Barn. The Green Barn is our local produce stand, it's awesome and fantastic and we love it. Anywhoo, Grant wanted "that thingy that I don't remember. But it's like Brussels Sprouts, but all scrunched up like leaves hooked together." I was intrigued. After carefully searching the Green Barn, he realized what he was wanting Savoy Cabbage, so we bought one. Now I have to figure out what to make with it in the next few days.<br />
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<i>Menu planning by the whims of children</i> is a common thing around here, as long as the whims of the children include veggies.<br />
<br />Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-36629025476628943852012-02-28T10:23:00.000-08:002012-02-28T12:23:51.601-08:00Blogging and facebook<b>UPDATE: OK, the word is <i>slipped</i>, not spilled. It was TOTALLY a contest to see who caught my typo, congrats to Shari! I mean, I would NEVER just completely replace a word with the wrong word, re-read it twice and not notice; it was obviously intentional and I am grateful that Shari figured it out! Grammar police, I am NOT holding a contest to count how many times I start a sentence with "and" or "but" or end with a preposition. Those I don't care about at all, and I'm going to pretend that's part of my charm. ;) </b><br />
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Original post, edited to fix the typo that Shari won the contest for:<br />
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I decided to give up facebook for lent. I know, for some it's not a <i>real</i> sacrifice, but for me, facebook was quickly becoming too much of a focus during the day. I could just hop on and read what people were up to, make a few comments and likes and then get up and get to work, but I was finding that I was <i>just hopping on for a quick couple of minutes</i> several times an hour. I would finish the dishes and one of the boys would want me to read him a story and I would tell him, "Sure, buddy, right after I check something on the computer really quick." Putting my children off for facebook is <i>never</i> a good thing. Having your focus on something that was not God or family is never a good thing either.<br />
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I wanted some time to get away from the draw of it all, and lent seemed like the perfect time to do it. I could take the time to re-adjust my focus and have the kids and my Bible become my first priority, have those things be what draws me after I finish the dishes after lunch. So far, it's going well.<br />
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Well, <i>kind of</i>.<br />
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I didn't realize how much I relied on the comments that would come after I posted something funny that the kids did. That is quite often my only interaction with grownups besides my husband, and I miss it. Quite often, something will happen, and I've already started mentally writing the facebook post in my head before it catches up to me that I won't be posting. That part is tough. I miss the comments, the back and forth that comes from an online chat with friends that can happen while the kids are screaming and I haven't showered.<br />
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And seriously, y'all, I <b>actually slipped on a banana peel</b> yesterday. <i>For reals.</i> I honestly didn't think that was actually possible, but I did it. The heel of my shoe landed on the edge of a peel that was right next to the garbage can (thank you, small children) and my heel went skidding forward and I tensed my leg in that way you do to try to keep from doing the splits, and I pulled my groin muscle <i>just a little bit</i> but enough that it hurt for the rest of the day.<br />
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It was a banana-peel injury. A banana-peeljury. A <b>banajury</b>.<br />
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<i>Clearly, I need to get out more.</i><br />
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Anywhoo, since Ash Wednesday, my house has been cleaner, I have started three or four new projects (but not finished any of them, <i>because some things never change</i>) and I have spent more time in the Bible. Those are good things. Well, the primed-but-not-painted laundry room is <i>half</i> of a good thing, but it will be a good thing when I am done. Until then, the laundry is just lined up against the hallway and is slowly creeping into the living room. But to be honest, just the dull, flat primer covering the <i>totally rad</i> late-eighties printed wallboard is a huge improvement, even with the blue painter's tape and the fact that we can't put the laundry hamper in there.<br />
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I will try to blog more often, but I kind of have this mental block that facebook statuses can be short but blog posts have to be long. I never used to be that way, and I'm going to try to get over it. I need to blog about things other than getting peed on at Costco, because while those posts do great things for my blog traffic, I hope to never have to post another one of those again. Sorry, folks, I like to be here for your entertainment, but a girl's gotta draw the line somewhere.<br />
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It's called <i>boundaries</i>, people. <br />
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(Although I did offer to get peed on for a dear friend recently who was having a bad day. I am willing to make sacrifices for those I care deeply about. That's love.)<br />
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Clearly, I'm starting to ramble, so I'll end this before I make an even bigger fool of myself, and I'll go get some more coffee. Oh, yeah, I started drinking coffee recently! I am kind of wondering how I survived the last ten years or so without it, but I'm learning quickly. Coffee with creamer and some hot cocoa mix is fabulous, by the way. <br />
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If you wouldn't mind, could you kindly leave a comment on this post so I know you read it, and to save me from the rapidly approaching insanity? I love comments. And coffee. Thanks, you guys rock!Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-54376013350604193502012-02-02T19:12:00.000-08:002012-02-02T19:26:42.891-08:00Costco, RevisitedWe went to Costco yesterday.<br />
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Not noteworthy for most people, I know. But if you have been around Still Seeking Sanity for any length of time, you know that <a href="http://www.stillseekingsanity.com/2011/06/if-urine-is-sterile-can-i-bill-costco.html">Costco and my kids have a history</a>.<br />
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And sometimes, even when you do your darndest to stop it, history repeats itself.<br />
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<b>Yeah.</b><br />
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So my whole plan in Costco has been to avoid the bathrooms at all costs. It seemed like a reasonable plan, but I forgot the diaper bag yesterday and Drew had filled his diaper to the point that the ever-popular <i>scrape-out-the-bulk-of-it-and-line-it-with-paper-towels</i> backup plan wasn't an option (oh come on, you know you've done that); so he was wearing undies while we were out running errands. And as any mother of a not-quite potty-trained child knows, if the kid says he has to pee, you take him to pee.<br />
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Even if you are in Costco.<br />
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We had a chat as we walked down the hallway. It went something like this, "You will not pee on each other. At all. Got it?"<br />
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I know, that's <i>quality parenting at it's best</i> right there.<br />
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Ben was walking down the hallway playing with all the padlocks on the employee lockers and apparently not listening to his mother, because he missed the memo.<br />
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So into the bathroom we went. Emma into her own stall, and the boys and I in another. I like to keep them close, so I can<i> monitor the flow</i>, if you will.<br />
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But I only have two eyes, and there are three flows. I kept an eye on Grant, to make sure he got his pants down far enough so we wouldn't have a repeat performance. I watched Drew, who is still learning and is likely to "miss". However I didn't watch Ben, who was trying to sword-fight with his brother's, uhm, <i>stream</i> and decided that the best place to cross his stream with Grant's was just as it was leaving Grant's body.<br />
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So basically, in a nutshell, Ben peed on Grant's legs and pants <i>on purpose</i>.<br />
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Once again, I didn't know it was happening at the time. Grant started screaming as I was holding Drew up to the level he needed to be, and I didn't see it at first. Then Grant hollered, "BEN! You are peeing on my legs!" To which I said something calm, cool, and collected, something like, <span style="font-size: large;"><i><b>"Are you freaking kidding me?!? What did I say about not peeing on each other this time?!? Ben, what on earth are you thinking?!?"</b></i></span><br />
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And the mother of the year award goes to....<br />
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<i>Probably not me.</i> <br />
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Emma, who was a couple of stalls down, yelled "Seriously, they peed on each other AGAIN?!?" And I didn't even want to think about what everyone else was thinking, because like every time this happens, <i>every stall was full</i>.<br />
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Thankfully, it wasn't the entire bladder's full. And thankfully, Grant was wearing warm-up pants so it all wiped off pretty easily.<br />
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And I had a sudden, earth-shattering realization of how crazy my life actually is when I replied to my daughter across a full public bathroom, "Don't worry, honey, it was just a little bit of pee and it is cleaning up pretty easily. No big deal, it's not as bad as last time."<br />
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<br />Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-68080233143091026682012-01-26T10:44:00.000-08:002012-01-26T10:49:23.128-08:00Cat vs Tooth Fairy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Emma lost a tooth late last night.<br />
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It was assisted slightly by my darling husband, who has a tendency to assist children in losing loose teeth without even knowing that he is helping. What a guy.<br />
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Anywhoo, she was in bed and called out, "My <span style="font-size: large;">tooth</span>! I lost a <span style="font-size: large;">tooth</span>!!" She was so excited, and we went in to cheer with her, both of us showing our excitement and joy while wracking our brains to figure out if we had a dollar in our wallets.<br />
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After the celebration and subsequent <i>necessary showing of the tooth to the brothers</i>, she headed off to bed and we found a dollar, rolled it up an waited for her to fall asleep.<br />
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However, Emma sleeps with her cat. And we could hear her in her room, talking to her cat. "If I wake up and there's no tooth, and no dollar, then I know you ate the Tooth Fairy. That's not OK. Teddy, <b>do not eat</b> the Tooth Fairy, understand?!?"<br />
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OK, anyone who knows us knows that we couldn't just let that one go.<br />
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And hopefully, the cat learned his lesson. I mean, really. You don't ever take on Fairy Tale creatures, that's just common sense.<br />
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Here's the sweet girl, who apparently slept through the whole battle. When she woke and figured out what had happened, she saw the cat fur and Fairy Dust on her sheets next to her pillow and exclaimed, "Oh, this must be where it all started!"<br />
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On her floor, not under her pillow was a half-hazard tooth tin, a slightly ripped dollar, and a toothbrush. The Tooth Fairy must have been so tired after the fight with the cat that she couldn't bring everything back up onto the bed. I can't blame her, that was probably <i>exhausting</i>.<br />
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Luckily the Tooth Fairy left a note so we know she was OK. The Tooth Fairy has really small handwriting, it must be because she is so small. The note reads, <i>"Wow, that's one tough cat! Don't worry, I got away and I'm OK. Sorry about his fur. It will grow back. Love, Tooth Fairy"</i> The dollar was mangled and covered in Fairy Dust, and the tin held some Fairy Dust and cat fur.<br />
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Emma's new toothbrush, broken open and also covered in Fairy Dust and cat fur. Apparently, she beat him off with it. At least she's a resourceful little Fairy!<br />
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And the cat, looking mildly ticked off, missing a couple of hunks of fur, and slightly glitter-y between the eyes.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Y6aGiGFGstGMLkXgmeDUex0DCTyXM-Fpi0l3bv2oH8uSTbQZ6uoTOSatzjQs8P6KjHNZ9Y7RuJQThWOzhwZC7HcGlu3iu53Oz-kVsnye1Sl5dLSe2G3Hpt737C2ySpd1FZn_17ty7KM/s1600/Cat+vs+Tooth+Fairy-6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Y6aGiGFGstGMLkXgmeDUex0DCTyXM-Fpi0l3bv2oH8uSTbQZ6uoTOSatzjQs8P6KjHNZ9Y7RuJQThWOzhwZC7HcGlu3iu53Oz-kVsnye1Sl5dLSe2G3Hpt737C2ySpd1FZn_17ty7KM/s400/Cat+vs+Tooth+Fairy-6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Don't ask.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Unfortunately, we will never know exactly what happened between Teddy and the Tooth Fairy, as there were no witnesses. I hope the Tooth Fairy comes back again, it seems like it was quite the battle. And I'm not sure the cat will ever be the same.<br />
<br />
As for Emma, she seems curious and slightly baffled. I am interested in hearing her reaction when she comes home from school and has had some time to think it over. She cuddled the cat this morning, offering her sympathy for what he went through last night while gently scolding him for attacking the Tooth Fairy. He was not amused.<br />
<br />
I just hope he doesn't try to get revenge some night when I am sleeping. I might want to start sleeping with some Fairy Dust....Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-75986126742308128142011-12-23T13:58:00.000-08:002011-12-23T13:58:45.338-08:00Of Christmas PastChristmas is truly one of my very favorite days. I love it. I love the family, the memories, the joy and the love.<br />
<br />
In 2009, <a href="http://www.stillseekingsanity.com/2009/12/best-christmas-ever.html" target="_blank">I blogged about our Christmas</a>, thinking it would be the last of it's kind. However, 2010 was not wrought with the pain that we expected. Christmas 2010 looked close to the same as the year before, and it was awesome.<br />
<br />
We spent Christmas Eve with my side of our family in Seattle. The kids did great and Emma only caught her hair on fire a little bit. Then we attended the Christmas Eve candlelight service at the church I grew up in, which was a tradition in my life up until I moved up north and had a family of my own. My children behaved, and Grant fell asleep in my mom's lap, allowing me the privilege and honor of serving my mother communion as she sat with my sleeping child laying across her. The look on Emma's face in the candlelight as we all sang 'silent night' brought me to tears, it was beautiful.<br />
<br />
<i>These</i> are the things that make Christmas.<br />
<br />
The next day, we did the usual morning events and visiting Marty's mom and family, then off for a visit with Marty's Grandpa, who had cancer and wasn't expected to live much longer. The kids sang 'happy birthday, Jesus' for him, and he loved it. He asked them all their bible verses and was thrilled when Emma told him that she had accepted Jesus into her heart. It was a short visit, but very powerful.<br />
<br />
It was the last time we saw him alive.<br />
<br />
These are the things I want to remember, the memories I want to hold onto. These are treasures to store in the heart; not toys or presents or stockings or Santa, but <i>Jesus</i>.<br />
<br />
This Christmas will look different. 2011 was hard on our circle of friends and family that we hold close, many that we love will be spending their first Christmas in heaven this year. That is fabulous for them, but painful for us. It hurts to miss those that we love, whether they have moved on to Heaven or are still here, just not quite themselves.<br />
<br />
It <i>looks</i> different.<br />
<br />
I will hold these memories close to my heart, and I will make new memories this year. At this time next year, I don't know how different it will look again. So I will take mental pictures and real pictures and spend time with those that I love. I will store these treasures in my heart to pull out again later and revisit the memories. This Christmas, I will try to <i>love like Jesus</i>.<br /><br />
As I remind my kids often, it's His birthday, not theirs. It's not about what is under the tree, it's about Who came to this world to die on a tree to save us. We are so very blessed to celebrate the birth of our Savior with family and friends, and we are so very thankful that He wants to share His birthday with us. <br />
<br />
How will you spend your Christmas?Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-27894339040371923892011-11-29T09:38:00.001-08:002011-11-29T11:26:53.748-08:00Of Babies and Big Boy BedsYesterday morning at 6:14 am, my sister-in-law (and amazing boss) gave birth to her first child, my newest nephew. Welcome to the world, Justin Roy Parsons!<br />
<br />
Let me tell you, he is a cutie. I went to the hospital for a quick visit and seeing him there, wrapped up in his mama's arms made my poor, retired uterus do a flip-flop. I'd like to think that it was because I love the newborn stage, where the sweet lil babe is so loving and dependent on Mom, there is no talking back or whining yet, and they don't run away. To be honest, though, my uterus was just protesting any ideas that might have come into my head at that moment. We are done having children of our own. But bring on the nieces and nephews!<br />
<br />
The kids were excited, they were not able to visit the hospital, but marveled over pictures of the sweet babe. We were a bit concerned about Drew's reaction, he has been the baby of the family for close to three years now, and loves his baby status. <br />
<br />
"Drew, thank you for doing your chores. You are such a big boy!" is usually met with a defiant, "No, I's not a big boy, I's a BABY!"<br />
<br />
Yup. We were worried about how he would feel, being replaced.<br />
<br />
So I showed the kids the first texted picture as they woke up in the morning, and asked them, "do you know who this baby is?" They studied the picture, faces pressed in close to each other and right up to the phone, and agreed that they didn't know. "It's your new cousin Justin! Auntie Amy had her baby this morning!" They all squealed with glee, bouncing up and down, then returning to the phone to study him again. <br />
<br />
Emma: "Awww!" <br />
<br />
Grant: "He's so cute!" <br />
<br />
Drew: "He's a baby, <b>just like ME</b>!"<br />
<br />
<i>Hoo, boy.</i><br />
<br />
We had quite a few talks throughout the day. Talks about what babies do and what they can't do, like talking and walking and running and rolling. What to expect from their new cousin, "Do you think you can play rough with him, or should you be very gentle?" Ben: "Gentle, because he's just a little baby and we don't want to break him!" Talks about different baby things, like volume and tickling. I want them to be prepared to be the best cousins they can be.<br />
<br />
Throughout the course of the day, Drew seemed to get it. He wasn't a baby, he was a big boy. And he wanted to do big boy things. "Mommy, we get home, I wear big boy undies?" "When we get home, you want to put on your big boy undies and go peepee in the potty?" "Yeah!"<br />
<br />
Well, OK then.<br />
<br />
<i>--Fast forward to after dinner.-- </i><br />
<br />
The rest of the evening was chaos. There was something in the air that made small children scream, hit, throw things and tattle. Drew spend quite a bit of time in time-out, throwing the biggest fit I have <strike>seen</strike> heard in a very long time. Yup, even bigger than that annoying kid at the mall that you wish his parents would just take home because you are going deaf, and you are two stores down. It was a huge, massive, sobbing, screaming fit that just wouldn't end.<br />
<br />
Finally, I just scooped my screaming, fit throwing boy up, changed him into jammies, and put him to bed. <br />
<br />
As many of you know, Drew sleeps in Emma's old crib (which was also Grant's old crib) with a crib tent that we bought him a while back to keep him <i>in</i> the crib. The crib tent was awesome, and kept our little Houdini contained, which made for two happier parents, since we weren't constantly listening with one ear to see if we could hear him dancing on the crib rail again. He got a concussion at nineteen months by climbing out of the crib, but we didn't want to move him to a toddler bed because he shares the room with his twin brothers, and the room isn't padded on all walls <i>or</i> completely empty. However, the kids liked to climb in the crib tent and play, and a couple of weeks ago Ben broke the zipper on the crib tent so it didn't close anymore. We solved that problem by turning the crib around so the opening was up against the wall, we just had to slide the crib whenever we got him in or out of it. After four kids, you get creative.<br />
<br />
Now, here's the thing. Remember a couple of years ago when all those cribs got recalled and we were all supposed to get retro-fit kits to fix them? <i>Yeah.</i> Well, I got on the website of the manufacturer of our crib, and couldn't ever get the kit. I entered the model number and the site said it wasn't a valid number. Our crib was still in good shape, it was our fourth and final child, and he was over a year old and not at risk of the suffocation danger that prompted the whole recall in the first place, so I just didn't worry about it. Over time, the crib started to weaken and I could see why it was recalled, so I tried again and still was told that it wasn't a valid number. I could have just contacted customer service, but I never did. Either I chose not to or I got distracted as something important was peed on, I don't know. Either way, the crib was weakening, I didn't have the retrofit kit, and sliding the crib out from the wall all the time wasn't helping matters.<br />
<br />
So I did what any <strike>caring, rule-following mother</strike> caring, loving mother of <i>four kids</i> would do. I grabbed a bundle of zip-ties and zip-tied the rail to the support bars myself. Problem solved!<br />
<br />
Right?<br />
<br />
<i>Well....</i><br />
<br />
Last night, after the joys of new babies and massive fits, I put my screaming, fit throwing boy to bed. I don't know how he managed it (but let's be honest here, I never know how he manages to do the things he does) but he broke the zip ties and the whole side fell off the crib, sending it <i>and</i> my almost three year old to the ground. Luckily, he was in the crib tent which managed to slow his descent and break the fall. He wasn't hurt (thank the Lord) but the crib was broken.<br />
<br />
Broken crib+broken crib tent+child who makes the nice poison control people say things like, "wow, that's impressive"=not a good situation.<br />
<br />
I tried to fix the crib. I thought I would just get a bunch of screws and screw the thing in place, it had zero value so who cares how it looks if it's just going to last another little while, right? But the screws weren't long enough to hold it strongly enough.<br />
<br />
So, once again, I got creative.<br />
<br />
I grabbed the duct tape. I duct taped that sucker up, shook it a bit and got it nice and sturdy. I was impressed. I stood back and admired my work, and then it hit me. I was <i>actually</i> going to place my almost three year old in a crib that was held together with duct tape and had broken strands of zip-tie dangling from one corner? Was I competing for some sort of Jeff Foxworthy special? Was I an<i> idiot</i>?<br />
<br />
<i>And most importantly, if this fails, how on earth will I explain that at the ER?!?</i><br />
<br />
Imaginary scenarios stared running through my head. The doctor asked, "How did your child break his arm?" and I have to answer, "well, his crib broke because I never got the mandatory retrofit kit for it, I just used zip ties instead. Then the zip ties broke and he fell out, but I just duct taped it together again, I mean, really, duct tape is definitely designed to keep our furniture together to keep our kids safe! Seriously, I had <b>no idea</b> that this wouldn't work."<br />
<br />
And then, in my mind, CPS came to take my kids away and I was sent to a nice relaxing vacation in the psych ward.<br />
<br />
I stared at the crib and sighed. The crib is designed to be a toddler bed by removing the side rail that happened to fall off. "Hey, buddy," I asked Drew, "how would you like to sleep in a big boy bed tonight?"<br />
<br />
He was over the moon excited. So we talked. We talked about our expectations, that if he was going to be a big boy, he would have to stay in his bed and not get out to bug his brothers.<br />
<br />
And he <span style="font-size: large;">actually</span> listened.<br />
<br />
So proud of his new big-boy status that was created by the morning birth of his new baby cousin, Baby Jack Jack laid down his title of Baby and became a big boy last night. <br />
<br />
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<br />
This morning, I was in bed when he came into my room for his morning snuggle. As he opened my door, I realized that we had hit a "last" yesterday. Yesterday morning was the last time I would hear, "Mommy! I'm awake now, I wanna get up now!" in a fun singsong voice.<br />
<br />
The baby stage is ending.<br />
<br />
And today, my newly crowned Big Boy is wearing Spiderman undies, because Big Boys are potty trained, and he wants to be potty trained, too.<br />
<br />
<i>Calm down, uterus. We've got other people's babies to hold now.</i><br />
<br />
<br />Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-34288596371347306392011-11-14T11:52:00.001-08:002011-11-14T11:52:41.641-08:00Not Me! Monday!Welcome to Not Me! Monday! Truly one of my favorite blog posts, Not Me! Monday! is fabulous. She's a smart one, that<a href="http://mycharmingkids.net/" target="_blank"> MckMama</a>.<br />
<br />
During
my computer time this morning, I clicked on my Blogger dashboard and
saw that I was down a follower. I don't like to lose followers, but I
can't say that I blame them because although there are truly funny blog
posts that happen here, they really don't do you all any good if they
never get <i>out of my head and onto the computer</i>. So I made the decision to stop right here and blog for you.<br />
<br />
You're welcome. <br />
<br />
<br />
I did NOT make up imaginary situations in my head where
the lost follower just gave up Internet for the sake of becoming Amish,
so drawn by a baggie of friendship bread that someone gave them at the
office that they have decided through many hours of <i>mashing the bag</i>
that that way of life was truly their calling, and in the process they
deleted their Blogger account to pursue a simpler life filled with
bonnets, aprons, and churning butter. NOPE, I would NOT convince myself
of that rather than admitting that the lost follower probably just
consciously said something like, 'Tiff never blogs anymore. Delete!' <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">a-HEM.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
<br />
<br />
I am NOT supposed to be fixing my bathroom sink right now while I sit and blog for you in the hopes that someone else doesn't <strike>stop following</strike>
become Amish. NOPE, our bathroom sink is NOT so clogged that water
never drains, and we have NOT had standing water in that sink for a few
days straight. We do NOT have to use the other bathroom for everything
lest we try to rinse out toothbrushes and inadvertently immerse them in
the nasty water that has been sitting there for days. You know, like
when you use a public bathroom and when you wipe, you mis-judge the
bum-to-water distance and end up dragging your knuckles into
public-toilet water, making you jump and throw up in your mouth a
little; even though the toilets in Target are probably ten times cleaner
than your own sadly neglected toilet at home, since Target toilets get
cleaned daily and you have three boys that pee everywhere.<br />
<br />
Anywhoo. What in the world was I talking about?<br />
<br />
<br />
Oh, yeah. So on my to do list today is to fix the
sink and clean out the freezer. We have a side of beef coming tomorrow
and I want it to be all pretty and organized.<br />
<br />
<br />
Speaking of, we took the entire family after church on Sunday to
make a Costco run, and wandered aimlessly (which my husband just LOVES,
he does NOT get impatient at Costco AT ALL) and loaded up on
groceries. <br />
<br />
<br />
We passed by the CARS 2 display, and I managed to sneak a copy into the cart without any of the four <b>highly observant children</b>
noticing. I did NOT accidentally sneak it past my own husband,
however. We are ALWAYS on the same page and I would NEVER think that he
would <b>totally get</b> that <i>"I'm going to go look at these Wheat Thins over here!"</i> actually means <i>"Distract them so I can get CARS 2 without them seeing!" </i>And then when I say,<i> "everyone look at Daddy and bat your eyelashes at him and he will give you a sample of that snack over there," </i>I do NOT think that he understands that it is code for<i> "Now I am going to slip this movie into the cart between the meatballs and the bottled water!"</i><br />
<br />
<br />
NOPE. I do NOT forget, quite often, that <i>my husband cannot read my mind</i>.<br />
<br />
<br />
OK, in case you were wondering what a side of beef had to do with
the Costco run, I did NOT burst into tears yesterday as I completely
re-arranged the pantry to make room for all the new purchases. I did
NOT feel completely overwhelmed at the vast amount of food we had for
our family as I remembered bringing five pounds of flour and five pounds
of cornmeal to people in the slums of Kenya, and how incredibly
grateful they were for those seemingly small, insignificant things. I
looked at my pantry and thought of how many meals we could make for the
starving children in Kenya and I cried. We are so very blessed, and I
never want to forget it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
OK, moving on.<br />
<br />
<br />
I did NOT once again decide to vacuum the computer, which led to
vacuuming the cords under the desk, which eventually led to re-arranging
the entire living room. NOPE, I do NOT do things on a whim like that.
And I certainly do NOT do these <i>whimsy things</i> while my husband
is at work, it would make much more sense to have a big strong man
around when pushing furniture. I most certainly do NOT do stuff like
this on purpose so that I can do it my way and not have to stop while he
says, "you know, what if we tried it like <i>this</i>?" to which I would say something like, "hey, this was my idea, why do you think you get an opinion?!? It's not like you <i>live here</i> or somet... oh, wait."<br />
<br />
<br />
Marriage advice from me: If you want something done your way,
without any other opinions, wait till he's at work. I know, I should
write a marriage book. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
p.s.: My hubby loved the living room update. And if he hadn't, I
wouldn't have minded at all if he wanted to move it all back the way it
was. He would have had to do all the moving himself, however, but I
wouldn't have minded at all!<br />
<br />
<br />
p.p.s.: I love the Amish. And bonnets. And butter. Kinda like
how I fully respect homeschooling and the Duggers; it's a great way of
life, just not for me.<br />
<br />
<br />
p.p.p.s.: The living room update has actually led to a bit of a
technical error in out house, where we actually have to disconnect the
home phone to open the pantry. That's on the to-do-list for tomorrow,
but since I put off today's list to blog for you all it might not be
fixed till 2014. It happens.Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-20108118013827919192011-10-25T09:44:00.000-07:002011-10-25T09:44:21.320-07:00He's Actually Human After AllDrew. Oh, Drew.<br />
<br />
My fourth and final child, the two year old spitfire who loves life and finds joy (and chaos) at every turn. The one who seems to defy all rules, including the laws of gravity and every child-proofing device ever made.<br />
<br />
I never thought I'd find something that could stop him. From his first concussion at nineteen months to the fact that he can do a twenty five piece puzzle with all the pieces flipped over so he can't see the picture, he is <i>not normal</i>. I have never met a two year old that can do what this kid can do.<br />
<br />
For a while, I thought he was unstoppable.<br />
<br />
Until now.<br />
<br />
It was last week. I was in the kitchen, prepping and freezing 50 pounds of chicken when I heard from the living room. <i>"Mommy, help! I's stuck!"</i> Being the attentive, responsive, caring mother I am, I replied, "Well, get un-stuck then!"<br />
<br />
It didn't work. After some pretty serious wailing, I washed the raw chicken off my hands and went to investigate what exactly it was that caused this child, this unusually strong and independent child, to be stuck and unable to move.<br />
<br />
I saw it. And then I laughed.<br />
<br />
Mr. Crazy had been climbing in the windowsill again. He knows he is not supposed to, he knows that he gets in trouble every time, but he also knows that when Mommy is covered in raw chicken, it's gonna take a lot to get her to come check things out.<br />
<br />
We had decorated for Halloween.<br />
<br />
My dear unstoppable child was stuck in a tangled mess of polyester spiderweb, long strings of white web hooked around the latches of his firefighter jacket. He looked at me, his eyes huge and scared, wrapped up in web that still hung from the top of the windowsill.<br />
<br />
Apparently, Halloween decorations aren't just for decorating. And spider webs are extremely strong and catch-y, even the fake kind. <br />
<br />
I'mma gonna have to remember that, and file that information away for future use. <br />
<br />
So if you ever come over and find fake spiderwebs hanging from my windows in July, don't judge me, m'kay?<br />
<br />
<br />Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-87503437291770414282011-10-17T10:15:00.000-07:002011-10-17T10:15:13.982-07:00Random Ramblings About Cars And FencesMan, it's hard to get back into he swing of blogging.
I feel like I need something big to happen in order to blog about it, but I never was that way before. What is it about taking a break that totally throws off your bloggy groove? I have no idea.<br />
<br />
So let's see, what's been going on? Life is crazy, as usual, and we are fully into the swing of fall. Although I did take the boys to pre-school this morning and found myself driving to Emma's school instead. That's what I get for driving while having an imaginary conversation with someone from the PTO at the elementary school, I end up <i>going to the elementary school</i>.<br />
<br />
Yup. I'm brilliant.<br />
<br />
I got my first speeding ticket in a very long time this weekend. That was fun. I was mostly disappointed because I finally had the money to go get the bookcase I have been wanting forever and ever and instead I get to support our county sheriff's office. And the cop had no interest in having a conversation so I could try and talk my way out of the ticket, I didn't stand a chance. But what was more frustrating was the fact that almost immediately after I called my husband to tell him, he facebooked this:<br />
<br />
<i>Hey Tiff Stauffer,
c'mon down, you are the next contestant on "Here's Your Ticket!" At
least you are supporting the struggling state budget, right??!? $144,
but then again, I do get to tease you for a while. Might just be worth
it!!</i><br />
<br />
Thanks, babe. Because I <i>totally wanted </i>all of our friends and family to find out. You are so helpful.<br />
<br />
Of course, I took the high road <i>again</i> (because I'm such a good person) and didn't respond back about the fact that a couple of years ago, he got a ticket for speeding through a school zone while on a cell phone and got pulled over right in front of his sister's house as his niece and nephew were getting off the bus. And that he didn't have proof of insurance in his car, and gave the officer his business card instead, hoping that the fact that <i>he is an insurance agent</i> would work.<br />
<br />
Nope, I didn't bring that up at all.<br />
<br />
a-HEM.<br />
<br />
Luckily, I didn't even have to think about letting everyone in Facebook-land know that he backed his car into the fence last week, after my saying several times, "if you park there, you will back into the fence someday," because he was nice enough to bring it up first.<br />
<br />
Maybe he is a good guy after all.<br />
<br />
Love you, honey!<br />
<br />
<br />Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1790259204654194796.post-10026862269229482882011-10-14T16:22:00.000-07:002011-10-14T16:22:25.002-07:00I Killed Woody WoodpeckerYup, it's true.
Although I still maintain that Woody just <i>tried to take on my van and lost</i>.<br />
<br />
I think we have all had those experiences, you know where a bird flies right in front of your car and you swear there is no way you <i>couldn't</i> have <i>not</i> hit it. (Don'tcha love the double-negative?) Lemme tell ya, from my experience today, <b>you'd know</b>.<br />
<br />
Because it comes with a very jolting thump. And if you're super-special, you might also get a bit of bird guts flying up and landing on your windshield.<br />
<br />
Guess what?!? I'm super-special!! <br />
<br />
So I was on the phone with my hubby at the time. The birdie came swooping in from the side, and then there was the whole thump-and-guts thing. I might have screamed. Or gasped. I don't know.<br />
<br />
All I know is I started yelling to my husband what had happened (because as we all know, <i>yelling</i> information over the phone is much more effective than simply <i>speaking</i> information when you are startled) to which he responded in the sweetest, most understanding way- by accusing me of being a bird-killer.
What do you do if your darling, adorable, least-sensitive-man-in-the-world husband responds to your upset-ed-ness by calling you a <b>murderer</b>?<br />
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Well, I don't know what you would do. But I took the <i>high road</i>. I was the <i>grown up</i>. I was <i>mature</i> in my response, allowing <i>no morsel</i> of revenge to take place.<br />
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Or, I pulled over and took a picture of the bird, still embedded in the front of my van, and texted it to him.<br />
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You will have to guess which one of these things I chose to do.<br />
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Oh, and by the way, removing a dead birdie who is still warm from it's position half-way under your hood is a very sad thing. And you might not realize that your kids are watching the whole thing. And you might feel bad about just putting it in the gas station garbage can, but you don't dare bring it into the van to bring it home for a proper burial.<br />
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Because good heavens, do you know what would happen if Drew got a hold of a dead bird?!?<br />
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After a quick Google search I identified it as a Pacific Northwest hairy woodpecker. And that made me sad, because I love woodpeckers.<br />
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Anywhoo, I did the <i>grown-up mature</i> thing again and answered the kids' questions about the bird. And then I did the <del>brilliant</del> slightly dysfunctional move of using this as a life lesson in why we don't cross the street without looking, or we might get hit by a car and die and leave nothing but a severed wing in the road as the only piece of evidence that your life has ended in such a horrible, tragic way.<br />
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OK, I didn't go <i>that</i> far. But I did remind them of the bird the next day when Drew tried to run straight into the parking lot without looking. <br />
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Killing Woody the Woodpecker with your car -<i> the life lesson that keeps on giving.</i>Tiffhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04532340067482088353noreply@blogger.com1