tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3526364398032312732023-11-16T14:02:02.833-05:00An Awful SweetnessKristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-85822038750433622602019-04-24T00:59:00.000-04:002019-04-24T00:59:00.455-04:00So here we are. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">February 20, 2019 April 15, 2019</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There are 7.5 weeks between
these two pictures. The first was taken just before I started BBG. I am now
halfway through the BBG 12-week program and in week 4 of FWTFL. I am stronger,
leaner, and lighter. I sleep better, I have more energy consistently and
readily available throughout the day. I weighed 170lbs on the left and have no idea how much I weigh now, but honestly wouldn't be surprised if the difference was minimal as I have put on a considerable amount of muscle. I accomplished this without pills, meal
replacements, or any extraordinary measures, and I’m proud of that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Despite a deep and hard-fought
respect for my body, sharing these pictures is not easy for me. I understand and
respect my body so much differently now at 36 than I did in my 20s, but I still
struggle with comparison, and even comparisons against my younger, though not
necessarily healthier, self. I also don’t want to imply in any way that I look
at my body at the beginning of this journey and think any less of it, or myself.
That body in that form was healing from growing a new life and giving birth for
a third time. The postpartum period has, for me, never been a predictable transition, and l think it’s necessary to show postpartum bodies in all their forms. Some
women bounce right back and some don’t. Some women do this once and some a
dozen. But no matter our individual journeys to and through motherhood,
we are all held to the same worldly standard of physical ideal, and I think we
have all wondered at least once if we are the only one occupying the uncomfortable space in
which we find ourselves in that strange time after. That time when we’re no
longer celebrating a drastically changed body because it’s pregnant, nor are we
receiving praise for a body that we’ve quickly put back together. So for that reason and so many others I am sharing my truth and
showing what at least one postpartum body can look like - for women who could
benefit from the camaraderie and for men and women alike who could benefit
from the reality.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">With the exception of being lightened so
you can actually see me, these are unfiltered and unedited. If I ever had more
than five seconds to take them they might be better composed, or maybe I would
have pushed the laundry out of the way. But I also like that it’s there and
these are perfectly imperfect shots, because this is what life really is every
time I make the choice to give back some time to myself. It is always a choice
for me over something else. The work of life is never done. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have nothing but positive
feedback to give about the BBG program. There are more intense, more equipment-centered, heavy lifting methods of building strength, but if
you, like me, need a focused, efficient resistance workout with minimal
equipment, this is for you. I enjoy getting to the gym for the community aspect
and to work out on equipment occasionally, but with three small kids, a busy job, a husband with an equally busy job, and the endless demands of home,
this is my speed right now. And it’s FANTASTIC! I’ve done BBG exclusively for 7
weeks, could have probably gone up in weight a few weeks back, but kept putting
off buying next size dumbbells, and still... here we are.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">BBG and Instagram are
near-synonymous these days, but in case you’ve never heard of it or are curious
to hear more about it, here’s my take. Yes, it’s trendy, and I avoided it for a
long time for that lone, dumb reason. It’s trendy because it works – as any
program will if you commit to following it, but the structure of this one is
what makes it a good fit for me and where I am right now in life. The basic
program runs for 12 weeks. Each week consists of 3 resistance workouts – one arms
and abs, one legs, and one full body. Each workout is broken down into two
circuits of four exercises each that you try to complete as many laps of as
possible in a 7 minute segment. The two circuits alternate until you have done
each circuit twice for a total of 28 minutes. There are one minute breaks
between circuits if you need them or you can skip through. The Sweat app (which
I have and love) prompts you through each workout, with a little hologram Kayla
Itsines (the founder) demonstrating each move. There are modifications for some of the harder
moves, which is much appreciated in the beginning as you’re building strength and
endurance. Each workout also includes a cool down at the end, which in my
slightly older age I also highly recommend. The workouts are very hard, you
will be dripping sweat everywhere, but it’s over before you know it and the results,
I think, speak for themselves. To be able to give myself back this strength working
out at home with $100 in equipment (a few sets of 5-10lb dumbbells, a flat bench, and a yoga mat) for about 90 minutes of time invested a week
is invaluable. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">BBG also alternates cardio, both
low and high impact, in between resistance training days. I have not done
cardio AT ALL consistently, maybe managing a run 1-2 a week in a GOOD week and
can only imagine what my results would have been had I had the luxury of a
treadmill or babysitter on demand to get out consistently. But I just recently
bought a treadmill and the weather is gorgeous again, so I can take all my kids
to the track with my local moms running group and hopefully start adding the cardio in more consistently. I’m not putting pressure on
myself to hit every single cardio day, but I’m saying all this only for full
disclosure that while I have had amazing results with the resistance portion of
this program, there is more it can do depending on your level and ability of commitment.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And Faster Way to Fat Loss, or FWTFL. This probably deserves
its own post, but since it is a near act of God to write anything longer than a
text these days, I’m leaving it here. Hopefully I can do it justice.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Nutrition. What the heck to
eat. Hands down my biggest challenge, always, forever, since the dawn of time.
And especially so after having a baby and breastfeeding where your body just
wants to be fed non-stop. Prepping enough whole food options is a joke with
three kids, one of whom is a newborn... But I’ve done this before. Two times in
fact. After my first and second babies I had the time and bandwidth to research
and teach myself about basic nutrition and I was smart enough to realize
putting good food in would not only get good results out, but also not
undermine the physical work and effort being put in. So what was different this
time? Everything and nothing. Going from two to three was easier than going
from one to two in just about every single way except time. From the time we
walk through the door at the end of the day until we tuck them in at night
there is no stopping. There is no sitting. There is no meal planning or even cooking
if it requires more than 1 pan and 15 minutes. Everyone is happy and healthy
and well, but it’s nonstop, and when they finally rest, the work for us begins
again. We bring work home, I have school, my husband has a team to manage… and
we’re not special. This is life in the you can have it all era of having
everything. Every single thing we make time for is a choice – including fitness
and nutrition. And what a luxury that is. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So one day, a friend on the
social webs posted that she was starting a round of the faster way. Being a supporter of all good efforts to improve one’s
health, I immediately clicked to follow her new account and went down the
rabbit hole of hashtags to see what Faster Way to Fat Loss was all about. A first I heard alarms. It
looked and sounded a lot like an MLM, maybe a little social-culty, but there
were also tons and tons of pictures of women who looked a lot like me with
results that looked like they had been achieved sustainably. I read through
several feeds and didn’t see any signs of pills or detox teas or excessive meal
replacements. No product, just method. I googled and asked a ton of questions.
Went through the feed of my friend’s coach and felt like I was reading about
myself… working mom of three, wanting a long-term, sustainable plan for whole
food nutrition that is inclusive and adaptable to just about every lifestyle. I
checked into the science and credentials and found that the certification is approved
by NASM and AFAA for recertification CEUs. I asked more questions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It’s expensive. $199 to join a
group for 7 weeks total and work with one of FWTFL’s certified coaches. But
that $199 came with a ton of information and support. Resources and plans to
support you along the way. Privacy, but also a Facebook group for
accountability. I’ve spent $199 on my hair this year and still couldn’t pull up
my jeans, so it very quickly became an easy decision for me. I realize full well
that $199 is cost prohibitive for a lot of people. It’s cost prohibitive for
me, but I also had several non beneficial ways I was spending money staring me in the face. Ways that were hurtful to and no longer serving me or my goals. So
I decided to stop putting my money there and instead invest it here. I am so
glad I did.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">FWTFL is intermittent fasting
and macro tracking, combined with effective workouts timed to get the max
benefit and convert your body from burning sugar for energy to burning fat. I kind
of wish it had a different name, but 4 weeks in I can’t argue that it’s working.
It works with the 12 week BBG program, but gym and home workouts are also
provided as part of FWTFL, and many people follow only the nutrition plan and
still see phenomenal results. I’m seeing muscles emerge that I haven’t seen in over
a year. And the greatest gift of all for me has been that I have lost all
anxieties surrounding food. I don’t question whether every single bite is going
to hurt me or help me. I wanted my nutrition to partner with and support my workouts and I was
overwhelmed with how to do that. This program has given me an entirely doable
framework without ever being hungry or feeling like am depriving myself of
anything. I have quit every single diet or nutritional plan I have ever tried.
I have been following this program (not a diet!) for four weeks now and I can
say confidently that it is, as my coach said it would, becoming an automatic
part of my day.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And I want to pause here for a
second and say I am so wholly aware of the very real, crippling anxieties
surrounding food and exercise that can not be taken away with a meal plan. I am
not suggesting that this program is a cure for any diagnosable mental illness
or eating disorder. I am a lifelong survivor of depression and anxiety and take
very seriously the need to separate alleviating symptoms from actual clinical
treatment. Too many messages hit my inbox suggesting the latest and greatest
patch or ointment can cure my anxiety problems forever! And this is so dangerous.
If you are not someone’s therapist or medical doctor you have exactly zero business trying
to diagnose or treat them in any way. Oils can’t kill norovirus and vitamins
can’t cure clinical depression. I take it very seriously when those assumptions
are made of me and I would never impose those assumptions on someone else. Everything
I share here or anywhere across social media is purely my own experience –
good and bad – and I will always share honestly and answer any questions or
criticisms with thoughtfulness and respect. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So what now? Our group just
started week 4 of the faster way. I’m starting BBG week 7 over again since the
stomach flu ravaged our house in the middle of last week. I feel better than I have
in years, mentally, emotionally, and physically. I feel capable of keeping this
going. I feel both disciplined and freed. And I know something has truly changed
inside, because even though I have goals yet to achieve I am entirely at peace
with trusting this process and letting those results come in their own time. I believe
if I respect my body and not try to trick it into submission it will reward me
with longevity and resilience, and what I build I will keep. I am not afraid of
summer or swimsuit season. And I am grateful.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Lastly, I</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">’m sharing an affiliate link for Faster Way to Fat Loss below. If you’re interested in signing up, I cannot recommend my coach, Melissa Shannon, enough. She has answered all of my questions, been completely approachable, and wonderfully supportive of our group. I trusted the referral of a friend and have not been disappointed. Linking Melissa’s Instagram below as well. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://www.fasterwaycoach.com/#awfulfitness" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Faster Way to Fat Loss Link</span></a><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<a href="https://www.instagram.com/melissabshannon/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Melissa B Shannon Instagram</span></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkW7uHgewBprXoGHPUxeyb6D8oB9GQxm9gHSlSitwitrzbWOeLtivlUvZio_IIWrPxuy3TksVfv4sfQ-0jYON_ecY20q0bWfwG_sw50oVejGZ2CqR5e1Vct5kJf62qcHsBSlSiprsvoTrc/s1600/Me1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkW7uHgewBprXoGHPUxeyb6D8oB9GQxm9gHSlSitwitrzbWOeLtivlUvZio_IIWrPxuy3TksVfv4sfQ-0jYON_ecY20q0bWfwG_sw50oVejGZ2CqR5e1Vct5kJf62qcHsBSlSiprsvoTrc/s640/Me1.jpg" width="480" /></a></div>
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Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-10557382432935032542012-12-20T10:17:00.001-05:002012-12-22T23:32:11.450-05:00And still.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Everything I feel I can not adequately express. Everything I think to write has already been written. But I can't not acknowledge. I don't want to add anything to the infamy surrounding this man and his actions. But right now I am craving community.<br />
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My heart is still heavy, so very heavy. I think it will be for a long time. For those babies, for their parents, for the loved ones of those teachers, for the classmates and colleagues who must find a way to breathe and carry on in impossible circumstances, for our broken nation.<br />
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I'm terrified for my child. I hold her to me with both arms stretched across her tiny body, I hold her so she can't get away, so she can't be taken. Because it feels like this world is coming for her. Coming to take her from me, and I can't bear it. I take in her smile and the way she kicks her feet against the floor. Her hand clasp and the dip in her upper lip. The fuzzy hair and stretch of thick black lashes that frame her brown eyes. Her nose, my nose, that crinkles when her smile starts to turn in to a laugh. I rock her to sleep every night, and before I lay her down, I inhale until her baby sweetness fills my lungs. I put her down with tears in my eyes and thank our heavenly Father for another day with this one.<br />
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I am waiting with the rest of you. Waiting to see how our leaders will respond. What they will deem "the answer", and what they will overlook. I'm waiting for them to attack the method and ignore the madness. It's so much bigger than gun control or mental health or anyone's constitutional rights. It is the entirety of our culture. Of our society and its ills and vices. And what can I do? What can I do to ensure my child's future is worth having? To be able to send her school not 4 or 5 years from now without a gun in the classroom for her supposed protection? To go to a movie without planning an escape? To be rid of this tightness in my chest?<br />
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I can pray, and oh how I do. Constantly. Trying to give my fears to the Lord and not take them back. And I can try to be good. And I can, God willing, raise my daughter to do the same.<br />
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When my spirit is weighted, my hands crave something useful to do to lighten the load. I love this project and will be participating.<br />
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<i><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">From that status of Kim Haskill Stanfied:</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">If you know a teacher, or have kids in a school, please pass on:</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">A building has been designated to house the students from Sandy Hook Elementary School. They are in the process of transporting desks, chairs, supplies and so forth to this location. My neighbor is the president of the Newtown PTA and we met tonight discussing what we can do to make these c</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">hildren feel comforted upon their return<br />to school.<br /><br />Please join us in "The Snowflake Project".<br /><br />We are asking your students to make and decorate a snowflake. We will hang them in the hallways at the stark, new building where the Sandy Hook students will be returning. PLEASE NO WORDS! We want just a cheerful, happy (glitter and sparkle) environment for the students entering the new building.<br /><br />Please pass on to any teachers you think may want to participate.<br /><br />When you send your snowflakes, please include a note to tell us where they are from (your school, class, town, etc) to display along with your snowflakes. You can send them to me directly, and I will give them to our PTA.</span></i><br />
<i><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><br /></span></i>
<i><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">**UPDATED ADDRESS**<br /></span></i><i><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Connecticut PTSA </span></i><br />
<i><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">60 Connolly Parkway </span></i><br />
<i><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Building 12, Suite 103 </span></i><br />
<i><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;">Hamden, CT 06514</span></i><br style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Trebuchet, Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px;" /><i><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; display: inline; font-family: 'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px; text-align: left;"><br />Thank you so very much!</span></i></div>
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Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-66115391877501562942012-12-14T00:22:00.002-05:002012-12-14T00:25:04.901-05:00A break for hilariousness.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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In the throes of laundry and bottle sterilizing and continuing the streak of not shaving my legs, but this is on the internets and I think we all need to take a moment, pour a holiday gin, and read <a href="http://hipsterpuppies.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Hipster Puppies</a>.</div>
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Because...</div>
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<img alt="mango muttered something about auto emissions and then flicked a second cigarette butt into the woods
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mango muttered something about auto emissions and then flicked a second cigarette butt into the woods</div>
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And also...</div>
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there was an npr story about that, let me find it</div>
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And my personal favorite...</div>
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<a href="http://hipsterpuppies.tumblr.com/image/2581834405" style="color: #336699; font-size: 14.44444465637207px; line-height: 20.981481552124023px; text-decoration: initial;"><img alt="penny fears kindles because “then how are people going to know what you’re reading?”
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penny fears kindles because “then how are people going to know what you’re reading?”</div>
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<a href="http://hipsterpuppies.tumblr.com/" target="_blank">Smirks</a>.</div>
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Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-7435567945590543782012-11-29T14:27:00.000-05:002012-11-29T14:27:35.185-05:00Merry Christmas from Hue and Hum<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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No elaborate intro required. This is a lovely yuletide greeting from <a href="http://www.hueandhum.com/" target="_blank">Hue and Hum</a> who are a wife and husband conglomeration of creativity and artistry, the likes of which when you come across you just can't keep to yourself, so with that... Merry Christmas from <a href="http://www.hueandhum.com/" target="_blank">Hue and Hum</a>...</div>
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Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-37079144245972174972012-11-27T22:38:00.000-05:002012-11-28T09:19:21.454-05:00Cherish<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I think when people tell you to cherish the tiny baby days because they go by so fast, what they're really saying is "Don't worry, don't fret, don't cry in the middle of the night feeling alone and hopeless and trying to salvage any bond you might have with your baby, because the screaming and the inconsolable colic and god knows what.. it will end. You will get your sweet, loving, smiling baby back and you will be a success, and it really does all go by so fast that one day it will just happen and you'll be sitting down on the sofa at 8 o'clock with your angel asleep and you'll eat your first hot meal in months and snuggle with your partner or check your blog reader in peace, and you may find then that you miss the days, mere weeks prior, when your baby needed you and only you, even when they were screaming without breathing and seemingly beyond repair, and you won't remember how it felt.. you'll know it felt horrible.. but you won't remember just <i>how</i>, and you'll realize then that that time.. that teeny tiny wrinkly warm skinny legged little baby time is fleeting. Ever so fleeting, and you'll miss it, and no matter how you thought you failed, you actually did ok, and you needn't have worried. Because upstairs, the baby you love deeper than anyone else could is fine, and even, should the smiles first thing in the morning and at every diaper change and splash of the bathwater mean a thing at all, starting to love you back.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(4 day old Eliza. Broken heart soup.)</span></div>
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Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-90595471863136775982012-10-29T22:46:00.002-04:002012-10-29T23:36:57.336-04:00The Story of a Girl.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I meant to have this written by one week, then by one month, and then two... and she was three months old last Tuesday. At first, I never wanted to leave her. If she was peaceful and napping I was either staring at her in the bassinet or holding her on my chest where she belonged. This computer didn't move from my desk for a solid six weeks. At some point we were in the throes of colic.. or was it dairy?.. or maybe just gas? Whatever it was, we were in it, rocking and bouncing and pacing our baby all over the house. Then we demanded quiet from the world to focus on the new us and we started to work it out. We found our rhythm. It was then that I began to pen this story. I've written at three in the morning, alone in the nursery, over tears and anxiety and the sweet heaviness of missed sleep and new motherhood. In the car driving nowhere just to be out, with this new life in the backseat, dozing over the hum of the afternoon. And in the mornings, in the graciously long mornings, when I would bring her to bed to nurse and lay beside me and she would do so as though she's been doing it all along. Which I would realize then, she had.</div>
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I've been trying to put this story into words that feel right. How do I write about something wound in between and within every part of who I am, that made me who I am? How to write about it without missing any of it? Without getting off track... but then, how could I not? Oh, this impossible, necessary task. </div>
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I want to remember those weeks where we waited.. and waited.. and dodged well-meaning messages on Facebook, asking what was the hold up and had we tried eggplant parmesan and sex? Those last days were a wonderfully indulgent time I got to spend with my mother; time I realize now was the beginning of something new for her too. Something we both had to fight for in a way, fight our own expectations and disappointments about how it all should have been. Learning how to just be there for each other and not dampen each other's joy. Up until the moment my daughter came in to this world and every moment since, my mother has been showing me how to give love unconditionally, and now I see that I will never feel I have given enough. It's a relationship where you're giving just to give - and if you don't have it, you find it.. you dig your hands in until it's made. And you cry and pray and bargain and beg and feel enormous guilt the entire time. And it's a privilege.<br />
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My belly never dropped, mostly because it never really rose. From the time I started to show this baby girl was sitting low. At 30 weeks, strangers were asking if I was about to pop. No one, and I mean no one, thought I would make it to my due date. I did squats and took evening primrose oil, so naturally, they were right. I strode into my 36 week appointment expecting my doctor to check my cervix and announce, "You're 10cm! Push!"</div>
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Not. Even. A Fingertip.<br />
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But it was week 36, so who cares. I upped the evening primrose dose and carried on. Week 37 I started having regular Braxton Hicks contractions. Regular in that I knew for sure that's what they were, but there were maybe 5 or 6 altogether. Still, I hoped, but there had been no progress. Week 38 I ballooned. Big face, big legs, big arms, no ankles. For sure this was my body preparing for the beginning of the end. For sure. I waddled into my appointment, hoisted myself up on the table, said my selfish prayer, and as you can imagine.. still nothing. I left that appointment and cried. Sobbed really. My body wasn't working the way I wanted it to and despite the fact that yes, it was still only week 38, and yes my water could have broke at any moment, and yes, I could have woken up to mind numbing contractions overnight... it was all so unlikely. And I like likely. Likely things happen to me. Unlikely things, so very rarely.<br />
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So that following week I did things with evening primrose that one should never do, and whatever suggestions were on my Facebook page or sitting haughtily in my inbox.. they all got a shot too. My reflections on pregnancy deserve, or at least warrant, an entire post all their own, but for the sake of brevity - pregnancy was, at seemingly unending times, a misery made bearable only by the out of this world love and contentment I felt every time our baby moved against me. And now that I know it was her, my Eliza, the whole time... well... this is why women do it over and over again. So by week 38 I was done. I wanted to give birth and begin. Like a fool I wanted into the fryer. And I wanted to be one of the girls who go early. Unlikely.<br />
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Week 39 I arrived with no makeup, a sadly overstretched "Save the Ta-Tas" t-shirt, and black sweat pants just nice enough to pass for scrubs on a pregnant woman no one was going to correct. I was crying before the nurse had even shut the door. My doctor said she would sweep my membranes if she could and she said it the way you say something convincingly because you know you won't really have to do it at all. I left with induction instructions, wet kleenex, and misplaced rage.<br />
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I wanted to time contractions, trade astonished looks with Mike, take a shower and straighten my hair, do familiar things the old familiar way while on the verge of something so fantastically new. I wanted to drive to the hospital in the middle of the night with darkness and quiet surrounding us. I wanted to wake my parents with a phone call and hear their anxious excitement. I wanted to give them an experience, give them something back for all they had given me, make up for some of the hurts. I wanted a lot of things that wouldn't have changed anything that mattered.<br />
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Sometimes it feels as though I've been on a crash course in my life. That I've been ricocheting off the consequences of my mistakes since I was old enough to make decisions for myself. I wanted this to be different. I wanted to face it. I wanted to feel every contraction, to bring her into this world just as she was, to do what God had made my body to do... but my body wasn't. It wasn't giving way... my body, for which I thought I had so much respect, wasn't giving in to me. This shook me and stole my confidence. I still hoped, but... And as I began to accept that I would have to be induced, so dwindled the conviction I had for laboring without an epidural. I would still try, but I was just as unconvinced as my doctor weeks earlier. Oh, how I wish I had given myself a chance. You'd think a lifetime of tripping, stumbling, face planting, and always getting back up, albeit often with help, would have rendered me better prepared.<br />
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Sunday, July 22nd, I kept Mike up until two in the morning. I was scared and unsure. Was this necessary? Couldn't we wait? What if she wanted to come on her own Tuesday or Wednesday? A biophysical and stress test had shown she was happy and healthy right where she was. After this I would say the only way to be okay with an induction is to believe that it's necessary, and that I did not.<br />
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I prayed I would go into labor overnight. I woke up Sunday morning to Mike bringing me coffee in bed. My mom came over with breakfast and kept me moving. She got me out of the house and held my hand as we ran pretend errands and I stopped in various bathrooms to pee and not cry. Mike's parents arrived. People ate and chatted and I went upstairs to take a shower. I got out and discovered, at 40 weeks and 6 days, that oh why yes in fact I <i>had</i> gotten a few stretch marks. And then I did all the familiar things the old familiar way, half holding my breath, waiting, praying, feeling alone. Trying to feel excited. Talking to my baby girl. Pretending not to hear God.<br />
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Oh my word, what I know now. How I would have spent those moments.<br />
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I packed a few last minute things and leaned heavily on my mom while she prayed for us all. I weighed 187 pounds the night before I gave birth and she held me up like it was nothing.<br />
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Mike and I got into the car with our moms following behind, and off we went, on the way to the hospital to have our baby. I called my dad and choked it all back while he told me he loved me and was proud and wished me luck. I told him things wouldn't really get started until the following morning and I would see him then. I wished my water would break on the seat.<br />
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We checked in to the hospital like it was a Sandals resort and waited for the nurse to come. In a blur I was in a gown, in a bed, and then induced. As the nurse was getting me prepped and asking the usual hospital questions she kept mistakenly referring to Mike as my husband. Not an absurd assumption, but given the circumstances, it was mildly comical. One of us (I can't remember who) corrected her, and rather than save herself from another potential blunder, she proceeded to then ask how long we had been together (prior to finding ourselves together in a delivery room, one of us with a foley bulb receiving a bear hug from her cervix, you mean?) and Mike, not missing a beat or an opportunity to demonstrate yet again why he is exactly who I want to be with on this parenting journey replied, "41 weeks."<br />
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Stunned silence filled the room just a smidge past the point of comfortable before I laughed hard enough to probably pee myself a bit and one of the nurses asked, "Really?" It was exactly how I'd always envisioned that moment would be.<br />
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Our moms came in to say their goodnights. I was ready to tuck in and sleep through to morning, expecting per my OB's schpeal on induction the week before that I wouldn't be anywhere near active labor until 8 or 9 the next day. I was having tiny pitocin contractions that I could just barely feel and could easily sleep through, so once my mom was convinced that I was not in gut-wrenching pain and we were all again reassured that the show wouldn't really begin for several hours, our moms went home to get some sleep. Mike was gone before his head hit the pillow and I reclined to watch Taylor Swift lyrically assault whatever ex-boyfriend had landed her on the VMAs this year. This was around 11pm. I drifted off and woke up a few hours later to what I had been hoping for all week - real, strong, this is it contractions. They started right in the middle and spread outward, pulling my stomach in from the sides, taking my breath with them. I woke Mike and he helped me breathe, let me squeeze his hand, and reminded me that I am amazing and someone he loves. At one point he looked at the monitor and said, "Hold on, this is a big one baby." I might have said something unkind just then.<br />
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The contractions got more intense and closer together very fast and I was struggling to stay focused and breathe. It was too soon for it to be this hard, I told myself. If my slow to respond body had to make it all the way to tomorrow morning before "active" labor began... there was just no way. Of course, had I not been full of preconceived expectations and focusing on other people's perceptions of what my body could do I might have realized I was already in active labor and so much closer to giving birth than I thought. The room was dark and sterile and cold and I wanted to be out of that bed, but for whatever reason, didn't. I rolled over to find Mike's face and as I did the foley bulb that had been placed to dilate my cervix fell out. They told me when this happened that I would be 2-3 centimeters and they would increase the pitocin. This was around 4am. The nurse checked my progress and raised her eyebrows. I was dilated to 4 centimeters. They upped the pitocin.<br />
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She told me every centimeter to ten would take about an hour and the thought of six more hours, each one exponentially harder than the last, seemed unbearable.. and terrifying. And then I would have to push, which she told me for the average first time mother takes about three hours. <i>Three hours</i>. And since likely things are likely to happen to me, I decided to ask for dilaudid to calm the next wave of contractions and give myself time to regroup, refocus, and hopefully make it to transition. The one bit of encouragement still lingering were the words of the doula who had given us our tour - if you can make it to transition, you can do the whole thing.<br />
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Mike called our moms and gave them the update. Knowing what they know, they got up and rushed back to the hospital. I still wasn't expecting anything for many hours to come. The nurse came back to check my progress and I was at 6 centimeters. A nurse practitioner broke my water. The dilaudid was wonderful, as most narcotic pain relievers are. I became a happy drunk and asked Mike all sorts of inappropriate questions. The haze was short-lived, however, and about one hour later I was back to bed rail clenching and throwing down with God, one contraction on top of the other, reaching from my throat to my knees. I couldn't breathe, I was shaking uncontrollably. I tried to tell myself one contraction at a time, but it all felt like one long incredibly painful merciless trial without end. I was in transition and had no idea. I asked for the epidural. Mike hesitated and asked if I was sure. In his voice I could hear that he wanted to tell me no, do not give up this thing you've wanted for so long, do not give up on yourself, you are doing it, you are already doing it. But he didn't say the words and I didn't ask him to. He was there for me and me alone and knowing this I asked the nurse to stop this pain and bring me back from wherever I had gone. I felt so alone and I wanted Mike with me. At the time this was the only way I knew how.<br />
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I clenched through I don't know how many more contractions before the anesthesiologist arrived. No, I don't have migraines or diabetes or high blood pressure or anything other than a human being trying to be born through my vagina so could you please for the love of God put that damn needle in my spine?!? Oh, the numbing burns you say? <i>ASK ME IF I CARE!</i> While waiting, I had one last shuddering full-body spasm and a feeling of wretchedness so awful I thought my eyeballs might be melting from my face. I threw up no less than 6 times on my nurse and also on Mike and then steeled myself against every evil on earth in order to hold still long enough for the epidural to be placed. The relief was immediate and I thanked every one in that room.<br />
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I could still feel contractions, but they were reduced to mildly uncomfortable flutters. I was encouraged to sleep and rest up for pushing, which I still believed was several hours away. It was around 6am. My dad had arrived and came in to see his girl. I remember a kiss on the forehead and a good luck and then I was asleep. I don't know how long after, if it was five minutes or an hour, but at some point Mike went to sit for a few minutes in the waiting room with our parents and I woke up to the very early beginnings of daylight. I also felt like I was going to crap my pants. Having read a hundred other birth stories I knew rectal pressure meant I was probably fully dilated, but not wanting to jump the gun on my never unlikely, no progress prior to labor self, I did my best naive first-time mom impression and told the nurse I thought I needed to poop. She checked my suddenly not-so-stubborn cervix, looked at me, and said, "You're 10 centimeters and I can feel the baby's head. You need to call Mike, you're ready to push."<br />
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"Call him with my phone?!", I said.<br />
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"Do you know another way?", she said. And I decided right then that I liked her very much.<br />
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So I called him and it turned out he had just put his feet up on a waiting room sofa. He didn't answer but saw me calling and was already on his way back to the room. I felt another wave of pressure and strong urge to push and frantically called my mom. I told her they all needed to come back. I wanted to see my mom and dad before. This was the "it's time" call I didn't get to make. On the way back, Mike ran into our nurse who told him I was ready to push. He walked in and gave me this look, like "are you ready?", followed shortly by our parents. I got to tell them it wouldn't be long and I got to see their faces before I turned them into grandparents. It was good.<br />
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The moments just before getting ready to push were so joyful. I was staring down what I thought would be three hours of godknowswhat and the scant hour if that of sleep was hardly what anyone meant when they said to rest up for pushing.. but this was it. This was <i>pushing</i>. The last step. The last wait.<br />
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There was no keeping anything a mystery. A nurse grabbed one leg and showed Mike how to hold the other and we were off. Not being able to really feel contractions meant relying on the nurse to tell me when to push and for how long. When asked, I do admit to regretting the epidural both because I know now that I was so close to being fully dilated, and because it did rob some of the experience of pushing. But there was an energy between Mike and I that kept breath in my lungs and strength in my limbs. It's hard to describe in words that don't make the whole thing sound completely unintentional, like one giant tumble into the best time of your life, but something about not knowing each other long (a little over a year when Eliza was born) and also knowing with certainty that this is exactly who I want to be having this experience with right now.. It brought it all down to him and I. There wasn't years worth of figurative or literal bs, outside expectations, family pressure... It was just two people who met like two people do, decided to like each other despite unfavorable odds, fell in love, questioned their sanity (mostly me), went on a three day break over Thanksgiving, missed each other, got back together, realized they were pregnant (oh hey! me again!), moved in together, had to go through several several months, years even, of relationship building in a matter of weeks to avoid killing each other, found respect, found real love, began to build a life.. and then.. were in the delivery room, putting it all on the table, hoping it was enough.<br />
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We're no different than anybody else, really.<br />
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So what if he's right in the thick of the most miraculous, triumphant, and let's be real, horrifying thing to happen to my body since the navel piercing of 2000? We haven't had time or care to hide anything from each other before, so why start now? I'm glad he was there (and I mean <i>there</i>) to greet her, to tell me she was coming when I couldn't see through tears or the sobbing. I'm glad he was there to tell me it was something impressive even when I questioned myself after, when I felt remorse and sadness at having given in to the pain. I am proud of carrying her and bringing her into this world. I am grateful, so grateful to God that she arrived healthy. I am. I will come to peace with how it happened in time, because that was on me.<br />
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I pushed for an hour. We almost lost Mike in the last ten or fifteen minutes. The adrenaline got him and he had to tap out for a few. It was very had to be there hilarious. And touching. A nursing student the size of an Olsen twin took his place until blood flow returned to his face. But he made it back for the very end and dragged me through those last gruesome pushes. I will hear him saying, "Here she comes" for the rest of my life. I replay those moments every time I miss her, every time I miss him, every time I want to remember this thing we did together on approximately day 382 of being in each other's lives.<br />
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There was cheering from everyone and one final push that hurt so badly I thought my chest would burst wide open.. and then.. I heard her cry. I heard that very distinct down and up wail that is so distinctly hers. I felt all things old rush out of me and one very wonderful thing rush in. It was a small fraction of the love I feel for her today but it filled the space. The nurse brought her to my chest and her eyes, oh my sweet God, her eyes.. they sought me out and locked in and all I could see were her tiny lips opening and closing, her nose (my nose!) breathing the air I had labored in, her hands looking for something familiar to hold.. She was as desperate to be loved as I was to love her, so I wrapped her as tightly as I could and grabbed her almost see-through fingers and they may have melted right into mine for all the warmth I felt in that touch. We were tethered together for nine months and it wasn't until she was laying against me, in the world, that I felt that we were one. This girl made me a mother. She made me someone who has given birth to a beautiful, healthy baby, a life that was not here before. Actually having that experience makes you realize what an unlikely thing that is. What else will this child do in her already magnificent life?<br />
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There are so many things to write about, so many things to share, and I hope I will find time to share all of them. To bring you up to speed and share the good and the very, very hard. For now, here's a few pictures and a prayer for all the mothers and the mothers to be (those who know and don't know yet).. I pray for health and peace and some way to deal with the inevitable guilt. I pray that we all stop comparing and questioning and have faith in ourselves to do the hard things and take a little credit for the good things. And enjoy our children when we can and forgive ourselves when we can't, when we just can't. Because it is seriously brutal sometimes. And this is why God blessed women with the task.<br />
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And to it, sisters, do it well.<br />
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Amen.<br />
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Eliza Violet Carter<br />
Born July 23rd, 2012 at 8:55am.<br />
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Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-81218298495441704502012-06-14T12:08:00.000-04:002012-06-14T12:08:12.895-04:00Mid-day Nursery Splurge<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Just a quick Etsy share in the middle of the work day. No biggie, right?</div>
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I've been looking for something like this for a long time.. saw lots of beautiful work on Etsy, but nothing that really made the heart flutter, until I happened upon <a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/78420211/birds-print-set-spring-kimono-unframed" target="_blank">this</a> a few days ago.</div>
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It's fresh and feminine and kind of italian paperie-ish with just enough whimsy. One very pleasant email requesting a custom color palette was exchanged, name and initials confirmed, and hopefully in the next two weeks these little lovelies will be hanging above a crib.</div>
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<a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/LeoLittleLion" target="_blank">LittleLion Studio on Etsy</a>. So far, so good.</div>
</div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-62431221414493016562012-06-08T00:48:00.000-04:002012-06-08T12:23:26.920-04:00Maxi, Stockholm-style<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="text-align: justify;">I have a thing about Kohl's. Mainly, that I hate it. I know it's popular among the bargain hunter set and as a self-proclaimed finder of the deal I should embrace its perpetually disheveled racks and celebrity monikered lines, but oh mah gad... that store kills me. Nothing ever really fits me, the fact that there's always 30/40/50% off everything makes me feel like I'm never actually getting a deal, and the cult following behind Kohl's cash is just a little too purple kool aid for my tastes. But sometimes I get a bag of well meaning purchases from my mama and maaaybe some of it turns in to a merchandise credit... sometimes.</span></div>
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So tonight I decided to face my nemesis in search of a new duvet cover and maybe a set of sheets for our bed. In search of serenity, I was. </div>
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Well, this is where the story gets humbling friends. There's no clever way around it really... I got past the "what parent allows their daughter to wear that?!" junior's department, the Lexus crossover driver populated Dana Buchman section, and even the mish-mash of jewelry, Simply Vera bags, and Jennifer Lopez fragrances... I could see the wall of linens ahead, but then out of the corner of my eye I spotted this...</div>
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<a href="http://www.kohls.com/kohlsStore/landingpages/dressfinder/viewall/PRD~1052547/Apt+9+Striped+Racerback+Maxi+Dress.jsp#" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em;" target="_blank"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGZQHId1ibmCl0y-TojC7dU6BNYguISHpWqs3y1WNlYn0rnAWQMxGXlK3syuc-XlwN_bwf3SlPR8zb-A1wSwAIq62OD3FT9-Rq9Wi-rvZEIXSa6xU1FDXt7-Qwy2jP0v-kRRy7PjFyOnm_/s400/Kohls+Maxi.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.kohls.com/kohlsStore/landingpages/dressfinder/viewall/PRD~1052547/Apt+9+Striped+Racerback+Maxi+Dress.jsp#" target="_blank">Maxi dress</a>, clean lines with a subtle suggestion of chevron, flattering racerback neckline, and if I dared to dream, it was a non-maternity dress that might just fit over my very third trimester maternity belly. There was a fleeting moment of doubt, some nervous lip tugging, and then I grabbed it in all four available sizes and headed for the fitting room. </div>
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This is what happened...</div>
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Yes, I tried it on with sunglasses. I was wearing zero eye makeup and I don't trust my un-enhanced reflection in dressing room lighting. </div>
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Yes, I'm also making a Rachel Zoe face. I admit it! I make celebrity stylist duck face when I try on clothes. I'm ashamed, alright?!</div>
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But back to happy times.. this dress is a dream. It drapes beautifully, doesn't hug anything it shouldn't, has a sexy neckline and "shoulder silhouette" yet still works with a big girl bra, and comes up high enough under the arms to keep the "hey baby!" side boob under wraps.</div>
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And... I'm wearing a small. A SMALL! This from the girl who was a solid 6 pre-pregnancy and whose hips and thighs have plumped up to a healthy 8 post.</div>
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There I am folks. Just another deprogrammed Goldie Hawn to a scheming Kurt Russell, dressing up in another woman's clothes, giving myself over to my captor. </div>
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Best 40% off I ever spent... just please don't tell my mom. </div>
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</div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-75452827560488570742012-06-07T14:52:00.000-04:002012-06-07T22:43:42.625-04:00Baby things<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;">There is really nothing so enjoyable to me right now as spending quiet evening hours scouring Etsy for nursery finds or taking all of Saturday afternoon to stroll through the abundance of antiques and vintage in Old Ellicott City... a mirrored vanity tray here, a milk glass hobnail lamp there...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Baby girl's room is going to be a thing of curated, vintage and vintage-inspired beauty, I'm not even the least bit hesitant to say. It started with the somewhat exhaustive search for a classic crib that was feminine but not too girly, from a time gone by, but still modern... and then I had to find the perfect vintage-inspired fabric to have a crib skirt and blanket made.. which of course prompted the 20-sample search for the exact right shade of cream for the walls (not too yellow, not too peach, enough of a tint to not be white...).. and then came the dresser (a gorgeous painted piece I found on one of those Saturdays for a steal).. which made me think I could paint my old reclaimed bookshelf a light misty aqua to match the flowers in the fabric... which gave way to the possibilities of a coordinating pale lime for the rocker.. and you get the idea... if you give a first time mom a cookie, she's going to ask for a glass of milk...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Every effort and energy, creative thought and DIY I've always wanted to do or try, but never made time for in my own pre-maternal living spaces are now bubbling to the surface, and remarkably the motivation to do them all is in bountiful supply... I suppose this is what they call the nesting...<br />
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<div style="text-align: justify;">So here's my first attempt at a mood board, just a few things either currently taking up residence in or providing the inspiration for butterbean's boudoir... and yes, it very much looks like a first attempt, so be kind :)</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div></div><div style="margin: 0 auto; width: 600px;"><div style="text-align: center;"></div></div><div style="margin: 0 auto; width: 400px;"><div style="position: relative;"><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/nursery/set?.embedder=2301624&.svc=copypaste&id=50453560"><img alt="Nursery" border="0" height="395" src="http://cfc.polyvoreimg.com/cgi/img-set/.sig/SkuRoXxJzqb8Bhuwp1Tptg/cid/50453560/id/rAPhMtmdQQ6XvY7eQMoYtA/size/c400x395.jpg" title="Nursery" width="400" /></a></div></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><small><a href="http://www.polyvore.com/nursery/set?.embedder=2301624&.svc=copypaste&id=50453560">Nursery</a> by <a href="http://anawfulsweetness.polyvore.com/?.embedder=2301624&.svc=copypaste">anawfulsweetness</a> on <a href="http://www.polyvore.com/">polyvore.com</a></small></div></div></div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-31233056651558496482012-05-28T12:00:00.000-04:002012-05-30T09:48:02.422-04:00May 28, 2012<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Today I stood at the edge of the ocean where I have stood 29 summers before... before I could have ever imagined your name... and thought of all the days that came later when I hoped and wondered if I would get to show you this place where I was a girl, a child, and now, your mother. The sun moved over my belly and you within it and together we went into the surf.</div>
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</div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-71337237122349317112012-05-19T03:20:00.000-04:002012-05-19T03:25:19.565-04:00Birthday Eve<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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In a few hours, it will be my birthday. I suppose technically it's my birth day <i>now</i>, but as a bit of a birthday purist I don't really <i>feel it</i> until the actual time of my birthday which was 9:47am on May 19th, in a year gone by called 1982. Let the math lead you where it may.</div>
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When I was little I saw my parents "being 30" and thought "that will be the age when I eat vegetables without prompting, can drive, and will be given my very own house by the grown up fairies." As I grew, I saw 30 in all of a teenager's simple-minded cliches.. old, boring, the end of childish fun and spontaneity. When I fell in love, 30 became an end goal. A "have this done by then" check-point of domestic success. When I married at 26, I felt 30 give its nod of approval. When I separated at 28, I looked to 30 in shame. I spent most of 29 looking forward to once again being at 0. 3-0.</div>
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Today is not just my birthday, it's also my baby shower. My wonderful, constant mother and grandma-to-be is throwing a shower for the nugget and I, and I tell you, if you can time it just so, there is no better way to spend your birthday eve than in anticipation of a gathering of family and friends celebrating the near arrival of your first little bundle of sweetness and joy.</div>
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I don't know how I feel about 30 today. I suppose I'm ambivalent towards thinking anything about it at all. I look in the mirror and see an older face and a healthy body and I'm proud of having gotten here with my mind, predominantly, intact. I'm turning 30 and my baby is rolling and stretching and I can feel her tiny feet and hands reaching towards my belly button (and towards freedom, perhaps? nope, not possible, can't think about that impending reality right now) and my new perspective is that this year... and the next and the next.. are going to be anything but boring. After three decades of wondering what "30" would mean for me, it really couldn't be less about me at all, and that is wholly and thoroughly refreshing.</div>
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My heart is full and I'm too excited to sleep. Turning 30? Not much different than turning 5 or 10 it seems.<br />
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Balloons, Youngna Park</span></i></div>
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</div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-85103241794247230042012-05-07T01:17:00.000-04:002012-05-07T01:18:28.655-04:00The man in my life<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="text-align: justify;">I have had a post in draft form for several weeks now, introducing you to the man who, among many other things, is the father of the sweet little baby due to arrive sometime in the next ten weeks or so. I let him read the first few paragraphs last night and he smiled and playfully called me a nerd, probably because, </span><strike style="text-align: justify;">I am</strike><span style="text-align: justify;"> true to form, the first few paragraphs were mostly me writing the way I would tell you the story in person - overly, and perhaps unnecessarily, animated, sarcastic, rambling, and dotted with irrelevant references to whatever was distracting my train of thought at the time. </span><br />
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I sat down tonight to finish that post and do what I've been wanting to do for a while - to let you in on this new(ish) part of my life and fill in some details of the story of how this baby came to be. But I can't finish that post now, at least not in the way it was written. I was trying to tell you how and where we began, and though it's only been a few months since, that could not be further from where we are now. I just can't start our story there, though I'm certainly going to save that post for sometime down the road. Eventually the girl-meets-boy story will have to be told.</div>
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Until then. This is him..<br />
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Handsome fella, and the hat is permanent.<br />
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We had just signed for our first house together and as we were leaving the parking lot after a celebratory lunch, I said, "We're going to be roommates!", which still makes me laugh since we are also going to be parents, and one would think that sort of trumps the roommate milestone. This was his face. He makes it often. I love it.</div>
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Tonight we were talking about the children we may have later. The possibilities of our future are something we've discussed several times, to varying degrees of seriousness, and probably on both sides with varying degrees of faith and trust. I question myself frequently. I question my ability to make something last. I question whether I'm the kind of woman who can do more than one thing well. Can I be a mother, have a career, make a home, continually nurture a relationship, <i>and </i>do each thing well enough to be worthy of any? I don't yet have an answer.</div>
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I wonder sometimes how he is dealing, what he is thinking, if he is still happy and fulfilled being the man in my life. If he is as excited to be a parent with me as I am to be a parent with him. I keep waiting for there to be moments of hurt, or of wanting more, wanting me to not have the bags I came with, but what comes instead is moment after moment of love, support, and opportunity to build this life together. He is teaching me patience and acceptance and shows me every day what it is to let someone love you whatever way they know how.</div>
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He said something to me tonight that I will remember always. I hope when he reads this, he knows what it was.</div>
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<br /></div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-13681558652651068892012-05-02T23:29:00.002-04:002012-05-02T23:29:28.643-04:00Christmas in May<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
And here I thought I was gonna have to miss out on <a href="http://www.bexadiary.com/2012/03/iphone-swoons.html" target="_blank">leopard skinnies</a> since I'm a full 7.5 months pregnant while they're at their peak. Turns out, someone read my letter to Santa.</div>
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<a href="http://us.asos.com/ASOS-Maternity/ASOS-Maternity-Skinny-Jean-In-Faded-Leopard/Prod/pgeproduct.aspx?iid=2209734&cid=5813&sh=0&pge=0&pgesize=20&sort=-1&clr=Multi" target="_blank">Asos, $69.08. And free shipping, Whee!</a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8avM5nqtEuUjBdm0MPJRhYatuY_QspZEbvZxRexaaIa_OWbqdMd8qUUPdZaPgiGJOsTQj18uWY2EpXl9TiJjDfswEVq8hXaKtiNVqtfpnMI-KBqrYJhLAjQgg4e68mwev2ky8BcFb9WF2/s1600/leopard+skinnies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8avM5nqtEuUjBdm0MPJRhYatuY_QspZEbvZxRexaaIa_OWbqdMd8qUUPdZaPgiGJOsTQj18uWY2EpXl9TiJjDfswEVq8hXaKtiNVqtfpnMI-KBqrYJhLAjQgg4e68mwev2ky8BcFb9WF2/s320/leopard+skinnies.jpg" width="250" /></a></div>
<br /></div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-78081989516960473312012-03-20T15:55:00.005-04:002012-03-20T16:01:31.400-04:00I am not a food blogger<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;">But I do cook, a lot actually, and I enjoy the heck out of it.. it's like therapy or yoga or what happy hour used to be before Baby E was on the way. I'd probably cook every night if I had the organizational skills to plan more than a day or two ahead, but alas, for now I'll get the urge to make something, hit the grocery store after work, and sometime between then and midnight, dinner hits the table. I tend to draw on a few cookbook standbys that I've mastered and can pull together on the quick, but every once in a while inspiration strikes and something marvelous happens. Sunday night was one such evening, and as I sit here munching on the last scraps of the leftovers, I feel the need to share this flavor explosion with you.<br />
<br />
And since I am not a food blogger (to my deep chagrin), I must preface...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I didn't take pictures.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I can't recall exact measurements.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Temperatures and cook times...? Ehhhh.... </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">But it was easy, it was pretty, and it was something simple that didn't look like something simple so you could do this to impress your friends one night with a bottle of whatever or to triumphantly circumnavigate the always welcome surprise in-law visit or because you may have spent the equivalent of next month's rent on baby clothes (that <i>never </i>happens here, <i>never...</i>) and you need a buffer meal to put you back in your significant other's good graces. This is the Belgium chocolate of easy meals. Or the Italian shoe. Or the vegan falafel waffle... I don't know, whatever works for you.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I call it... <b>Italian Wedding Salad</b>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And lemme tell you why... no, it does not have delightful little meatballs, or italian seasoning of any kind (unless you count scads and scads of garlic), and no little noodle balls or equivalent substitute. I call it Italian Wedding Salad because it has lettuce and baby spinach (the green!), and potatoes (which kinda look like the noodles... sort of... before you cook and season them), and balsamic vinaigrette (which could be broth! maybe! especially if you're a liberal dressing-dressinger like I am!).. and... gah... don't ask, it was delicious. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Italian Wedding Salad</span></b></div><div style="text-align: justify;">(Served two ravenously hungry people, who tend to ignore appropriate serving sizes altogether, generous portions plus <i>sliiiightly </i>more reasonable seconds one night, one person a yummy lunch and dinner the next night, and then the two people from the first night bickered over portion size the 3rd day until the person who made the original mass quantity pulled the "growing a human" card and got all the rest of it to herself... so whatever that serving size would mean in your household, so be it)<br />
<br />
From what I can recall:<br />
<br />
<i>1.79lb package of chicken tenders</i> (I only remember the weight because it's the last thing I saw before I dumped the trash, and the exact number of tenders alludes me, but it doesn't really matter, as you will see...)<br />
<i>2 large lemons</i><br />
<i>1 red onion</i> (I would say mine was small-mediumish, but again, most of this is to taste and who cares what size your onion is anyway?)<br />
<i>2-3 cloves of garlic</i> (I love garlic like I love thin thighs so I used 3 elephant-sized cloves and probably could have added a 4th)<br />
<i>Salt & Pepper</i><br />
<i>Lettuce mix of Red Lettuce, Arugula, and Baby Spinach</i> (enough to fill a big 'ole mixing bowl, it's gonna "melt down" when you add the rest of the innards)<br />
<i>Red potatoes </i>(I used 2 medium-large guys)<br />
<i>1 package of baby bella mushrooms</i>, sliced<br />
<i>Balsamic Vinaigrette</i> (I use Newman's because he's my boyfriend, but fancy people make their own I hear.. pssht...)<br />
<i>Extra Virgin Olive Oil</i> (I used some store brand that's about 100 years old and somewhere Mario Batali was weeping I'm sure)<br />
<i>Feta</i>, crumbled </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And here's what I did:<br />
<br />
Throw the chicken tenders in a bowl, squeeze the juice of both lemons over the chicken. Thin slice the onion, set aside half, rough chop the garlic, and throw that in with the chicken as well. Combine, cover with plastic wrap (or a plate, if you never have plastic wrap, ahem...) and put that mess in the fridge for 30 minutes to an hour while you gather your strength and eat some girl scout cookies.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, fill a medium sauce pan halfway with water, add a dash or so of salt, and bring that to a boil. Chop your potatoes into "quarter crescents"... basically slice the potato down the middle, cut 1/4 inch slices from each half, and then halve those - make sense? Or chop them however you please, just make sure they're not too thin and you can fork them with ease. Throw your chopped potatoes in the boiling water for about five minutes or so, enough to soften but not to turn to mush... or.. er.. mash.<br />
<br />
While that's going, heat a big skillet over medium heat and add a little olive oil to the pan. Rinse your mushrooms if need be and give them a rough chop, set aside. Drain the potatoes and set those aside. Get your chicken mess out of the fridge, add salt & pepper to taste, toss to distribute, and add a few tenders to the pan (I cooked mine in three batches, but do what you will, it all comes out in the end). Don't stress if a few chopped onion or garlic pieces are stuck to your chicken when you throw them in the pan. I stressed, but it's all part of the magic.<br />
<br />
Tenders don't need long to cook at all, so after 2-3 minutes I flipped over my first batch, saw golden brown perfection and knew today was the day I brought world peace to all. I added about a third of the potatoes and mushrooms to the skillet, around the chicken Roman wreath style, and then added a splashola of the balsamic dressing. Stir that all together and prepare for nosy people to start making their way in to your kitchen. When the chicken was cooked through (2-3 min per side), I moved the tenders to a plate to rest, gave the whole skillet a stir, let it sit for a few seconds, and then moved each batch of potato-mushroom-balsamic-plus whatever was stuck on the chicken to a separate bowl. I repeated this in three batches... add chicken, add potatoes and mushrooms with some balsamic, flip chicken, remove chicken, stir the rest, move the rest. I added the last bits of onion-garlic-lemon marinade, along with with the rest of the red onion set aside earlier, to last batch so as to not burn the bennies out of the garlic and onion, and to give a fancy flourish to the end since by this point people were watching.<br />
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Somewhere in the middle of all your batch-ing, rinse and chop your lettuce mix and throw that in the biggest mixing or dedicated salad/serving bowl you have.<br />
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Once all is cooked and fragrant and lovely, start adding your potato-mushroom mix to your greens, using some sort of tong-tossing-sand shovel device to combine. I did try to do this with some semblance of grace and agility so the greens would stay fluffy and not ripped to shreds under the weight of the cooked elements, and honestly, it may have been the hardest part of the whole endeavor. Once that was done, I layered the chicken on top, sprinkled with a generous helping of feta, and voila... <b>Italian Wedding Salad</b> was born.<br />
<br />
The chicken was absurdly tender, the lemon flavor was there enough to add some early spring citrusy goodness, but not overpowering. The arugla was peppery, the spinach was healthy, and the red leaf lettuce just makes me feel normal. We both added some extra balsamic to our helpings, but since no one likes a soggy day old salad I opted not to add it to the whole bowl. Smart.<br />
<br />
And the feta... oh sweet, tangy, delicious Greek feta... there are no words for what we share.<br />
<br />
So there it is folks. Next time I'll have the foresight to also grab a fat loaf of crusty, yummy bread. As it was, he who has been previously mentioned in the bickering over who got the last helping was so inspired and enamored with my culinary prowess that he decided to whisk me off to the end of the street for after dinner frozen yogurt, Japanese-style. Chopped strawberry and rice crispie treats on top of some original tart fro-yo on a 75-degree March evening? And I didn't even have to suggest it???<br />
<br />
You're welcome.</div></div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-52951013331486560462012-03-12T06:55:00.001-04:002012-03-12T07:01:31.592-04:00A little weekend goodness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;">At 4AM Monday morning. Nothing like waking up twenty times to pee, catching a leg cramp, finally getting comfortable, and then being interrupted yet again by a cacophony of snoring from your manz and two furry beasts.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'M UP! </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Made myself some oatmeal pancakes, grabbed my fuzzy blanket, and figured I'd catch you up on nothing major - just a few things I happened upon this weekend that made me a happy bunny. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Since the weather is continuing on this trend of out of season amazing, I had the motivation to do some much overdue closet purging and reorganizing. This left me with several bags of clothing to donate and also the realization that if I intend to go outside this spring and summer, I need to get some mama clothes. I love my bumparoo more every day, but dressing around it and staying true to myself is a challenge. True to me revolves around two basic fundamentals - I love a classic and I love a bargain, so plunking down change on clothes I may only wear for a few more months hurts a little...er, a lot, actually. For this reason, I've been staying away from maternity stores and trying to shop silhouettes that will be flexible now and still work postpartum. It takes some patience and an open mind, but what shopping trip doesn't, eh?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Surprising source of maternity wear #1 - Forever 21. <i>I know</i>. But every time I write them off as way below my age threshold, here they come with some crazy affordable, on trend clothing that could have just easily been hanging on the rack at J.Crew.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I submit to the jury... </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.forever21.com/Product/Product.aspx?category=BTMs&ProductID=2000036666&utm_source=google&utm_medium=base&utm_campaign=product_feed" target="_blank">Essential Linen-Blend Shorts</a> $13.50 </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><img src="http://www.forever21.com/images/model_detail/00036666-03.jpg" /> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Pretty much everything I love about shorts now that I'm a grown up. Slouchy, but still flattering fit, long enough to cover my bum without reaching my knees, and on-trend with all the yummy pastels I'm seeing everywhere for spring. I sized up one to make room for the baby hips, let them sit right under the belly, and boom. Mama shorts.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I got them in the minty green, lavender, peach, and khaki. Four pair of shorts for $54.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.forever21.com/Product/Product.aspx?category=DRESS&ProductID=2015036804&utm_source=google&utm_medium=base&utm_campaign=product_feed" target="_blank">Tie Dye Maxi Dress</a> $24.80</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><img src="http://www.forever21.com/images/model_front/15036804-01.jpg" /> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I resisted the maxi trend when it came around last spring/summer. I'm shortish, 5'4" <i>and a half</i>, so I didn't think I had the height to pull this off. Turns out, it doesn't really matter how tall (or not) you are, maxis are freakin comfortable, and especially so when you're pregnant. This dress is soft, has a nice weight for warm spring and not too sweltering summer, and has an adorable cap sleeve that gives much appreciated coverage and bra concealment for those of us plagued with unruly baby boobs. Strapless is great if you can do it, but I need a serious bra every day to get the support I need. I hate when straps show but I still want something breezy and comfortable. This is it. Works with flats, works with a wedge, no jewelry, chunky jewelry, with my favorite knit pullover for cool nights, with nothing. Stayed true to size. Love.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://www.forever21.com/Product/Product.aspx?BR=f21&Category=top_knit&ProductID=2008584599&VariantID=" target="_blank">Lace Stripes Top</a> $11.50</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><img src="http://www.forever21.com/images/model_detail/08584599-07.jpg" /> </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This is just perfectly pretty. The cotton is soft, the lace is smooth and not scratchy. With a long cami underneath, any pair of my new shorts, cute sandals, and a bracelet or a necklace this will probably be my weekend "I want to look dressed" uniform. Sized up one to drape nicely over the belly, and will still work as a slouchy weekend tee when baby makes her debut.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I also have some product love to share. It's not a weekend without a trip to Target, obviously.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Have you heard of BB cream yet? It's all over the blogosphere as of late, and I've started seeing commercials for various department store and specialty brands. It's touted as a cure-all, cover-all, tinted moisturizer plus.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Target had all the Garnier products on sale so I picked up the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Garnier-Miracle-Perfector-Light-medium/dp/B006WVCF1I/ref=sr_1_1?s=beauty&ie=UTF8&qid=1331549350&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Garnier Miracle Skin Perfector in Light/Medium</a> and the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Garnier-Anti-Dark-Circle-Roller-0-50-Fluid/dp/B003RF82RI/ref=sr_1_1?s=beauty&ie=UTF8&qid=1331549388&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Garnier Skin Renew Anti-Dark Circle Roller</a>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">These two products could be my makeup regime from now through the end of summer. The <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Garnier-Miracle-Perfector-Light-medium/dp/B006WVCF1I/ref=sr_1_1?s=beauty&ie=UTF8&qid=1331549350&sr=1-1" target="_blank">Skin Perfector</a> is lightweight, non-greasy, not too much pink or yellow in the pigment, and lets my natural skin tones and variances come through while also evening out and brightening my complexion. May sound contradictory, but it truly does what it says, giving you glowy, hydrated, balanced skin with sun protection.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I had a BOGO coupon so I also picked up the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Garnier-Anti-Dark-Circle-Roller-0-50-Fluid/dp/B003RF82RI/ref=sr_1_1?s=beauty&ie=UTF8&qid=1331549388&sr=1-1" target="_blank">under eye roller</a>. I usually have a disdain for concealers, but this one is really more of a brightener. I gave it two swipes under each eye and felt immediate refreshment. The formula is cool but not tingly or irritating. I noticed an immediate reduction in puffiness, the whites of my eyes looked brighter, and the effect lasted the rest of the day. Very much enjoy these products in tandem. If I can manage to smear these across my face, maybe sneak in a dollop of lip gloss, I will consider myself a new mom success.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And last but not least, it's self tanner time. I used to be a Neutrogena addict, but I've noticed that the after application self tanner smell is gawd awful strong on their products, and no matter how natural the color my new spidey senses just can't handle it. I've had good luck in the past with the Jergens Natural Glow products, so I decided to give the<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Jergens-Natural-Foaming-Lotion-Medium/dp/B001UTI7ZK/ref=sr_1_1?s=beauty&ie=UTF8&qid=1331549450&sr=1-1" target="_blank"> foaming self tanner formula</a> a go.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I like that the Natural Glow products take longer to fully develop so you can mitigate your level of fauxness. I applied the tanner in Fair to Medium Saturday night and again Sunday evening immediately after showering and buffing my skin dry with a towel. The foam is rich and smooth and goes on like a sheer lotion. Spreads evenly and easily - much easier to spread than a lotion. You can feel the moisturizing properties, which is a nice change of pace from most self tanners that tend to dry up your skin. Since application is half the battle, this product had already won me over. I woke up Sunday morning with a nice, even glow - my skin <i>plus</i>. Now, about 12 hours after application #2 I have an even warmth with no streaks or dark patches that I think I can live on for a few days before needing to apply again. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And the best part of all - no nasty self tanner smell. NONE. I kid you not. Buy some.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">So that's it kids, not a bad weekend. Did I mention I even mopped the floor? Nesting instinct is no joke.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">**Also want to sneak in a mention for another giveaway courtesy of <a href="http://prebabyblog.com/" target="_blank">The Art of Making a Baby</a>. This is for a <a href="http://prebabyblog.com/2012/03/dear-johnnies/" target="_blank">Dear Johnnies hospital gown</a>, something cute and comfortable to wear postpartum in the hospital when you're still being checked every couple of hours, nursing and caring for your new little one, and not wanting anything to come too close to touching your superhero parts. I know not everyone cares, but I love that fun extras like this exist. It's important to feel good and whatever does that for you, I'm all for it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Alright loves, it's pushing 6AM and I'm going to bravely attempt the shove over and be silent technique on Old Man Wood Saw upstairs.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Thank goodness for the under eye roller, all I'm sayin.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div></div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-69511135910571702552012-03-07T00:52:00.004-05:002012-03-07T01:32:53.512-05:00Blog Nod (and a giveaway I'm excited about and am mentioning to get extra entries to win, but kinda hoping you don't enter so I have a better chance.. but read her blog! Ok?)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">Hey Party People!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Just a quick shout out for a blog I've been very recently turned on to... <a href="http://prebabyblog.com/" target="_blank">The Art of Making a Baby</a>. A friend emailed me the link after we had a three, maaaybeee four or five hour long conversation about natural childbirth and I've been both humbled and inspired by this mom's committment to go natural, both throughout her pregnancy and during her labor and delivery. And she also looks supermodel gorgeous doing all of it, so you know the words, sing it with me now... <i>We've got hiiiiigh hopes, we've got hiiiiigh hopes! </i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Anyhoooo, take a gander at that.. and while we're at it.. very quietly and without much fanfare I also have to mention the giveaway she's got going on for a <a href="http://prettypushers.com/about.html" target="_blank">Pretty Pushers Labor Gown</a>. Laugh, joke, raise your eyebrows, but lemmetellyawhat... those gowns are cute y'all.. and they're sleeveless and there's room for the baby monitor and an open, easy un-do halter neckline.. and since, God willing, I'm delivering sometime this summer I'm all about it. Besides, if you knew me in real life you wouldn't think twice about me posting this (Hey April!) oh, and the whole kit-n-kaboodle is meant to be disposable after your little one is in the world.. so wrap me up one, would ya?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now, if you simply <i>must </i>dash my hopes of winning one of these gowns myself, take your good old time checking out the sidebar in her <a href="http://prebabyblog.com/" target="_blank">blog</a> to enter. Unless you're gonna try to win one for me, then by all means, <a href="http://prebabyblog.com/" target="_blank">rush right over</a> and tell your friends!</div></div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-68961192031966661132012-02-28T03:30:00.001-05:002012-02-28T03:32:32.979-05:00Mommy Strength<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;">Today marks the halfway point. Baby Girl is exactly 20 weeks along and but by the grace of God that she does not inherit my chronic tardiness, the number of days until we meet should hopefully amount to less than the number that have gotten us here. By the Grace. Of. God, people!</div><div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm starting to feel like her Mom. I've known of course, since she was just a flickering peanut, that I was going to be her mother, but in the past few weeks it has changed from something I'm waiting for to something I'm becoming. I've transitioned from talking about my pregnancy to hearing myself say <i>"my daughter" </i>and absolutely delighting in the purpose two simple words give every day conversation. This transition has also given me a brand new perspective on this whole pregnancy thing and provided me with some pretty handy tools to navigate some of the more challenging first-time mom moments.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">One of those moments is when one is faced with the most dreaded of all pregnancy evils... the Mommy Bully.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">You know the one. She asks you about all the intimate details of your pregnancy, your birth plan, your thoughts on how you plan to raise your child, and when you answer she wastes no time in tearing your heartfelt and well-researched goals and aspirations to tattered rags. It goes something like this...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Mommy Bully: <i>Sooooo! You're five months along, huh? Do you know where you're going to deliver?</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Innocent Pregnant Woman: <i>Yes! We're delivering at Come One Come All Hospital. We just had our tour and we really like the staff and birth sui-</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">(you're cut off mid-sentence)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Mommy Bully: (eyes rolling) <i>Ohhh nooo, weeeee delivered at Holier Than Thou Hospital and my epidural was a cocktail of percocet and champagne and my ob is a direct descendant of the midwife who delivered Jesus.. you're getting an epidural right? You're not one of these new-age natural birth mothers, oh for heaven's sake please don't say-</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">(you cut her off mid-sentence)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Innocent Pregnant Woman: <i>Actually, I am hoping to have a natural delivery but I'm staying open to the possibility that I might want help, hence why I'm delivering at a hospital.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Mommy Bully:<i> Oh but truuuust me, five seconds in and you're going to be begging for the epidural. Don't be a hero, there are no awards for giving birth the Stone Age way you know... [negative negative negative, condescending condescending, condescending...]</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">You could substitute any topic - breastfeeding, swaddling, cloth diapers, strollers versus baby carriers... there is literally no end to the backlash a first-time mom receives from the been-there-done-that crowd. It will come from the well-meaning, the spiteful, the have-no-sense-of-social-decency-whatsoever, your friends, your family, your coworkers, your cashier at Target. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">And then you have a choice. You can either do what I did up until a few weeks ago, which was to internalize my anger and hurt and wait until I got home to unleash it all in a blizzard of tears and sobs and <i>"Why doesn't anyone respect my choices?? I'm going to be her mother!! They were new mothers themselves one time, don't they remember what it's like?!?! Don't they think I want the best for my child??? What kind of person tries to talk another woman out of making her own choices as a parent?!?!"</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Or, you can take a breath and remind yourself of the one simple, irrefutable truth.. YOU alone are your baby's mother.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I can't tell you what a quick glance in the mirror every now and then, saying these words to myself with a hand on my belly, has done for my state of mind and my resolve. It reminds me that no matter what criticism or negativity comes my way now, something so much bigger and better is coming to stay. And I dare somebody to challenge her cute little cloth-covered bottom once she's here.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">140 days and counting...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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(Just past 3AM Wednesday, been awake since 5AM Tuesday. Managed to twirl my hair around a curling iron this morning and kept my makeup relatively fresh throughout the day, hence the rare stamina to sit here looking quasi-presentable and write to you anyones out there about what yet I'm not too sure. Bear with.)</div>
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I so admire the blogs of 5 or 6 sentences that describe a day, describe an outfit, link the two seamlessly together, infuse a shot of philosophy, and scene. My reader is full of them and they've helped break me of my magazine addiction, for which I am forever grateful. The thing is, they can do that because they do it every day and those of you who are fellow faithful blog followers will understand what I mean when I say that you come to know these women like the neighbor down the street who can just pop in to say hello, while I on the other hand tend to err on the side of moderately bitter old harpie who only emerges from her shades drawn bat cave when the children have cleared the streets and the weather outside is not a degree below bathwater. I would love to write every day, and if you count the continuous reel of monologue playing in my head I suppose in some way I do, but most of the time trying to strain the good through the lumps of gritty bad is too much for this crazy old cat(less) lady to manage.</div>
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Lately though, there's been a new reason to write, a new thing to think on, and rather than let this time go undocumented, only existing for me and my unsorted mind to remember, I want to share it with you.</div>
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Ladies, readers, friends.. I am pregnant. Deliciously, ever-increasingly, several months and a pair of days pregnant with a five and a half inch scrumptch of a baby girl, who if she inherits even a trace of her great-grandmother's good graces will hopefully grant forgiveness for what appears to be the unfortunate resemblance of my nose.</div>
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And there it is, in all its miraculous, confusing, terrifying glory. A baby is coming. My baby.</div>
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I have struggled for weeks over whether or not to bring this story here, to this format, this breach of anonymity and privacy the past 18 months have taught me to cherish. And not so triumphantly, I can't say that I came to the decision so much as the decision came to me.. earlier this evening in a hall light lit bathroom taking in for the very first time that this woman-in-repair staring back from the mirror is not just me... it's me and it's <i>Her.</i> Her is here now, not just Situation or Circumstance or What next to do.. occupying the space that was empty, longing for reconciliation and absolution, praying every night for Belief, is Her. My daughter is with me now, every moment of every day, and the relief, the forgiveness, the peace I furiously clung to hope that God would grant to heal the constant ache in my heart... He did me one better. He moved peace right in, and so very precious, about once or twice a day, I feel -literally- peace moving within me.</div>
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It may be the first time in my life as a believer that I've not mistaken grace for mere relief, that I've felt something not just calming, but also stabilizing and determining. That the answer to my prayers has brought me closer to God than I even thought to ask for, and that His answer to my doubt and despair was a to-the-knees resounding, "You are My child and you absolutely can do this. I would have it no other way."</div>
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This is about the time in the mind-reel when I would just as soon turn the microphone over to God Himself and let Him tell the story His way. I clearly fall short, and.. well... this is ultimately His story anyway, isn't it?</div>
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Short of a divine intercom system, I will, for now, leave you with this - I am grateful, so very grateful, but I am also, more often than not, scared out of my mind. What about my big ole proclamation of faith, you ask? Oh it's there, staunchly and steadfastly my faith in my God and myself is there, but me and Her.. we are both still learning, both growing together, and for today my simple hope is that on this fast-approaching day when my sweet little girl is born, she will be a brand new baby in the world and I will be worth her. </div>
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<i>"Peace is not the absence of noise, trouble, or hard work. </i><i>It is to be in the midst of those things and still be calm in your heart."</i></div>
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**Together, today, we look a little like this...<br />
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And the peace that She's giving me, something like this...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYs22ChJKGrQhTQgdfXhhKZloZ9xXSgDqErltFPOlq64Gj4w65j0upAEqarJw_kRaDzTV2TpxegayCoUVecWgZr5zCAmoq5bnJdTQKg0kYHkW7Tsez1CiDQQGTSdF2eKY-03vruI6zFqIh/s1600/photo+%25283%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYs22ChJKGrQhTQgdfXhhKZloZ9xXSgDqErltFPOlq64Gj4w65j0upAEqarJw_kRaDzTV2TpxegayCoUVecWgZr5zCAmoq5bnJdTQKg0kYHkW7Tsez1CiDQQGTSdF2eKY-03vruI6zFqIh/s400/photo+%25283%2529.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Thanks for staying with me, more to follow.<br />
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**I realize this blurry iPhone pic could use a bit of editing, but I kinda like the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_Hopper" target="_blank">Hopper-ishness</a> of it, and frankly, sometimes blurry ain't bad.</div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-16308900483081314492011-11-25T12:50:00.000-05:002011-11-25T12:50:02.507-05:00Sweet coma bliss<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;">I used to loathe the day after Thanksgiving. During my retail days it meant waking up at the crack of dawn to be at the mall when it opened at 6am, only to spend the next ten to twelve hours working at the equivalent pace of a hamster running on a treadmill whilst being pelted with rogue shopping bags, attitude, and on more than one occasion, baby spit-up. True story, that one.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">When I finally got to 401k job status, I thought for sure my days working the grind on Black Friday were over, but working in mortgages during the boom, and then changing careers to work in healthcare meant that every day the banks were open or people were experiencing emergencies, I was on the clock.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This is the first year in a long while that I've been at my job long enough to a) have accrued a nice chunk of vacation time, and b) actually had the seniority to use it, so many months ago I requested off for today and didn't have to cover call for the weekend. It was absolutely glorious to come home last night, slip on pajamas, and truly <i>relax.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And then this morning, I woke up to 60 degree weather with blue skies, a respectable stash of leftovers, and fresh ground coffee set to brew at exactly 9am.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">We are in grown up heaven here folks.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I took a cue from Jessica over at <a href="http://www.howsweeteats.com/" target="_blank">How Sweet It Is</a> and threw a healthy portion of my leftovers in a pan, topped them off with two over-easy eggs, and parked it to watch my bf Jerry O'Connell rule the school on Live with Kelly.</div><br />
This is my life today...<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisgZe8WGJHZcr58AnHlZjk78eND5mawawAaTyJViqf5aruW-dhMKUzjKzcgk7TgFf5yFy2cQRCjwklZg3fOA3LHWxn2zExEOQO55V1ll86FOtpB8ZFTLLO1gS_sWrDx_0s1H2ajweCsZok/s1600/IMG01574.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisgZe8WGJHZcr58AnHlZjk78eND5mawawAaTyJViqf5aruW-dhMKUzjKzcgk7TgFf5yFy2cQRCjwklZg3fOA3LHWxn2zExEOQO55V1ll86FOtpB8ZFTLLO1gS_sWrDx_0s1H2ajweCsZok/s320/IMG01574.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And this is my partner...</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIXsDk7t-BFl024qWh_hop3LTBWtuhytLQxu21aXWfX-nkyidLt6ECznPL-wg4Dn05SHy5ZPq72K1R6xHuHZ7OWR5sEcimo7LgPfZbp4uVJ4lNmt5zlV8E688bWB7lx6qxYGYQpZQ5gT0C/s1600/IMG01580.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIXsDk7t-BFl024qWh_hop3LTBWtuhytLQxu21aXWfX-nkyidLt6ECznPL-wg4Dn05SHy5ZPq72K1R6xHuHZ7OWR5sEcimo7LgPfZbp4uVJ4lNmt5zlV8E688bWB7lx6qxYGYQpZQ5gT0C/s320/IMG01580.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">And in case you're wondering, my day after Thanksgiving breakfast hash consisted of mashed potatoes, crumbled up stuffing, and diced sweet potatoes. I browned 'em up in a skillet with a little bit of olive oil, added chopped celery, bacon, and a sprig of sage, and topped with two over easy eggs. Oh, and I also added shredded cheddar. Because I had to.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-71389806529094786982011-11-25T00:09:00.004-05:002011-11-25T00:31:14.525-05:00Thankful and Tank-full<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;">Hello everyone and the most delicious and warm Thanksgiving to you all!!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Man oh man, this day was wonderful.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Just a few things and then I'm settling in on the sofa with a blanket, new crazy comfy jammies (<a href="http://www.bodenusa.com/en-US/Womens-Loungewear/WT039-BLU/Womens-Bluebell-Polka-Dot-Cosy-Brushed-Pull-ons.html" target="_blank">these</a> are heaven), and a spoiled puppy with leftover turkey in her sweet little belly. I think it's gonna be a Serendipity night, or maybe a little Family Stone. We'll see how much emotion I'm up for...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This is my first go-round with <a href="http://www.bexadiary.com/" target="_blank">Bex</a> and her Thursday Latelies link-up. As you'll see, I'm not very webcam savvy (there's a motion delay I couldn't figure out, horrible lighting, raccoon eyes not at all indicative of how much eyeliner I was actually wearing, and I think I fussed with my hair too much), buuuuut I'm trying to get back in to the swing of things with blogging and I thought sidling up with a blog I'm fond of, and a blogger I respect, might help me find some inspiration and direction. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Mostly, I'm just trying to find my balance. It's one thing to feel strong, quite another to feel grounded, and it's hard to open up when you feel like your walking the tightrope. I'm getting there though. I'm getting to a place where I realize, and fully embrace, that my mistakes are not the end of the world. Not even the end of my world. Nothing is ever all bad. And most importantly, nothing has more importance than God's grace. Nothing I can do will ever outweigh God's ability to forgive, and I am finally beginning to understand the gravity of that truth.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I've also come to appreciate that a loving, united family is a gift, an absolute gift, and cherishing that family is an honor, not a responsibility. I'm blessed to have what I have, nothing short of an abundance, in friends and family. I'm so very thankful. Or as my cousin's two and half year old daughter would say, "Tank-full".</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Happy Holidays xo</div><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="300" mozallowfullscreen="" src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/32653239?title=0&byline=0&portrait=0" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="400"></iframe><br />
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(And PS - what's up with Vimeo picking the most unflattering freeze frame possible? Uh Vimeo, I haz a suggestion for you...)<br />
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(Oh, and PPS - I recorded this video before I realized I'd be linking you back to my actual blog, so of course you know where my blog is now and that whole shazazz in the beginning about not knowing my web address is redundant.. and embarrassing.)</div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-75100187492442151492011-11-21T01:22:00.002-05:002011-11-21T08:42:23.219-05:00Remember who you are<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div style="text-align: justify;">It feels so good to be writing again, even if I really have no idea how to say what I want to share with you. There have been dozens, hundreds more likely, of moments over the past however many months I've been off the grid where I've talked this post out to myself, trying to make it take shape. And then each day would bring with it new and unexpected challenges, making yesterday's thoughts seem no longer relevant. There is also a hesitancy in detailing how you are struggling to recreate yourself. Wondering if strangers will understand things you're not even sure of yourself. I've been wanting to tell you where I have settled, and almost seven months later it seems I finally have. Or at least I have begun.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">This past April I moved from the suburbs to a tiny brick rowhouse in Baltimore City. The house is smaller in actual living space than my first, much cheaper apartment, but it's comfortable and manageable, and in it I'm beginning to heal. I had so many fears moving here that now seem so childish, like I was a kid going off to college for the first time. Or heck, like I was seventh grade me going off to sleep-away camp for the first time. Parking, grocery stores, where to walk my dog, can I even afford this, will I be safe on my own... will I be sane on my own. So far I am thrilled to report that I'm doing well on five out of six - the sanity is a luxury item, most days I thrive on functional stability. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">I wish I had been brave enough, or together enough, to include you in the journey all along. This summer was full of adventures and fun and deep laughter with friends who stood by my side without having to be asked. There was the first sunny day I walked Daphne to Federal Hill park and saw the view of the Baltimore Harbor. Water and old city buildings, people playing volleyball and boating in the marina across the way.. it was beautiful, peaceful, and revitalizing... and I realized that this is where I <i>live</i>. I sat on a bench taking it in while my pup snoozed on the grass, feeling incredibly blessed to have landed in this place, and it was one of the many, many times that I mentally penned a love note to you all.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Now I'm in a place where I'm starting to feel pieces of me coming back to life. Sometimes it's painful, like waking a limb, and sometimes it's a piece that's been dormant for so long, I have to pause and remember. Remember who I am, who I want to be, the kind of woman I was ultimately created to be. It's funny how much numbness you have to go through to actually get to the healing, but here I am. Pins and needles.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
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</div></div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-66727548728774901272011-03-19T03:01:00.001-04:002011-03-19T03:03:31.766-04:00The other side of the wall<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Two weeks from today I'll be moving into a tiny house built for one. I'll be leaving behind the dream house we bought together a scant five months ago, the house we bought to make room for the next phase of our life. I'll be leaving one dog, our boy, and taking my little furry funny girl with me. I watch them laying side by side, twirled together in an old blanket on the floor, and my heart just aches remembering the days when I used to fret like a nervous mother, wondering if two and half year old Brutus would ever warm to ten week old, three-pound, puppy teeth wielding Daphne... and now they are the best of friends, brother and sister.<br />
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</div><div>The title of this post is borrowed from an episode of Sex & The City. The one where Carrie and Aiden decide that their relationship has reached its end and Aiden spends their last night sleeping on the floor of the apartment across the hall. Carrie goes to join him and in the closing monologue she says it was the only night they spent on the other side of the wall. </div><div><br />
</div><div>That is where we are, where we have been for five months, though neither of us had any idea until recently. I'm going to wake up tomorrow.. in two weeks.. and this time will be over. I still have hope that after this trial we may find ourselves in a new and better place, but right now every day feels like the last long night.</div><div><br />
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</div><div>This blog will not become a diary of my separation, but lately that is the origin of almost every thought and the only words I can string together are to describe the emotion and the changes that it brings. I hope you can bear with me as I not so steadily attempt to cross over.</div><div><br />
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</div><div>Also, I can not leave this entry without acknowledgement of the devastation in Japan. I have a home to go to, no loved ones lost forever, my world's still here, just altered. To all our brothers and sisters on an island that suddenly seems not so far away, all my love to you.</div><div><br />
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</div></div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-89837220107257196432011-02-21T13:34:00.005-05:002011-03-15T17:26:19.450-04:00A truly awful sweetness.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I have versed and outlined and put this post into rough draft at least a dozen times. I’ve talked it out in the car as though you were there, trying to unearth a way to explain my absence that is apologetic but grateful, relevant without being egregiously revealing. I want you to know what’s been going on, but I don’t want to drag you through the mire – especially not in your cute outfits. <span style="font-family: Wingdings;">J</span> See? There are still smiles.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">The root of the root is this… After several months of trying at all costs to avoid this <span class="apple-style-span">eventuality</span>, my husband and I have, with heavy hearts, decided to separate.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">In previous posts I mentioned that the road for my husband and I has not been easy. We are a couple that came together despite obvious, and some would argue, fundamental differences that may have, in times of greater clarity not blinded by consuming 20x26 year old love, been reasons to amicably end a burgeoning relationship, rather than push it ever forward. We have always been on the cusp of a new transition, a life-altering change, and with that we would habitually say “As soon as we this… that will be better.” Stress, change, and trial have always revealed our weaknesses as a couple, rather than enhance our strengths. We loved each other, we spoke a language that was uniquely our own, and the thought back then of ending a relationship where love really did exist seemed the most illogical of all culminations. It never occurred to either of us that perhaps the most loving act we could do for each other was simply to let go.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">There has been hurt and wrong-doing on both sides. There are regrets and remorse that I will carry with me for a long, long time, and that I imagine, and maybe selfishly hope, so will he. There is a continuously running reel of mistakes and shortcomings, moments of doubt and indecision playing in my mind, weighing on my heart, and rather than try to explain what is essentially our life, I will just say what most of us already know - that no one but no one can ever fully understand the intimacies and idiosyncrasies kneaded within the daily bread of two people. I can hardly make sense of it myself.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">We have these moments now.. now when my departure is within a few short weeks and not months.. moments of kindness towards one another that absolutely ache with the knowing of what’s to come. Knowing we will each miss our friend, our lover, our companion, the holder of all the memories yet to be made in the life we thought we would have together, the only person who knew our grandparents when they were still alive. I wish I could collect these moments in a jar, keep them on the night table by my pillow, hold some in my pocket throughout the day… but there are some things for which there is no real comfort, which must be felt completely, in the length of their entirety, wept for until your lungs go dry. Before, our arguments meant we were still engaged, still here, still choosing life together.. the kindness now, though precious, feels like defeat.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">I wrestled with whether or not to share this news. This blog is a tiny little half-written diary that hasn’t yet found its voice and I thought who even cares or wants to know? This post, this letter to anyone out there, is a bit of a catharsis for me, but in many ways close to my heart, this post is for you. I have cherished each and every email I have received from readers and followers – those received most recently expressing concern, or just plain desire for me to come back and write, especially… These unsolicited kindnesses are an immeasurable comfort, and a sweetness I’m not sure how I can repay.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">Enter the decision to share and disclose, and hopefully continue on. Deep breath, preview, publish…</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div></div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-36992949148366690542010-04-15T22:00:00.006-04:002010-04-15T22:07:04.585-04:00This is Home.Hubs and I live a pretty simple life. We are two city mice who long to live in the country, so of course we own a second-story walk up in the 'burbs. Sometimes it would appear that everything about us is a non-sequitur.<br />
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Our accommodations for the time being are humble, but every spring the landscape here turns resplendent. The trees bordering our apartment appear in full bloom overnight and you can hardly see outside. <br />
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It's magical and restorative to the soul.<br />
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Coming home on bloom day. I do love this hallway with its smeary walls and cool, green stairwell.<br />
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The window at the end of the corridor. Sometimes I wish we had held our wedding right here.<br />
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Curtains would be a crime with a view like this. Takes frying up the bacon to a whole new level.<br />
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Going outside to stroll and photograph. Notice the 2nd story windows completely covered in delicious pink petals. Yup, that's us.<br />
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Heaven.<br />
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If I had to choose one palette to wear for the rest of my days, this would be it.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIhzd67qaXDUFv2XgceJe6yIkstsomMSRUE3U7o2x78NJqSpL4WFk7Vx797QvPpXYsz7U-IB9ALZWjnHwZ61vdvQgh70McQrWNMy8ve4gz4X_kZtulW5-4lR1Pc-b-Zk2q3QWOsuJihCcq/s1600/103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIhzd67qaXDUFv2XgceJe6yIkstsomMSRUE3U7o2x78NJqSpL4WFk7Vx797QvPpXYsz7U-IB9ALZWjnHwZ61vdvQgh70McQrWNMy8ve4gz4X_kZtulW5-4lR1Pc-b-Zk2q3QWOsuJihCcq/s400/103.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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The lilac lady along the path the winds around our building.<br />
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I have read many a book perched under this canopy.<br />
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Happy Spring Loves.<br />
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xoxo, KristenKristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-352636439803231273.post-14767080815234115042010-04-09T16:05:00.012-04:002010-04-10T16:18:06.294-04:00Just let the bird build a nest.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Hello friends! </span></span><br />
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</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">It has been too long. And I have to tell you, I am very emotional writing this post.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I've had a house guest all this week. She is impeccably neat and well-kept, but holy Moses and the bush that burns, <i>she is loud as <u>all</u> <u>get</u> <u>out</u> in the morning.</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Here she is...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
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</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 13px;">Can you see her? There in the middle sporting one of spring's bolder style choices - the brilliantly orange-hued beak. She sits there, elegant as pearls on a philanthropic debutante, mocking me by her very being... <i>Ahh Kristen, so simple in your blue jeans and toddler-level digital camera. Don't fret, one day you'll wear color too. Oh yes you will.. beige <u>is</u> a color... to some...</i></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Gah! humbling nature, how you best me.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">She arrived on Monday morning, startling me right out of a lazy spring break sleep. There was a timed, almost methodical sound of something hard hitting a window across the house. At first I thought I was under attack by an unruly brigade of agitated chipmunks recently put out by the annual grooming of the neighboring treeline, fueled by the quest for social justice, and violently adept with an acorn. It was also quite possible that hubs forgot his keys, yet again, but I figured if that was the case he would come to his senses and throw stray objects at the bedroom window instead of the kitchen. I mean.. it's 8am on a Monday morning and I have no plans or outside commitments.. do you not know me at all?</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">But it was not hubs and the sound persisted and soon the dogs were barking out of control, anxious to defend our home against all enemies, wild and domestic. So I stumbled, bleary-eyed but looking fabulous (pssht, not), from the boudoir to the room where we keep the good, good coffee and there she was, a ravishing lady cardinal perched on the tip of a branch, wings bulked in grim determination. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">And then... PLUNK! She flew right in to the window, appearing to charge directly at me. I swear it just about stopped my heart.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">She was fine though. Hovered for a bit, flapping those wings with impressive fervor, before settling back on her branch. Every 7 minutes or so she would try again and I sat in a chair watching her for an hour, totally and completely bawling into a steaming hot cup of Columbian roast.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">My grandmother, my Mom-Mom, was the most incredible, gracious, accepting, and loving <s>woman</s> <i>person </i>I will ever know. She had such a refreshing way about her, a lightness that lifted burden and worry from the soul. Every single dream I had was not only important, but also legitimate in her eyes, from the ballerina who wanted to ride lions and join the circus to the high school senior who desperately wanted to forgo college and find herself abroad. She never once told me to think twice and perhaps risk living only half the time. She raised us to be good, to cherish and love one another, to not fear change, and to remain resolved in whatever paths we chose.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><i>And here comes the shed of tears once again...</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><i><br />
</i></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">The world is never the same without your grandmother. And it's not even the Christmases and the birthdays that she used to anchor with her presence - no, it goes so far beyond. It is the pervasive missing goodness from all the otherwise inconsequential days that make me realize, if she is to remain a part of my world, my life, it is now upon me to resemble her in any small way. This realization is deafening. I wonder if I know enough. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">And every time I stumble, I inadvertently stop, close my eyes, and lift my shoulders up to the sky, hoping to feel her hand - worn and wrinkled and the size of the universe - touching down on me. A reminder that I not only carry with me her chestnut hair, but also 25 years worth of her life, and that I can do this. I can do this for her.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">It has been three years since she died and I have been in the mindset of trying not to dwell. To think of her and then let her go. To let grief and longing land for a moment, but never build a nest.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">Cardinals were her favorite bird.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">If you ever drove past my grandparent's house at the corner of Edmonson and Greenlow you would have seen her following - a smattering of trees full of bright red wings and melon beaks. They would come right up to the back porch and pluck the raisins that we placed on the railing. There were babies every year and at least one or two proud mamas who would sit at the gate and watch - I'd like to think over our family as well as their own.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">And so, now one has come to stay with me. Knocking at my window every morning and keeping watch over my tiny home at night. It is enormously overwhelming and perhaps the most staggeringly beautiful sight I have ever seen.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;">I do so hope she plans to stay.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 13px;"><br />
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</span></span></div>Kristenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03596567650345516388noreply@blogger.com6