tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26009473058127883952024-03-28T20:30:08.651-07:00BlissWill, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.comBlogger147125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-58775557927840570492021-11-10T22:09:00.000-08:002021-11-10T22:09:14.293-08:00It's Just A lot. <div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="44s9r-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="44s9r-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The</span><span data-offset-key="44s9r-1-0" style="font-family: inherit;"> past week has felt like months. Waiting, Breath holding, suspended in time, heart potentially ready to shatter into oblivion at any time. Then you wake up. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="2soi2-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2soi2-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="2soi2-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="ikma-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ikma-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="ikma-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Woke</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="7tefi-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7tefi-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="7tefi-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Up. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="e272k-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="e272k-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="e272k-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">You open your eyes. You come to the realization that there are people tip-toeing around you, also suspended in time waiting for you to breathe so that they themselves can fall to the ground in a million pieces. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="ak261-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ak261-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="ak261-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Today was that day. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="6mn60-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6mn60-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="6mn60-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Innocuous.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="8q328-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8q328-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="8q328-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Different yet The Same?</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="7gruo-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7gruo-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="7gruo-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Or</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="7hdmm-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7hdmm-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="7hdmm-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">So</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="7tcjq-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="7tcjq-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="7tcjq-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="9a3is-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9a3is-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="9a3is-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Thought.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="1o74b-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1o74b-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="1o74b-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">He hopped in the car. Happy. Until in a blink of an eye, he wasn’t. That’s how it is sometimes around here. There are no words for it. The emotions seem to start bubbling up from his toes, pulsating through his veins, and overtake his core until he begins to howl. An animalistic, mournful, raging scream that pierced every square inch of the van. At first he couldn’t voice what was wrong. He didn’t know.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHfkA2EbfXZkywojyXvntfOT4iflMu8rVzc7Mn1xPh9CTFWmNh970XI5pvQ6S_Z6ivHAsQURtrxalXLTngtREIRWkTTLmHLSf5sYvTLwETBPvDOVJppLDWYSp3SRxoAUN4UBcKuyAG5qXz/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="481" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHfkA2EbfXZkywojyXvntfOT4iflMu8rVzc7Mn1xPh9CTFWmNh970XI5pvQ6S_Z6ivHAsQURtrxalXLTngtREIRWkTTLmHLSf5sYvTLwETBPvDOVJppLDWYSp3SRxoAUN4UBcKuyAG5qXz/" width="180" /></a></div></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="8kmc5-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8kmc5-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="8kmc5-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Until</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="ftcn-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ftcn-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="ftcn-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">He </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="26fas-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="26fas-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="26fas-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Did.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="70v7r-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="70v7r-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="70v7r-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">He wanted to go back. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="67bem-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="67bem-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="67bem-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">To Taiwan.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="ekva2-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ekva2-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="ekva2-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">He wanted to find solace in the arms of his birth mother. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="ee1nv-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ee1nv-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="ee1nv-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">The wailing grew louder. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="3dj8o-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="3dj8o-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="3dj8o-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">He was crying for the mother that cocooned him within her womb for 8 months. For the woman in his dreams that he longs to know but may never meet. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="9ibrd-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9ibrd-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="9ibrd-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">It’s in these moments that I am jolted into reality.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="6cj0v-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6cj0v-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="6cj0v-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Because</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="9bicl-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9bicl-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="9bicl-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="ftb3l-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ftb3l-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="ftb3l-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Forget. He feels my love deeply. But I am not her. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="5c23d-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="5c23d-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="5c23d-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I did not give birth to him…and I also grieve, because I forget. I forget, I forget. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="9fck9-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9fck9-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="9fck9-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">My heart is inextricably connected to this child, but I cannot change the fact that I was never there from the very beginning. His broken heart is not mine to heal. <br /></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="4spah-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="4spah-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="4spah-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="46fcr-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="46fcr-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="46fcr-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Just....</span></div><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="46fcr-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="46fcr-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Forget.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="9altm-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9altm-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="9altm-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">He’s desiring what I can never offer. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="efnn5-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="efnn5-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="efnn5-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I can’t take away the pain. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="ac1lr-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="ac1lr-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="ac1lr-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">That sorrow. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="1dbta-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="1dbta-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="1dbta-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">The grieving.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="2hchq-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="2hchq-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="2hchq-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I pulled the car over onto a side dirt road. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="9crdd-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="9crdd-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="9crdd-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I got out.We unbuckle. We cling to one another, his tears streaming down.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="d6t9u-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="d6t9u-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="d6t9u-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">I affirmed him. Told him I loved him. Apologized for this broken world and inwardly for mothers that don’t have the ability to care for their sons. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="brige-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="brige-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="brige-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">He settled. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="bjn56-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="bjn56-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="bjn56-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">He calmed.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="21erl-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="21erl-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="21erl-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">For now.</span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="6s9mu-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="6s9mu-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="6s9mu-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><br data-text="true" /></span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="92ibi-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="92ibi-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="92ibi-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Adoption Awareness month. Hard truths. No glamour. No accolades. MESSY. So So MESSY. HIS mercy and grace. Brokenness, redemption, sorrow, love, pain and loss. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="8th8u-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="8th8u-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="8th8u-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Empathy, Understanding, growth, change, </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="pgje-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="_1mf _1mj" data-offset-key="pgje-0-0" style="direction: ltr; font-family: inherit; position: relative; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span data-offset-key="pgje-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;">Lots of Jesus. </span></div></div><div class="" data-block="true" data-editor="7t8um" data-offset-key="a2pi4-0-0" style="font-family: inherit;"></div><br class="Apple-interchange-newline" /><p> </p>Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-23089318806726746642021-10-08T20:59:00.001-07:002021-10-08T20:59:50.418-07:00The one where they almost died...<p> I have a lot of questions. </p><p>WHERE has the last couple of weeks gone?</p><p>Why did I not put an update up last week?</p><p>How and why do these married renovation couples on TV choose this life?</p><p>SO....For those of you that saw my Facebook post of choosing the wrong sweatshirt for my son's highschool.....I want you to imagine the stress of placing thousands of dollars worth of materials order for a home that you're afraid to measure. So yeah. There's that. Will can have it. I'm at a heightened state of feeling overwhelmed. Trying new tools out, getting dramatic...wiping, plastering, sanding, painting, rinse and repeat. EVERY. DAY. Not so secretly, I really do love the hard labor. </p><p>OK. So here's where we're at. The boys let out crazy amounts of frustration that first week and knocked down the wall in between the kitchen and the dining room. It looks fantastic. Game Changer for sure. I've pulled staples, prepped the walls and we are tearing up the boys rooms because my Pinteresting is currently out of control. Surely these rooms won't turn out like my blobby face cupcakes. I'm confident. </p><p><b>Things that are happening:</b></p><p></p><ul style="text-align: left;"><li>Using these insane tools that could cut through bone while standing on a ladder only to discover the board and major piece of ceiling I'm cutting were held up by one nail. It ALL came crashing down. Awesome. While Will does not agree; we could have for sure died. </li><li>Carrying heavy ass sheetrock boards over to the dumpster with Will as he suddenly drops it, snapping my neck hard left. While I appreciate a good adjustment- I prefer mine from a professional. While Will does not agree; I could have for sure died. </li><li>I ordered A LOT of sample stick paint samples. Will's colorblindness and my indecisiveness is not playing well in this area. I'm sure it will be fine. Will's exact words when I pointed to the samples- I like that one (basically the lightest shade of grey) Yeah, me too, but what about the one on the left? <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_sflF2zQJuu5-g8jYFK6ocTkjmOBzTUXWNCifCCBR6Qi-tPD1PSf7XZuxTF_D0F0z62YeKHsS7QHt7tBl4n1anGvj46p5EVpKRuFJJT_8qL6AheZINWAJAZT3eLeeBf3IhM2JPMARTS5w/" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="119" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_sflF2zQJuu5-g8jYFK6ocTkjmOBzTUXWNCifCCBR6Qi-tPD1PSf7XZuxTF_D0F0z62YeKHsS7QHt7tBl4n1anGvj46p5EVpKRuFJJT_8qL6AheZINWAJAZT3eLeeBf3IhM2JPMARTS5w/w159-h119/IMG_0225.JPG" width="159" /></a></div>Will: There's one on the left? Me:😐 <strike>So while this particular scenario does not involve physical death, I will die an emotional death daily if I have to look at the wrong color every day</strike>. Ok. That went too far...just ignore that I said that. </li><li>Three bedrooms and half the upper hallway are primed. Will: So did you order the paint.....Me: um.......(me), still staring indecisively at the paint stick on's...... thinking that we really need to work on our communication. </li><li>Thankful to my dad for knocking out priming the walls and painting the most hated of projects...the ceiling. Taking one for the team.</li><li>Orthopedic appointment for my hand is now scheduled because apparently my body can't hang.</li><li>Stanley Steamer, Plumber and Kitchen specialist came in and I am GEEKING out. Not about the cleaned HVAC ...but the kitchen. GAH. Renderings up and coming hopefully next week. </li><li>APPPLIANCES ORDERED. (fingers crossed)</li><li>Kitchen floor pried up and gutted.</li></ul><div>OK. Enough chit chat -Here's some pictures. </div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBqrdKWTOysFeVMj_-rMvaSWVJ-uKz0MU8LA3mm0LuZX6Qwd22JtXqRwmo-Xry32X-la9fom2RhZwn8-vXPU0IU66YLT99aS2t6n3StY0X3dv3cCcCAWFUVmk0ghc_Wpca0c6qOt2H4a9/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTBqrdKWTOysFeVMj_-rMvaSWVJ-uKz0MU8LA3mm0LuZX6Qwd22JtXqRwmo-Xry32X-la9fom2RhZwn8-vXPU0IU66YLT99aS2t6n3StY0X3dv3cCcCAWFUVmk0ghc_Wpca0c6qOt2H4a9/w240-h320/IMG_3178.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">EW. I do not know exactly what this all means- but I can't think it's good. </td></tr></tbody></table></div><ul style="text-align: left;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiaZNSah96SHqVOb2sngobigplxm-5TzXJs4V5bVQN3GH9CTJlXCSnWwscdzpWK3cHn_n6aheBVdzWzlCDkHLmBEQjTaT50iFNKvjV-_OEdvnqUUf7__4LznnVF8CdBysuHJvJBDRrpCcO/w240-h320/IMG_9943.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="240" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Are we having a breakthrough?...ummmmmm</td></tr></tbody></table></ul><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2c05SDEgVNZkNkXuvj4e0fbeajpSSgtTRnLgiSUaPhX507tRnCJHyU6gzZMnTDWGMSFejdmvUWcyS0mdhyphenhyphenibNICzrVNh1psf9aPrv-3_aNdxzHPgT-pGeJEXs-V_0CJcrv9JCmo6oT321/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2c05SDEgVNZkNkXuvj4e0fbeajpSSgtTRnLgiSUaPhX507tRnCJHyU6gzZMnTDWGMSFejdmvUWcyS0mdhyphenhyphenibNICzrVNh1psf9aPrv-3_aNdxzHPgT-pGeJEXs-V_0CJcrv9JCmo6oT321/" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">yeah.not keeping.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWQsTSSAsPUEs92mKktTTMXLohz18SEOXqT_zKFUGU5HUpt59TBTCmV4j9AorYXtQTA5f-Ofvk615N-zCQuOrTGbqNlWbGyXMNrCWawv1ki1xytR6N1DfZeQUWPwXPr83n-CEa_x1OuK6i/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWQsTSSAsPUEs92mKktTTMXLohz18SEOXqT_zKFUGU5HUpt59TBTCmV4j9AorYXtQTA5f-Ofvk615N-zCQuOrTGbqNlWbGyXMNrCWawv1ki1xytR6N1DfZeQUWPwXPr83n-CEa_x1OuK6i/" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">nailed it.</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsCB_iqgln3O-3c9EJcEzS0HG5LMiqt3Up95R3EbBC-UMcsY2EibK7i5LDdtyg2aK6vwlvpGqbgcoTy6bynuChNuhBKlQj6-KGOgAyFInQ67B2rCpN1McWnslE3pHOV08H2VbmY9_ziDt_/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsCB_iqgln3O-3c9EJcEzS0HG5LMiqt3Up95R3EbBC-UMcsY2EibK7i5LDdtyg2aK6vwlvpGqbgcoTy6bynuChNuhBKlQj6-KGOgAyFInQ67B2rCpN1McWnslE3pHOV08H2VbmY9_ziDt_/" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Get. It. Out.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi60VF2DYLEjlOPXVymkC4rVwTNhBesx5UH191voRtOo6pnPP6lg5x20Fp5LpFoS6S-dMt0Jt_iHlYy8fjzO5JyUj6vuuBdpNtQrIKObagrHptDCQAlSGfLaXW-fK_l8BY-DayOX8-XcYSi/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi60VF2DYLEjlOPXVymkC4rVwTNhBesx5UH191voRtOo6pnPP6lg5x20Fp5LpFoS6S-dMt0Jt_iHlYy8fjzO5JyUj6vuuBdpNtQrIKObagrHptDCQAlSGfLaXW-fK_l8BY-DayOX8-XcYSi/" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Everything must go. </td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjawOKujhG4axxQzqMy-6XZb1clO7I3VB3URl5eF0daby7THArU97TwG_AcaWB7s7b7qXskQ93njH-4J3oeZ1EJ87DtAeMW2AJivmAMzhl6Vibq5aShTrO28mAsznN4kNPYovCxhBXLIbWm/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjawOKujhG4axxQzqMy-6XZb1clO7I3VB3URl5eF0daby7THArU97TwG_AcaWB7s7b7qXskQ93njH-4J3oeZ1EJ87DtAeMW2AJivmAMzhl6Vibq5aShTrO28mAsznN4kNPYovCxhBXLIbWm/" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boy of Mass Destruction</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ16-GQK3kj-izRsaMA2w0ugQqkpXZNw-woG4nh17_DdIQ2dBvhNfJ8E6c1_9gwKXkqgc19GDf2b61Az2WGb-k5DCHVISunqgjS8BxKntUX18LUzt3TIXhU1lg2cK59TPBthxyrtygJ6WY/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ16-GQK3kj-izRsaMA2w0ugQqkpXZNw-woG4nh17_DdIQ2dBvhNfJ8E6c1_9gwKXkqgc19GDf2b61Az2WGb-k5DCHVISunqgjS8BxKntUX18LUzt3TIXhU1lg2cK59TPBthxyrtygJ6WY/" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Open!!</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMUJjrvOGuXsTmDXhfXluZavUuzW1K2gZ3oV43cK1ZvweIEu270gcZKo5nzkoQKXYw8nN-IZuofoZz0HrGdCMOr5pPRy5hpuT2RmO9Mhkk5n1ge7t77RP4ac1BnnMux7QLua7QXNErI9o/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMUJjrvOGuXsTmDXhfXluZavUuzW1K2gZ3oV43cK1ZvweIEu270gcZKo5nzkoQKXYw8nN-IZuofoZz0HrGdCMOr5pPRy5hpuT2RmO9Mhkk5n1ge7t77RP4ac1BnnMux7QLua7QXNErI9o/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgooQJB0OjAH0-PKBme2tAgDzF_aG-456xBlhqovdqTq7jckWYIvmOqgDzt1LuHZo9SSj1GQ_KWVj-5NlMvBg3ct1URbgyhtJz24vD6Ssr6OB8uEUuOFRooNqwT4uuosOun9LnWA_yhcHz9/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgooQJB0OjAH0-PKBme2tAgDzF_aG-456xBlhqovdqTq7jckWYIvmOqgDzt1LuHZo9SSj1GQ_KWVj-5NlMvBg3ct1URbgyhtJz24vD6Ssr6OB8uEUuOFRooNqwT4uuosOun9LnWA_yhcHz9/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></div></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdJuZaX-bvU2Lgl2Ajb7cUDH5cQhe9PF2L_R1ySaXdR2v-yDPYctOy89vz5tNHUxqmyLxqS2uLWkWZBlTMvmlom27KJHYuecUCJkVVYlbhNlCgTj2uNB5QqHuwz56gcCrr_8yRCx2HPur1/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdJuZaX-bvU2Lgl2Ajb7cUDH5cQhe9PF2L_R1ySaXdR2v-yDPYctOy89vz5tNHUxqmyLxqS2uLWkWZBlTMvmlom27KJHYuecUCJkVVYlbhNlCgTj2uNB5QqHuwz56gcCrr_8yRCx2HPur1/" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not dramatic. That huge piece that could have killed us..held up by one nail. </td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi8wkAAM5QCx0S_BYADVTpXU938V8jD5cuwNmi39ib9WVWbiSGRlEWODa2JguuitCzzgkVHZ4OEskgPfRE-zsODtCFo_QcKvJvfxLm-vJk93_xmw6_pXkZF4J5XC0Eh2pY29PUG7-a7o-u/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi8wkAAM5QCx0S_BYADVTpXU938V8jD5cuwNmi39ib9WVWbiSGRlEWODa2JguuitCzzgkVHZ4OEskgPfRE-zsODtCFo_QcKvJvfxLm-vJk93_xmw6_pXkZF4J5XC0Eh2pY29PUG7-a7o-u/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjwvBVvyAAQiXjyE7nhmPGxjZOhPN7tUU1dKwEfqbcziqju5rObWa7WDd1RG40ZeXp_ol9o0zGe4lAN76hRjp2UCURM_loARQuhQaAK4hf7AMPIvWpgQrW_L2GfWmopFldNUGSCEUQXKZ4/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjwvBVvyAAQiXjyE7nhmPGxjZOhPN7tUU1dKwEfqbcziqju5rObWa7WDd1RG40ZeXp_ol9o0zGe4lAN76hRjp2UCURM_loARQuhQaAK4hf7AMPIvWpgQrW_L2GfWmopFldNUGSCEUQXKZ4/" width="180" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPgLNRh_MfRo2bkE13FUNjlv4kwyC8DSJ9j8KogOz6LLyCryciMNmUB27oFRFKJNFT1_sKZJ24Kf1Ez3zPN-2VUbC5ubLhBWWx0C2rtlwPjX_OjQNXGElg6d4uJiDxxZzKbXV__788wtfn/" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPgLNRh_MfRo2bkE13FUNjlv4kwyC8DSJ9j8KogOz6LLyCryciMNmUB27oFRFKJNFT1_sKZJ24Kf1Ez3zPN-2VUbC5ubLhBWWx0C2rtlwPjX_OjQNXGElg6d4uJiDxxZzKbXV__788wtfn/" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This floor was ridiculous.</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJqwuNoUN4D0Csdz9fTqdzrGUPOSMqXuxJpt7Fms4phplSd2fnWMxE27lcTzoMrPt0anPo9ZkIH5rQ3zgPpjBEnuYep2gu8KD2honCe6BzE0gtH_W-E_AynUXVA8tiAKKNBe4WKF4hwfbY/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJqwuNoUN4D0Csdz9fTqdzrGUPOSMqXuxJpt7Fms4phplSd2fnWMxE27lcTzoMrPt0anPo9ZkIH5rQ3zgPpjBEnuYep2gu8KD2honCe6BzE0gtH_W-E_AynUXVA8tiAKKNBe4WKF4hwfbY/" width="180" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div><p></p><p><br /></p>Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-12077827026917181282021-09-23T20:15:00.000-07:002021-09-23T20:15:29.038-07:00Fixer Upper<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><b><span face="Calibri, sans-serif">Have you ever heard of the saying, ridden hard and put away wet? Well, that’s how I’d describe our sweet house. She’s been lived in. Hard.</span><span face="Calibri, sans-serif"> </span></b></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">We love the property. Love the school district. Will says the house has what all flippers call, “good bones.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Let’s stop there for a second and talk about my husband Will.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">To describe Will-He’s a data/ facts driven man. He researches and knows basically everything. (I KID YOU NOT) Example: he can tear down a wall and know what to do when he finds stuff like wires and pipes or something inside of it. He has vision. He’s pretty calm and collected. Runs numbers/measurements and all things math like it's not a painful experience. Fun Fact-He’s also colorblind..so that’s a bummer. For me more than him honestly. He literally does not know what he’s missing; though I often tell him. <o:p></o:p></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzOqpnOfVDiWIVR2ou1vQdAsaN9oeJlXXdiMxCh5VtjIiW-F3YYIoi_06Wg8ZTAdGI0DnUkYnSRIQJNLhFC8esL19faN5YvDwrisNZBSraFxcNcx4pCOj1J6hyphenhyphen2TRtzAWyBJN2x3MliYim/s612/145988600_10158030429262992_2320309532625604400_n.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="612" data-original-width="612" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzOqpnOfVDiWIVR2ou1vQdAsaN9oeJlXXdiMxCh5VtjIiW-F3YYIoi_06Wg8ZTAdGI0DnUkYnSRIQJNLhFC8esL19faN5YvDwrisNZBSraFxcNcx4pCOj1J6hyphenhyphen2TRtzAWyBJN2x3MliYim/w200-h200/145988600_10158030429262992_2320309532625604400_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Accurate</td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><b>Enneagram: Smart/Rational.</b></span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">To describe myself? The antithesis of everything Will. I don’t have so much of a vision as I do creative bursts. I love color, personality and have big ideas of what I want, but without a clue of how to execute. By the time I figure out <i>how</i> to execute I’ve moved onto the next thing because I’m bored. Numbers are my nemesis. Example: Will shows me an amazing oven. I say I love it. He says, look for the dimensions to ensure it fits in the space. I say, just forget it..it’s too big, I don’t need it, I’ll find a smaller one. He says, get the dimensions of the smalller one, I say forget it. I don’t need an oven. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="color: #cc0000;"><b>Enneagram: Erratic Cray.</b></span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Will and I have been together like twenty years. We have an established baseline of trust and for better or worse we know the pulse of one another. We know when Hanger is about to strike, or when to push that last comment in before the other goes ballistic. We’ve got a groove that works well. Our recent development in this stellar relationship is how we’ve recently been driven to the edge by how the other chews crunchy food. I do not mean driven crazy in a hot way. The way this man opens a potato chip bag could bring me to tears. Guys. This reno is going to be great. SO. GREAT.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">But here’s the thing. We’ve been renting for over a decade. Yes, while we’ve hung things on walls when we shouldn’t have, we’ve been beholden to what has existed in all the locations we entered. We haven’t made those personal choices like color, cabinets, flow…and I. AM. HERE. FOR. IT. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Day 1- Tuesday/Closing<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">We signed the paperwork at 9 and were in the house by 11 tearing up carpet. Will was on the phone with a dumpster company within an hour and it arrived by the afternoon. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">By the time I had to leave to go pick up the kids from school we had torn all the carpet and padding up throughout the house. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Guys. If carpet could talk. 🤮<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXUH09oJk4iU8bN8encpTkFBZK0OEUmxNT26MgS-SUAsrUL5Cxu83Vwho8kOstvyp6Vh2McCEDA8DV53f8ceZj9VLdlnbOO_P_OtyU7cCCmHWizWlV8xAmQqKbrIf3vhPtk600ymthQTMo/s2048/IMG_9846.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXUH09oJk4iU8bN8encpTkFBZK0OEUmxNT26MgS-SUAsrUL5Cxu83Vwho8kOstvyp6Vh2McCEDA8DV53f8ceZj9VLdlnbOO_P_OtyU7cCCmHWizWlV8xAmQqKbrIf3vhPtk600ymthQTMo/s320/IMG_9846.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stairway Entry<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirrdVxvjFB5Llok56x-Ceuvhoc_LQFVm2bKD79zA2GkRrCyte4beMPDfQxFmCmx5cl4NBQ2ln5P1nCwgH310WIN9H6YejIMI7MDUvmLFGeRGBw_uQuBekc9j3c8at4B-v4MDM_HHWRGb4g/s2048/IMG_9887.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirrdVxvjFB5Llok56x-Ceuvhoc_LQFVm2bKD79zA2GkRrCyte4beMPDfQxFmCmx5cl4NBQ2ln5P1nCwgH310WIN9H6YejIMI7MDUvmLFGeRGBw_uQuBekc9j3c8at4B-v4MDM_HHWRGb4g/s320/IMG_9887.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Entry<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdIln0mEoyBZf3excGK04ZfYfCqx8dafYLhd3wUVXbguk70B9dFLxCE3LfY-Tv0b-h6zqvHrJaut3AC4VnEZbVQFQ5UXs7GwCd7xMX2Henf9KvmesvLipVtukIAjNhUi2Q0291FgkwhAuz/s2048/IMG_9853.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdIln0mEoyBZf3excGK04ZfYfCqx8dafYLhd3wUVXbguk70B9dFLxCE3LfY-Tv0b-h6zqvHrJaut3AC4VnEZbVQFQ5UXs7GwCd7xMX2Henf9KvmesvLipVtukIAjNhUi2Q0291FgkwhAuz/s320/IMG_9853.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Living Room<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEiYRa9wqZb7Msj8LVyqcKOc17IRYO1OHNi4Y0MPcLfgSqiMwrs58ttttblSi_eXsTZOiPoirhIVpI5Ke8co02PKZcwURVHdNaBZSHVGI2vEbVBmAsFc37X1DyaZTnJrNr_X2XZ1J1TVeQ/s2048/IMG_9884.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEiYRa9wqZb7Msj8LVyqcKOc17IRYO1OHNi4Y0MPcLfgSqiMwrs58ttttblSi_eXsTZOiPoirhIVpI5Ke8co02PKZcwURVHdNaBZSHVGI2vEbVBmAsFc37X1DyaZTnJrNr_X2XZ1J1TVeQ/s320/IMG_9884.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Living Room sans carpet. Huge Difference<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgriEQ8rz5YtMGYAKSI_OnYo_do5BTTV2bQyeQYkAyDv1hBBIwkFT8RUpvOLv2eC-iz3LJaaJi2h3MPiRHJiADutdWome60QxIVGTHXtwKcnLARFtNDIU5Rlhx0ph2ZCaG0xrN-PnBjz3Ul/s2048/IMG_9885.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgriEQ8rz5YtMGYAKSI_OnYo_do5BTTV2bQyeQYkAyDv1hBBIwkFT8RUpvOLv2eC-iz3LJaaJi2h3MPiRHJiADutdWome60QxIVGTHXtwKcnLARFtNDIU5Rlhx0ph2ZCaG0xrN-PnBjz3Ul/s320/IMG_9885.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Living Room<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcUqnMF-1cn4NqV2wvMpSjv8fCeZK3IUYEuzkFh6nRGaxEj3EwAlqI1BR7y4D_l62UDZe5PHLtfH3juI8aXEjjgFMjfzpR8X2TIGis_baVFFsEbp1G7NUDxzAZkB4rM8UICqMgkxjDfHLP/s2048/IMG_9893.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcUqnMF-1cn4NqV2wvMpSjv8fCeZK3IUYEuzkFh6nRGaxEj3EwAlqI1BR7y4D_l62UDZe5PHLtfH3juI8aXEjjgFMjfzpR8X2TIGis_baVFFsEbp1G7NUDxzAZkB4rM8UICqMgkxjDfHLP/s320/IMG_9893.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dining Room</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzWwL5NXdQ2wd_BR2mtZ4rhX8XPYp0Z-3oPznWXAHC61DnByO5BQ_RB9IhGisUuoNtvq7TWRxPJvAl9H22cbM5Iwxa48_hzjyT8Iyy54moacFE4Kyw35nX-9vbwt3m818E7OvMowXzy1zZ/s2048/IMG_9855.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzWwL5NXdQ2wd_BR2mtZ4rhX8XPYp0Z-3oPznWXAHC61DnByO5BQ_RB9IhGisUuoNtvq7TWRxPJvAl9H22cbM5Iwxa48_hzjyT8Iyy54moacFE4Kyw35nX-9vbwt3m818E7OvMowXzy1zZ/s320/IMG_9855.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hallway from living room<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZq-wQ9iGm19tN-boFcXALRCvrlifQ-YFQLfx5d_alpLZ2jOxc5dLuOLRNeMlPJq2O2Bzwz3-FnI_dso0077Un1j66K-Mq6bBIVdyK8K-jy4kpjAZtIg1r9qOOUoZunyis9eESLXFinXqH/s2048/IMG_9886.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZq-wQ9iGm19tN-boFcXALRCvrlifQ-YFQLfx5d_alpLZ2jOxc5dLuOLRNeMlPJq2O2Bzwz3-FnI_dso0077Un1j66K-Mq6bBIVdyK8K-jy4kpjAZtIg1r9qOOUoZunyis9eESLXFinXqH/s320/IMG_9886.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upstairs Hallway</td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAvT014L4miW6e5LjH-gFUzA1HTbpZ4PDQLjDUND58TvYvsclV8uqVGldDwmrIlQX-OrWl8Z8ElB1Drg8cDCXJk-ky2sfdCZg_KKJ2oMnTKyG_jMaJBWYOH6cyQDcaydeG2kIWRSJRDnF6/s2048/IMG_9861.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAvT014L4miW6e5LjH-gFUzA1HTbpZ4PDQLjDUND58TvYvsclV8uqVGldDwmrIlQX-OrWl8Z8ElB1Drg8cDCXJk-ky2sfdCZg_KKJ2oMnTKyG_jMaJBWYOH6cyQDcaydeG2kIWRSJRDnF6/s320/IMG_9861.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Master Bedroom<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjakhEncg2mjjBdVhTwy0Vny-XJXJgiB4iPX5JcEw45GSnWevmS99T2iJVdG4DUlcGtcAf7pUnHqj9tf2XrrhxO66NqLecgAR8uuYb2QNFWniCLzH0N0vai9fq8nUykJ9cHRThiVZPrndZe/s2048/IMG_9888.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjakhEncg2mjjBdVhTwy0Vny-XJXJgiB4iPX5JcEw45GSnWevmS99T2iJVdG4DUlcGtcAf7pUnHqj9tf2XrrhxO66NqLecgAR8uuYb2QNFWniCLzH0N0vai9fq8nUykJ9cHRThiVZPrndZe/s320/IMG_9888.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Master Bedroom</td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO5MHD9BruShTqHO7RmWnIsY7-ATkD1uQbU8KdO_iH-IH8sghKUujTr2nHnm9K1C-ptNTPrLqdIVMgcs_810LHlRFpL3W3P9iezOAo_aO8R0tzN_FExuWk38y4ujbQeVZdatbLuoGJl_a2/s2048/IMG_9863.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO5MHD9BruShTqHO7RmWnIsY7-ATkD1uQbU8KdO_iH-IH8sghKUujTr2nHnm9K1C-ptNTPrLqdIVMgcs_810LHlRFpL3W3P9iezOAo_aO8R0tzN_FExuWk38y4ujbQeVZdatbLuoGJl_a2/s320/IMG_9863.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bowman's Bedroom<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp7tzBQsD4sSbvG6CSd3qKUY_-NGoRBBMUc3-xwv86t6KLVek4pXDoZnodmnD1McEZI0RtiWZXrjrN6HYHlA3cnVQIaIx1OuyfqTS-WiFZ5wIwTgOxykHpEz5HQ2fKNLkAa0itDX6WH5Iv/s2048/IMG_9889.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp7tzBQsD4sSbvG6CSd3qKUY_-NGoRBBMUc3-xwv86t6KLVek4pXDoZnodmnD1McEZI0RtiWZXrjrN6HYHlA3cnVQIaIx1OuyfqTS-WiFZ5wIwTgOxykHpEz5HQ2fKNLkAa0itDX6WH5Iv/s320/IMG_9889.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bowman's Room. Sweet hole in the door.</td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcrsc2eV-GnfqguEb6RF0XNIObcktdaaORN4PqGnobSCexO5MY5thqUMXiXY6swvhx-Ralndn4BXpaqbpfTN936IbqK0WScZTc0zaxYoVga5GK2o35I0lQKyI8-tj1jRIT1Jym31x_bT2M/s2048/IMG_9864.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcrsc2eV-GnfqguEb6RF0XNIObcktdaaORN4PqGnobSCexO5MY5thqUMXiXY6swvhx-Ralndn4BXpaqbpfTN936IbqK0WScZTc0zaxYoVga5GK2o35I0lQKyI8-tj1jRIT1Jym31x_bT2M/s320/IMG_9864.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alex's Bedroom <br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvw45YvEqh-XdmcySZRJL24N0SFGnGVm0Vdv-6rDoQ0LXpQs2UCwCUx7SHwDwa-egMzJIqaxjVtucF9RKXuKlAAPlr0f_D1an_Sg-P3cD-vcCiK780DRwYudPzsyiz7kfOjCssIUFgGY-F/s2048/IMG_9892.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvw45YvEqh-XdmcySZRJL24N0SFGnGVm0Vdv-6rDoQ0LXpQs2UCwCUx7SHwDwa-egMzJIqaxjVtucF9RKXuKlAAPlr0f_D1an_Sg-P3cD-vcCiK780DRwYudPzsyiz7kfOjCssIUFgGY-F/s320/IMG_9892.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Alex's Room</td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpf4TmmKyQ6xKfYQuferojEadlTGAExV_zuIJK6nEFEG0yDBMMCpnQrBv8uYoHjpyr_RpAki75YVVl-usiILfpPdiQCqU60Z5nwJdld7gLJAT0Jb-A2DJNEJYT43oR0bnVDiMeuKEbFzf9/s2048/IMG_9872.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpf4TmmKyQ6xKfYQuferojEadlTGAExV_zuIJK6nEFEG0yDBMMCpnQrBv8uYoHjpyr_RpAki75YVVl-usiILfpPdiQCqU60Z5nwJdld7gLJAT0Jb-A2DJNEJYT43oR0bnVDiMeuKEbFzf9/s320/IMG_9872.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Downstairs Rec Room</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZjKp1emo-aC0nzQxoUNQhmrCRdtf1MjeZDPJcLhhdBI8woPogBi4HFcR8CuphigBzZ_s2nBv5ipaNKUL2SqtxuGMgRcG5GPYZXUoW8i29Z-kHFNwSo5wVEbUCjsEq5eEJQ6N1bSfW8Co5/s2048/IMG_9875.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZjKp1emo-aC0nzQxoUNQhmrCRdtf1MjeZDPJcLhhdBI8woPogBi4HFcR8CuphigBzZ_s2nBv5ipaNKUL2SqtxuGMgRcG5GPYZXUoW8i29Z-kHFNwSo5wVEbUCjsEq5eEJQ6N1bSfW8Co5/s320/IMG_9875.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rec Room</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKo2l-wJYr80Qzmgo3XrSvVjpXWdeXTaLwbA-qSem0xYoV2ZV9HnyjN3-p39QZVoafkSe57H4ZIiYGOmG9ZeUnDnzfB_FzBOXLxbvYSobaE0vfYa46NmHMkCpzYTTBdDGUuTh06ElOZ3br/s2048/IMG_9876.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKo2l-wJYr80Qzmgo3XrSvVjpXWdeXTaLwbA-qSem0xYoV2ZV9HnyjN3-p39QZVoafkSe57H4ZIiYGOmG9ZeUnDnzfB_FzBOXLxbvYSobaE0vfYa46NmHMkCpzYTTBdDGUuTh06ElOZ3br/s320/IMG_9876.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Downstairs<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0pRK9Pke2rPF9C5ItS5TXXadB_wc4Wj59i5Eyi2aviHwMzHJdySZ52ncIV7JUR45JFoE6hNhIT2TUT7J7Jer4Ub3u6vc9_81p_8UtMV4-6zpjiHxWDBKJdO5DoO47rjZRm3Lnp0eYKbEF/s2048/IMG_9897.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0pRK9Pke2rPF9C5ItS5TXXadB_wc4Wj59i5Eyi2aviHwMzHJdySZ52ncIV7JUR45JFoE6hNhIT2TUT7J7Jer4Ub3u6vc9_81p_8UtMV4-6zpjiHxWDBKJdO5DoO47rjZRm3Lnp0eYKbEF/s320/IMG_9897.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Downstairs<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi35tpQr5Z-oxKoX0U3iXRcXz6JPLlB3uMhFg9OJIWBosuRMv1QKpzlXditlrrVG5NGf2Bx24soekdt00ZR9jFr06XAZjiDZ_vBt99hQcQ2DSstny3PnmyWMldtxF01JZnJujTdYnI2cycq/s2048/IMG_9898.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi35tpQr5Z-oxKoX0U3iXRcXz6JPLlB3uMhFg9OJIWBosuRMv1QKpzlXditlrrVG5NGf2Bx24soekdt00ZR9jFr06XAZjiDZ_vBt99hQcQ2DSstny3PnmyWMldtxF01JZnJujTdYnI2cycq/s320/IMG_9898.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My Man</td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcbPHwX-yzUVU-3dQ4idMH21y5MgKLphMp7mbK0hFn9DXQ7bpqK63eaxS9K-JSmFr6RzcPxXrQfBU2ufgM34mGSBU8soJDpqaK_vMj4ifA_Wt_NsRQPGtw5pxK-Up1y7ppf0NNXwQiIhEO/s2048/IMG_9880.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcbPHwX-yzUVU-3dQ4idMH21y5MgKLphMp7mbK0hFn9DXQ7bpqK63eaxS9K-JSmFr6RzcPxXrQfBU2ufgM34mGSBU8soJDpqaK_vMj4ifA_Wt_NsRQPGtw5pxK-Up1y7ppf0NNXwQiIhEO/s320/IMG_9880.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wyatt's room(downstairs)<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj70JBt6CteVHKn_VGiJi1dRFYbwvuhi23SMKxLyEPhHT-BdD2llo3yYADaR3t2CG8VMNggrxWnou434yD3NqL6weW1AEnAW6xbxCsCefPSKG0CVwC6jrvGLymvQGbWV4Ff7wvbV_ak0LsJ/s2048/IMG_9899.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj70JBt6CteVHKn_VGiJi1dRFYbwvuhi23SMKxLyEPhHT-BdD2llo3yYADaR3t2CG8VMNggrxWnou434yD3NqL6weW1AEnAW6xbxCsCefPSKG0CVwC6jrvGLymvQGbWV4Ff7wvbV_ak0LsJ/s320/IMG_9899.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wyatt's room -different perspective. Sweet linoleum. <br /></td></tr></tbody></table></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-89824433515392673782020-11-11T13:16:00.002-08:002020-11-11T18:01:52.219-08:00A beautiful day for a run.....<p><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;">If you’ve glanced over some of my other blog posts, you’re fully aware I’m not what one would call…”athletically inclined.” </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px;">Despite this factor, I dipped my toe in ballet (kindergarten) and recreational sports all the way through grade and middle school. You could see me picking daisies in right field, kicking the soccer ball and bloodying the nose of a fellow </span><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px;">teammate or eating the spoils of our sweet win (not due to my abilities) at the concession stand after our weekly softball games. </span><p></p><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbTeWebKDnJU3MEQmWzRqCRIqfIS17N7hw4tyyNo4pucxXKRrfUZRzl6Ua2r7vqcjEhteCOtRk3JBneD0Ove0bkCVnO2JyS4quVHlyK-Le_N7eai3HoTdSHvEImwH_hm6oPvViDnaaa22E/s2048/IMG_4102.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1552" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbTeWebKDnJU3MEQmWzRqCRIqfIS17N7hw4tyyNo4pucxXKRrfUZRzl6Ua2r7vqcjEhteCOtRk3JBneD0Ove0bkCVnO2JyS4quVHlyK-Le_N7eai3HoTdSHvEImwH_hm6oPvViDnaaa22E/w151-h200/IMG_4102.JPG" width="151" /></a></div>So it may have come as a surprise to some when I made the decision to start running in 2011. To heave this body in a state of flight was going to be a feat of epic proportions. Yet…It was something I had always wanted to do. I would look out the window sometimes and say..gosh, what a beautiful day for a run. One day, I was tired of just saying it. I wanted to do it. </div><p><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px;">I started my running journey with the couch to 5K app. When I began, I quite literally felt like I was going to die. My lungs were burning, my body ached….and this was after 30 seconds before falling back into a 2 minute walk. I f</span><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px;">elt that there was no way I was ever going to be able to do this. Yet the app didn’t have us jump immediately into running the 5 K. It was gradual. Each day I’d run just a little bit longer. Each day was building upon the other- increasing strength, Increasing endurance. Each day I was getting a little bit further a long. I started signing up for 5K’s…then 10K’s….then a half marathon. I was utterly hooked. I was running the race. </span></p><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;">I remember one night in particular, it was really late. I was running the alley’s of Taiwan; training for my half marathon. I loved running at night because the humidity wasn’t as stifling. I was trying for a 10 mile loop, but I was queasy, dizzy- a hot mess. I started staggering around…unsure if I could make it home. I had not prepared well for this run. I did not stretch or hydrate well and it was clear that this was showing in my sloppy display around the city. </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;">Cool Aly. Thanks. So……….is this really about running or is this just a clever parallel to running the race of life? Oh friends. You’re so smart. </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;">**Bear with me as I begin the running/marathon analogy. Feel free to tap out as needed.**</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;">This month is National Adoption Month. Every part of my cliche running journey relates to that of our adoption journey. Adoption is achingly painful. Every. Single. Piece. Of. It. Painful to the bone. For every person involved. I love what my friend Jackie has written- “Adoption is Beautiful and holy but the need for it comes from brokenness, and love and family don’t fix all things. God is good and He is mighty but adoption is hard and being an orphan is not meant to be.” Hard words to swallow- but they resonate so, so deeply. </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6_rK_X_nKvsg4-9ZftErPBE0jmyD-Goji4CD5ACYbIwjoXIC9Yuc_gsB79kP-FBlOwnSCADiXtIfSaxZVyK3aMFqK5JjIwth9F2J1mdOnDJFJP4HPNAKUsODqVXxrspEZ3ieqS0NTel33/s2048/IMG_4100.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1657" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6_rK_X_nKvsg4-9ZftErPBE0jmyD-Goji4CD5ACYbIwjoXIC9Yuc_gsB79kP-FBlOwnSCADiXtIfSaxZVyK3aMFqK5JjIwth9F2J1mdOnDJFJP4HPNAKUsODqVXxrspEZ3ieqS0NTel33/w165-h204/IMG_4100.JPG" width="165" /></a>If you know an adoptive family, you may have seen the hashtag<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>we</i> <i>could have missed this</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>next to their precious photos. I’ve caught myself a few times typing these words then erasing them…because I felt like a fraud. Because the moments in my pictures are a fragment of what we go through on a daily basis and they are not our norm. Because many times when my body is weary and I have not trained well for the day a piece of me<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>wants<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i>to miss that moment. The moment of being screamed at, of having something thrown at me, of a house destroyed or a full on meltdown of epic proportions. Guilt and shame at some of my regrettable reactions to feeling out of control in my circumstances. But just as my first day of running was not a 10 mile run, my journey with these boys is not going to magically be one of smooth sailing. Please. This is motherhood. This race is gradual. One cannot fully enjoy the end of the race without the daily training and rough spots it takes to power through to the end. If we were to only get the sweet spots, there would be no growth, no increase of strength or endurance. You would not be well prepared for the next race at hand.<br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;">Alex came home at 1 1/2. He was fifteen pounds of precious. He did not sleep….for about 4 years. Guys? No-one is built for that. There were days I was full on hysterical. Delirious. We were living in a foreign country and I was depleted. I had a unit of 4 women that were my sanity. My girlfriend Candace would walk with me. Every. Day. We would walk the streets of Hiroshima, get a coffee, put Alex in the stroller and just get outside. It was his happy place- and Candace knew what I needed. She supported and loved on us in a way I can never ever thank her for. She would listen. These girlfriends were my people; holding signs during this season of my life race saying,<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>you got this</i>.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>WE got you</i>.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>You are not alone</i>. </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;">At the end of my first half marathon, I felt exhilarated, nauseous, in excruciating pain. I bawled. I had trained so long, and I had finished the race. Later that day, I swore I would never do it again…..</div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6O3AqOtSQSt4fmG8kcgQIG_6KFaoxRTwh8M0B7JTqRnrwCCuPQEQ5tyC-JFnZwuHx54W1ryym2o17jOcZFy40dkq4MmW3PUtpwxUun_plgUrna-Zg7pV-NwTSwN1ggzMN-pC_ACfmRZOx/s2048/IMG_4098.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1868" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6O3AqOtSQSt4fmG8kcgQIG_6KFaoxRTwh8M0B7JTqRnrwCCuPQEQ5tyC-JFnZwuHx54W1ryym2o17jOcZFy40dkq4MmW3PUtpwxUun_plgUrna-Zg7pV-NwTSwN1ggzMN-pC_ACfmRZOx/w182-h200/IMG_4098.JPG" width="182" /></a></div></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;">Bowman came home at 6. I think I am still in a state of shell shock quite frankly. After all, this is a race I said I would not run again. The adjustment we are still going through, mirrors that of the other two boys. Similarly, I surrounded myself with trainers and exhorters. Now back in the U.S., I had a small, trusted network of friends who were holding signs and giving me water throughout yet another race. Jenni, who would call and hear in my voice that one or two of the boys needed to be picked up ASAP. Friends who would drop coffee on the doorstep instead of asking how I was doing…...Listen to me when I say…<b>you do not need to be the one running the race.</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Hold the sign. Pass the water, be the listener. Be the village. Love on those kids, because sometimes mom and dad have nothing left in the tank to give. </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;">We are not in control. At the end of the day our kids may leave and never look back…that’s just not what it’s about. This race is one of brokenness, hope, redemption and redeeming love. Our race in life<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><i>should be</i><span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>one of discomfort and growth- one of strength and endurance. </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;">While the road is rocky and the days are hard…..<b>it’s all worth it.</b><span class="Apple-converted-space"> Every moment. </span>While we are running our race, we are teaching our boys to run theirs as well. Teaching them to start slow, not to sprint, find their pace, hydrate, ask for support, let us in and hold their arms and run with them. </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;">I’m so glad that I’m not still staring out the window on a beautiful day simply saying- wow, what a beautiful day for a run. Think of what I could be missing right now. </div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: HelveticaNeue; font-size: 12px; text-size-adjust: auto;">#wecouldhavemissedthis</div><div><br /></div>Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-53648695561990062122020-02-06T00:03:00.001-08:002020-02-06T07:09:37.872-08:00Just a glimpse....<span style="font-family: "helveticaneue"; font-size: 12px;">I close my eyes briefly and lean into Will. I think back to when the boys were…..well….boys. The days that I would be curled up in the fetal position crying my eyes out in the back of the bathroom praying they wouldn’t find. me. THEY ALWAYS FOUND ME. </span><br />
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The days that felt endless. The days that I felt less than. The days I cried out to the heavens and God to just help me through the next minute. </div>
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Fifteen years ago. </div>
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And now. </div>
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Now I lean into my husband and take in the scene playing out before me. </div>
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The crowd is <b>immense.</b> Everyone is holding their breath as the young man completes his parallel bar routine. Flawless. </div>
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Only when he stuck his landing did he open his eyes and look up in our direction. His magnetic smile is electric and the tears start pouring down my face. The four of us stand and roar in amazement. He did it. HE DID IT. </div>
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Alex didn’t find his voice until Jia-Ming entered our home. Let's be honest. For the first five years upon Jia-MIng coming home, I didn’t think we would make it. You may not want to know this, but in adoption? It’s not always an instantaneous love match. It takes SO much time. SO much patience. So much of all the things you don’t think you have in you..but that surface because of faith, family, and your village. </div>
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In fact, it took both Jia-Ming AND Alex both, five years from entering their new family to finally feel like they could breathe. That they could lean in and know that despite their behaviors and verbalizations…that they were not going anywhere. They were a Cooper for life. </div>
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But Alex. That boy stole my heart from day one. I think it was his size. His vulnerability and the need to be held and loved on. Maybe it was the three of <i>us</i> that held him back. That babied him too much. He never really had to “stand up” for himself. Wyatt and Alex were always thick as thieves. Wyatt bending over backwards and carrying him and just doting on him endlessly. Alex was just easy to love. </div>
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Enter Jia- Ming. </div>
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While Alex did not lose his birth order placement…still the baby; he did all of a sudden gain a brother 9 months older. A very VERY verbal brother. He suddenly discovered that if he wanted to be heard at all, he would have to speak up. He would not only have to speak up, he would have to stand up for himself as well. </div>
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Will and I watched this transition take place gradually over many years. It was beautiful to behold….like a flower bud that you know will be stunning in full bloom, but you’re just never sure if you will see it in all of its glory. </div>
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I think back over the past decade and a half…of the verbal and physical fights between those two. Of their differences…their commonalities…their desire to discover <i>who </i>they are, where they come from. SO many questions. Jia-Ming, the big powerhouse, but Alex finding the ability to step out of that broad shadow and create his own identity and following his heart and passion. Watching his skill today and all that his hard work and the fruit of his labor had born, I could not be more proud…and I knew that his brother had propelled him there.</div>
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Will seems to read my mind and weaves his strong fingers through mine. He squeezes and looks over at Wyatt. I follow his gaze and smile to myself. Our Wyatt. The child whom I swore I would never have, then once he arrived I promised would be an only child. A mother brags on their child for sure….but Wyatt. He’s a special one. He has a heart that is bent towards helping and serving others. I was so worried when we were in the adoption process with Alex. The stress of the process, then the stress of Alex’s arrival. The sleepless nights, my irritability….so many regrets and things I look back on wishing I could change. Wyatt was always willing to help me out, but I never noticed just how much he had emotionally grown until Jia-Ming came home. Jia-Ming tried desperately to alienate everyone in the family, while simultaneously trying to squeeze drops of love out of us like blood from a stone. I could not have made it through those five years without Wyatt. He rarely ever complained. He jumped in to watch the boys, to let me go for a run, to just catch my breath. Wyatt learned to read my mood and knew when he needed to step it up. He learned to read Jia-Ming’s face and hug him tight, even when Jia-Ming pretended he didn’t care. I watched Wyatt painfully learn how to not favor one brother over another, and to empathize with his brothers' emotions. Particularly Jia-Ming, who came home at the age of six and was in a very pained emotional state. Wyatt, just entering adolescence and trying to cope and handle all the emotions and feelings that come from beginning puberty, was also learning and coping and empathizing with a six year old who did not know how to handle his. Wyatt would in these scenarios, without question, grab Alex, leave the house or room without needing to be asked. He was just a constant presence that I could not have lived without. </div>
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And here he was. A twenty eight year old married man, in the midst of the adoption process himself. A man with a heart for children who are hurting and in need of a father. A man of integrity, strength, and humor. A man who would not have turned out the way he did without his unique life experiences. I wish that I hadn’t wasted so much precious time worrying and fretting. God was holding him in the palm of his hand the entire time…and the result was breathtaking. </div>
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As if he could read my thoughts he turned to me, half grinning half rolling his eyes. Typical. </div>
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We all looked at the judges scores…each of us sucking in our breath.</div>
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“C’MON"……I heard Jia-Ming talking aloud as he was waiting on the results. He had finally cut his long hair. It hung thick and wavy in front of his eye. I begged off the urge to push it out of his site line; instead lightly brushing his scarred cheek with my fingers. That damn scar was still there from when he decided clinging to the cement post was a great idea. I refrain from going back to that place. It’s hard not to. Because this young man. This young man with his new heart….</div>
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*sigh* I would have never thought over a decade ago that MY heart could hold so much love for him. It had been such a long journey to get to this point. A journey that had broken me into a million pieces. Over the years these pieces were put back together, to form something different, something lovely. He brought me to my knees in prayer. He forced me to seek and cry out to my village for help. To be less selfish. To be more humble. To be more forgiving. To be more Christ-like. </div>
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With closed eyes, I let myself go back there…to that place. To those days of grieving and mourning what I believed was lost in that moment. </div>
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Grieving and mourning you ask? Absolutely.</div>
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To grieve is to feel sorrow, <i>to distress mentally</i>…. And I did. I grieved over having emotionally and behaviorally, nontypical children. I grieved over not having a day that was filled with therapy or Dr. appointments of some type, whether it was speech or attachment therapy, cardiologist, endocronologist or neurologist appointments… I grieved for the days that were once not filled with screaming, thrown objects and punches and smacks across my face. Grieving and mourning all the days lost with my family unit as half of us had to leave the vicinity so as not to become a casualty in a fit of rage. </div>
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I remember my village at that time telling me that it was OK to grieve and mourn these losses. This path we chose was the road less traveled, and it was a rocky one. Did I get stuck in this place of grief? No. But I allowed myself to feel and work through it. </div>
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I open my eyes. And here we are. I glance over and see JIa-Ming looking at me. He sees me in a way the two others do not. While Wyatt and I have similar temperaments, he is not as observant as our Jia-Ming. Jia-Ming "gets it" and sees people on an entire different level. A young boy who knew to much to soon. Feeling him reading my thoughts I reach out. He grasps my hand in a way that tells me I am loved by him. A feeling I was never sure would be reciprocated. </div>
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My breath catches. Again.</div>
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We all stare down at the competitors. Alex. HIs numbers are in. We are all on our feet. He has done it. </div>
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I think back to when my boys were 6, 7 and 13….If our choices had been different. If we decided to stop at a family of four. It would have been the equivalent of clipping the wings of my sons for an easier "right now." This present moment that I was experiencing would never be happening. These men would never have become <i>these men </i>because they would not have been able to sharpen one another to be who they were meant to be. </div>
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** As I am working through the grieving process now, this story gives me hope. Hope for the future, for the men my boys are becoming **</div>
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<br class="Apple-interchange-newline" />Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-69987418227803587082020-01-18T20:12:00.002-08:002020-02-06T00:04:03.268-08:00Five Years Strong.<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiM2UJnfEyn5gYn6u0XTQrx4oSx_9x4McKB0VvAZW5OFvzARA9ts7RiFD0Tmr8HQ1ycN_JoKZOsqwTUH_9P-JPNYyT6u8GDyGInRUdXfDykgfvzYEocySlaOLVdX5i8M4g1xUDULTr3azz/s1600/Alex.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiM2UJnfEyn5gYn6u0XTQrx4oSx_9x4McKB0VvAZW5OFvzARA9ts7RiFD0Tmr8HQ1ycN_JoKZOsqwTUH_9P-JPNYyT6u8GDyGInRUdXfDykgfvzYEocySlaOLVdX5i8M4g1xUDULTr3azz/s320/Alex.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<i><i>"Fear you don’t own me</i></i><br />
<i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>There ain’t no room in this story<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>And I ain’t got time for you<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Telling me what I’m not<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Like you know me well guess what?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>I know who I am<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>I know I’m strong<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>And I am free<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Got my own identity<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>So fear, you will never be welcome here"<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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It’s been a tough season. Tears streamed down my face as this song came on the other day while running countless errands in the car. I began thinking of this current season I am in and how paralyzing fear and unknowns can potentially be. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://www.blogger.com/blogger.g?blogID=2600947305812788395" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="about:invalid#zClosurez" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>Thinking of past seasons and what <i>could </i>have been if we had let fear instead of trusting God take root, I turned around and looked at our Alex. Alex, who is so very quiet, but feels so, SO deeply, watched me, with tears streaming down my face as the words to this song played around us. My sweet boy, feeling my heart so deeply, also began crying. With silent tears streaming down <i>his</i> face, I pulled over the car, unbuckled my boy, and held him on the side of the road until we both nestled into one another and settled down. <o:p></o:p></div>
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If we had let fear rule our hearts, I would have never known the depth of a love this deep. <o:p></o:p></div>
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This boy, our son, whose referral we waited, prayed and waited some more for. This boy who was presented to us with so many unknowns; premature, birth complications, speech and fine motor delays. The paperwork, the waiting, the big business of it all. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Our boy who arrived and overcame. Ceaseless head-banging, sleepless nights filled with night terrors and uncontrollable emotional outbursts. Delays, and scary diagnoses and evaluations that spoke of autism and cerebral palsy. Neurological evaluations, Growth Hormone tests, speech therapy and occupational therapies….What if fear and the unknowns ruled our hearts?<o:p></o:p></div>
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In the thick of the season of when Alex came home, I could never have imagined half a decade later that we all would have grown so much…he has come so SO far. WE have come so far.<o:p></o:p></div>
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A few days ago Alex and I were in the car yet again and a familiar song came on the radio….<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU8EcYnFussgHsAVWGkFVUmKWPiuEIGCQt6C9S9D1dZ5_WzWmNnseoGyFs1C0n6LCKJnK4VAv8mPoUVH3FEtImADMU_XXzd7fygbAQH5fsLd76Ha7xjXJgkfrhWdB_VPTaKvg5-6Ugye_7/s1600/99a332bb7cdb166def038bfdb10fe4b7+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjU8EcYnFussgHsAVWGkFVUmKWPiuEIGCQt6C9S9D1dZ5_WzWmNnseoGyFs1C0n6LCKJnK4VAv8mPoUVH3FEtImADMU_XXzd7fygbAQH5fsLd76Ha7xjXJgkfrhWdB_VPTaKvg5-6Ugye_7/s200/99a332bb7cdb166def038bfdb10fe4b7+2.JPG" width="150" /></a><i> </i></div>
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<i>"Fear you don’t own me<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>There ain’t no room in this story<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>And I ain’t got time for you<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Telling me what I’m not<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Like you know me well guess what?<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>I know who I am<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>I know I’m strong<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>And I am free<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>Got my own identity<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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<i>So fear, you will never be welcome here"<o:p></o:p></i></div>
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Had you been anywhere near our car you could have heard the two of us belting out these lyrics together. Fear IS NOT and WILL NOT be part of our story. Fear is not welcome here. We may be scared about all of our unknowns but we can remain confident that what we cannot see God can- and he’s got this. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p></div>
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Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-92005502674618858622019-06-12T23:02:00.002-07:002019-06-12T23:02:34.755-07:00Hope<div class="MsoNormal" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;">
<b>survival</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<b>NOUN</b><o:p></o:p></div>
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<i>mass noun</i><o:p></o:p></div>
<ul style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); color: black; font-family: -webkit-standard; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0in; margin-top: 0in; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: auto; word-spacing: 0px;" type="disc">
<li class="MsoNormal" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; tab-stops: list .5in;"><b>1</b>The state or fact of continuing to live or exist, typically in spite of an accident, ordeal, or difficult circumstances.<o:p></o:p></li>
</ul>
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<br /></div>
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I see her from a distance- her look of despair, the tears of frustration threatening to become unleashed as she tries to hold her son’s hand. I witness the rejection and the mothers’ features as they slump further forward…her mind going to dark places. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I see her sleeping in the twin bed in her youngest son’s room because the thought of sleeping next to a stranger who was abusive to her all day was just too much to bear. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I see her eyes fill with tears at the morning light because she just. Does. Not. Want. To. Get. Out. Of. Bed. To face another day of being screamed at with words she does not understand. The unknowing being the worst. Would it be a good day, or would today be all fight or flight? I see her mind saying the best place to stay is in bed. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I see her in public places- fake smile barely plastered on as people cheerily ask how it’s going, as they are mid stride walking away, not ready for the response that she can barely make it through the day. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Lean in! Talk to someone- you can make it!!! You are stronger then this! I want to shout these to her- make her hear that this was not her burden to shoulder alone. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I could see her desire but felt her shame. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Shame of feeling the absence of maternal love. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Shame of seeing a stranger not a son.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Shame at her bitterness, shame at her resentment. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Shame at her emotional response to a six year old’s rejection. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Shame of her deep, deep hidden hurts from a far-away past life bubbling and simmering close beneath the surface. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Shame at saying any of this out loud. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfVtgAinFxms9pCJAya_FyhzXemB8V3z13wYKkrPgPKHX4NijlNj5Rbu3f8pIiuo4jNosAVhqruOJH9IIZOHrOnd1fHmP1cQH_HgDtYqetzt0G5jT3AgrcCocVOm7NjjgKDhdcDDofPWO/s1600/IMG_1869.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIfVtgAinFxms9pCJAya_FyhzXemB8V3z13wYKkrPgPKHX4NijlNj5Rbu3f8pIiuo4jNosAVhqruOJH9IIZOHrOnd1fHmP1cQH_HgDtYqetzt0G5jT3AgrcCocVOm7NjjgKDhdcDDofPWO/s320/IMG_1869.jpg" width="240" /></a>I see him from a distance, his looks of anger, defiance, fear, and sadness. So many unknowns. So much loss. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I see him laughing and smiling, desperate to fit into this strange new culture. I see his exhaustion, his lack of understanding,<o:p></o:p></div>
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I see the wringing of his hands, the picking of his nails- wearing his anxiety as a heavy cloak around his scarred body.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I see him clinging to his Baba like a lifeline. This big, strong man before him displaying the character of a Jesus he does not know. I see him looking at this woman who calls herself mama. His insecurity- His uncertainty and silent knowing that she would certainly leave him as many of the women in his life have left him before. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I see him rejecting her, this woman he calls mama, before HE is the one rejected; his broken heart only being able to take so much.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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You are safe! You are secure! Lean in! I wanted to shout this to him, but know these are futile words to a boy who has never had a home or a forever family to call his own. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I could see his desire and shame like an open wound.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Shame of not feeling as if he is enough.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Shame of his physical aggression and loss of control.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Shame of his inability to love the way he wants to be loved.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Shame of his deep, deep hurts from a not so far away past that is bubbling and simmering close beneath the surface. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Let me tell you this. The past two and a half months have felt like an out of body experience. I have been floating above myself…watching this dynamic between my son and I. My head knew that this was all going to happen. That adjustment blows. That the language and culture barrier was going to be horrific. That his trauma was going to spew everywhere and leave no prisoners. Knowing and living it out are two different stories. <span> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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This past week I’ve left the house with all the children. I’ve gone to a friend’s house. I’m not retreating, I’m leaning in. I’ve unpacked my suitcase from China. I know. Gross. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Today? Today he leaned in. He held my face in his hands and my breath caught in my throat. You know what I saw? Hope. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-64195658116346661382018-12-02T07:25:00.003-08:002018-12-02T07:29:02.668-08:00The Wyatt turns 12<div>
I get super emotional on December 2nd. EVERY December 2nd. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyVr8VqsQCRjA51VF_Mt-MCvWwu-vLMlEcYbBDxp_GvkP8934PEoDzFASXQGDxo-K2ya7fC3vZOMf6grWNPTma1k7hvvf-76ejaazAwkOBvR0mPbwhFvIBWjixJZuuZkoAB4IZBkrXT-Gb/s1600/1930005_14597557991_4198_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyVr8VqsQCRjA51VF_Mt-MCvWwu-vLMlEcYbBDxp_GvkP8934PEoDzFASXQGDxo-K2ya7fC3vZOMf6grWNPTma1k7hvvf-76ejaazAwkOBvR0mPbwhFvIBWjixJZuuZkoAB4IZBkrXT-Gb/s200/1930005_14597557991_4198_n.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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My boy is getting so very big. Bigger kids= Big momma feels. And let me tell you, it's a weird mix of momma feels. Time, as everyone says, is indeed flying by. I'm not lamenting time lost or shoulda woulda, coulda's.... I'm simply enjoying this fine young man before me.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHDhu-poCOv46w7PbZ-H2TPmbEZ2h-Ei8DI4pY4QueB-eooh2vsFms6aD9kz-gjOGk2TjEGcQLgg349ksUkb-kRuA-X-9AKzC1RuuDZwql-dSIaI9SaKlubRoDq6BQGT_VtDp5_U0S_TYY/s1600/223762_10150269342757992_1151744_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHDhu-poCOv46w7PbZ-H2TPmbEZ2h-Ei8DI4pY4QueB-eooh2vsFms6aD9kz-gjOGk2TjEGcQLgg349ksUkb-kRuA-X-9AKzC1RuuDZwql-dSIaI9SaKlubRoDq6BQGT_VtDp5_U0S_TYY/s200/223762_10150269342757992_1151744_n.jpg" width="149" /></a>My eldest is so patient with me as I navigate through these uncharted waters. Everything we go through with this boy is a first. As soon as we think we have this parenting thing figured out, we end of circling back.... Through it all? Wyatt teaches me to be my best self. He accepts my apologies, my requests for forgiveness, and we both try just a little bit harder....(most days!)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMYbAEXROt-6I-Krw4jnau45WjjDK1foOvXfPo7FJnTOZ6UctOe63NYDwXk7iydRZzCXyXV94xeA0dlX_GjYw8SpRh5j7BAC2bcOEZLqRpD_IwrguKBnQB2U2WOS7dQMNDkaYlr44rKDuN/s1600/12289606_10153339533507992_4260605480078596451_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMYbAEXROt-6I-Krw4jnau45WjjDK1foOvXfPo7FJnTOZ6UctOe63NYDwXk7iydRZzCXyXV94xeA0dlX_GjYw8SpRh5j7BAC2bcOEZLqRpD_IwrguKBnQB2U2WOS7dQMNDkaYlr44rKDuN/s200/12289606_10153339533507992_4260605480078596451_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>I've learned to cherish our early mornings together..replete with snuggles while sharing a cup of coffee and tea through bleary eyes. </div>
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I love his frustration over my lack of fortnight dancing skills..but that he challenges me to epic Just Dance competitions anyway. </div>
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I adore that he'll curl up on the couch and indulge me while we watch yet ANOTHER Hallmark movie. </div>
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His passion and his ability to talk you into tomorrow on any topic whether he knows about it or not brings me to tears of pride and hysteria. </div>
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I love his innate ability to read my emotions; checking in with me, seeing if I'm OK, giving me a hug without being asked, holding my hand in the car during stressful Alex moments, ALL because he notices that his mama has a weary heart. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjktrFd0M4PrG9tnrZ6y6Oph4ad-gzscWyUIKY0MEEpmsC7Odt0eQ7kMyH5SJmOfYwhRsg0hOJRclCSyRrgZupDPRuZzeasGUxPKT4XpKVqKEPKQIGQN9QmC2pudFw0s22ReQA3WTBTP8JX/s1600/45079312_10155970818772992_1273840261511774208_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjktrFd0M4PrG9tnrZ6y6Oph4ad-gzscWyUIKY0MEEpmsC7Odt0eQ7kMyH5SJmOfYwhRsg0hOJRclCSyRrgZupDPRuZzeasGUxPKT4XpKVqKEPKQIGQN9QmC2pudFw0s22ReQA3WTBTP8JX/s320/45079312_10155970818772992_1273840261511774208_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>I cherish his tender, servant heart and his willingness and excitement to work with the little kids at church. </div>
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His big brother skills? The Wyatt has a unique ability to love his brother in a way that will bring tears to your eyes every. single. time. </div>
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Simply put- Wyatt is one of my most precious gifts and I'm so glad I get to celebrate him today. </div>
Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-16319718726641833842018-11-01T09:41:00.001-07:002018-11-01T09:51:35.477-07:00Big Feels<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN95usiXBysGhheKKayggYbmZbcY4auHjKb9YJDB7qq48-6go-L48wl-MjucKiD3T_GrZHac0GqAqbMr4tX0i6QjhRIX0Jua3e-9BAX6Uc87KV1OxzoA9BbB04k8XrWnrvwsjceA54JcLG/s1600/44360684_10155952289462992_6202641423553003520_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhN95usiXBysGhheKKayggYbmZbcY4auHjKb9YJDB7qq48-6go-L48wl-MjucKiD3T_GrZHac0GqAqbMr4tX0i6QjhRIX0Jua3e-9BAX6Uc87KV1OxzoA9BbB04k8XrWnrvwsjceA54JcLG/s320/44360684_10155952289462992_6202641423553003520_n.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-family: "helveticaneue"; font-size: 12px;">It is adoption awareness month. I feel like I’ve written down my journey and talked about it so many times- but I’m pretty sure the majority of those are the blog posts in my head. If not, perhaps it bears repeating….at least for my mental health. </span><br />
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Recently I was reminded by a friend that the more we talk about our struggles and are open, others are sometimes better for it. This may or may not be true for some, but at the end of the day I always prefer transparency and honesty to a facade of togetherness. From experience, that wall can only stand on its own for so long before it crumbles to the ground crushing you beneath it. </div>
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If you’ve seen my son- you know that what I’m about to say is true. He is FREAKING ADORABLE. His smile is just…well, it’s just magic. If he shines that grin upon you, you will feel as if he’s given you a special gift. </div>
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I treasure that smile, because some days? Some days are really hard. I say this not to betray my son- but as a way to embrace mama and babas that are struggling to keep it together...Cause I know from experience that when my kid has big emotions, mine generally follow as well. . I’m still figuring out how to deal. How to help my little guy deal. </div>
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Talk a mental walk with me for a moment. A little glimpse into our day-</div>
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I’m up, caffeinated, in my favorite chair, reading my devotions, catching up on facebook, (having already sent Wyatt off to school) when my sweet Alex comes running, “sneaking” around the corner, grinning ear to ear, bouncing into my lap for 5 seconds while I nuzzle his neck, kiss his face and smell his hair. I savor this moment- because I’m not sure what the rest of the day will hold. But for this 5 seconds we settle into one another; intuitively knowing that this hug is desperately needed to start the day right- if even just for this 5 seconds. Because 5 seconds later, like many 5 year olds I know, this mood can change in an instant. It could be due to offering him the wrong beverage, shirt, or his not wanting to wear socks on this particular day. Really, who’s to know? In this respect he is like every other 5 year old in the world. I know you mommas of 5 year olds feel me on this. </div>
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What sets him apart from many other 5 year olds is his history. The deep, deep layer of trauma that lays bubbling beneath the surface. </div>
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Let’s face it- adoption in itself can be traumatic. Put yourself in that precious child’s shoes for a moment. The separation from the mama's voice heard while in utero…being brought to a place filled with strange voices in a strange place with other children. The lack of necessary stimulation and attention leading to the development of self soothing behaviors, survival skills and necessary coping skills - just to get through the day. A new family arrives, taking him from the only environment he’s ever known, to learn new things, taste new foods, learn a new language. Exciting things, scary things……his brain is ignited and the stress response ensues. </div>
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Today I turned off the warm shower Alex was under after swimming lessons without warning. </div>
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That action I would pay for for the rest of the day. To do something without warning, was paramount to tragedy in his brain. Often times the fight response is ignited and I have to choose my next words and actions carefully. He is hurting. His developing brain has not learned the appropriate responses because all he was worrying about for the first year and a half of his life was to survive. Sometimes I choose poorly. The good news is...I ALWAYS get a redo. </div>
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I never want to purposely diminish what he views as important compared to what I view as important. There is a significant disparity between what I view as a stressor and what he does. That shower was warm, it was soothing, comforting- and then without any warning it was ripped away. I had not given appropriate warning, I had not verbally given him a chance to prepare that this wonderful relaxing moment was going to end. The fact that we were running late to school and needed to eat lunch, and pick up the backpack I had forgotten at home was of absolutely no consequence to him. I turned off his shower- and he reacted. It is moments like this ALL through the day. Many times in hind site and reflection I can see why he reacted the way he did. In the moment? SO much more difficult. </div>
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I lean into what I know. This. He feels safe with me. He knows I will love him regardless of his behavior. His behavior is NOT who he is. It is a symptom of his trauma that piece by piece we will work through at developmentally appropriate ages. </div>
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Why take the risk on adoption..on a child, whom, in many cases you have no idea a thing about their history, or family background? Why you ask? Because adoption is life transforming. I have a strong faith, and for me, that translates beautifully into the picture of adoption. I have been adopted into the family of Christ. My Heavenly Father has unfathomable love for me. He is my protector, his is my rock, my stronghold. The fact that I can bestow love onto a child that is fatherless is a GIFT. </div>
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The question been brought forth before- What if he turns his back on you one day? Says you aren’t my real mother? Well, I certainly didn’t get into this journey to be loved. It is a hard, yet rewarding road. I’m not in it for the promise of adoration or accolades. Will and I are to love our children well, to spill out the love that we have from our FATHER onto our children. There is never the promise that this will be returned..nor should we ever give with the expectation of getting back. That is not the purpose or intent of this journey. Alex is not lucky we adopted him. We are not heroes for adopting him. We are not good or special for loving our son into our family. The last thing I’d ever want is for someone to say <i>I admire you. </i>Please don’t. </div>
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What I have learned on this adoption journey is for goodness sake, Aly, <b>this is not about you.</b> It has taken me a long time to get to the place (and still!) try not to view his behaviors as a personal attack. He is growing- learning to trust, processing his past, his present…what exactly that all means. When his brain is filled at that moment with all the feelings and all the thoughts, the propensity for him to explode is high. </div>
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What does this mean of me. As a frazzled, emotionally and physically worn down mother...what does this mean? </div>
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It means I need to seek help. Help is not synonymous with being weak. Going to a therapist to obtain more coping skills to help me help my son is planning, not giving up. Joining a support group of parents who get it, all the trials, pain and deep hurts is not weak. Being honest is NOT weak. </div>
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Alex has taught me to love more deeply. He has taught me to be more empathetic. He has taught me patience. He has taught me to rely on my Jesus and not on self help books. He has taught me to slow down. He has taught me better time management. He has taught me to embrace, love and appreciate my family of origin- to appreciate the ability to KNOW them. He has taught me that help is not weakness. He has taught me to be transparent and to open myself up to having deep friendships. I feel that the Lord has used this child to transform our lives. He is so so precious. My heart could nearly burst at what I wouldn’t do for him- and it makes it so much sweeter that my Father feels the same for me. </div>
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So yes . Adoption is not for the weak of heart-BUT... it will break you down and mold you into the best person you could possibly be. Trust me. </div>
Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-47265268214484666652018-08-19T00:16:00.002-07:002018-08-19T00:16:54.862-07:00Bringing home Jia Ming...aka Bowman...<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
I hadn’t slept in like 3 years. It was the end of October at the end of a week where I thought Alex and I may not make it. I was at my wit’s end. I felt my emotions spilling over. I was thoroughly and utterly depleted. </div>
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The Skype call came in at 2 am. It was my girlfriend who lives in China. I had met her the previous summer and bonded with her over her adoption stories with her girls. </div>
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I looked down at my phone, wondering if I should pick up…….but she <i>was</i> calling from China. </div>
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I took the call.</div>
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I heard the story of Jia-Ming. </div>
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Five years old…aging out of the baby home. She was fighting, advocating relentlessly to find him a family before it was too late. Older children with significant medical conditions are hard to find homes for. Jia-Ming has half a functioning heart…incomplete paperwork….lots of unknowns. Efforts to find him a family would grow increasingly difficult once he left his current placement.</div>
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<i>Here he is right now visiting with us for awhile</i>….he popped onto the screen. </div>
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“Oh friend,” I replied…”I just don’t think so. Surely I know people within my adoption community who may be open to all these unknowns”….<i>Think about it </i> was the statement posed to me. </div>
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I started the excuse making. My insecurities and shame issues started to creep up. No way. Two kids is my cap. I can’t. I won’t. I shouldn’t. </div>
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Friends…God had other plans. </div>
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My girlfriend had sent me a number of pictures….and videos. It was the wee hours of the morning before I fell asleep..brain spinning, stomach churning, heart fluttering. </div>
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Just mere hours later I nudged a barely waking Will. I told him our friend had called. I showed him the pictures….told him the health concerns..waiting for the definitive <b>absolutely not!!</b></div>
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It never came. </div>
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After speaking more at length, praying, more praying..talking to the boys, we began to pursue Jia-Ming’s file. As I worked the next couple weeks tracking down his information, contacting agencies, sending inquiries to physicians, and starting the process to once again begin the grueling paper trail that I never saw myself doing again, I could not help but simultaneously sigh and chuckle. </div>
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In the midst of breaking down, plaguing myself with negative self talk…the Lord had already been softening my heart. In the midst of my emphatic No’s , he was opening doors that I didn’t see possible. </div>
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If you’ve read my adoption posts before when we were on our journey to Alex, or if you haven’t, but have been on the adoption or foster care journey yourself…you know the path is rocky. There is a delicate balance of the scales….always holding your breath. Emotions are running high. Paper work is filled out. Clearances are run. Checks are sent. Birth certificates are ordered…. Again. More checks are sent out. Trainings are watched. Books are taken out of the library. Children are being prepared. The house is getting cleaned out. Updates are given. Pictures are sent. Pictures are received. Promises are made. Prayers. Prayers and more prayers. Dr.’s are emailed. Cardiac support groups are sought out. Money is raised. Grants are applied for. Little by little my heart is opening. Opening to the hope of a child that is not yet ours. Everything is fragile….anything could happen and in a moment’s notice this little boy…OUR little boy could be ripped away. </div>
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Prayers. Prayers. More prayers. </div>
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Recently I have found so much comfort in this verse. </div>
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“Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be JOYFUL in God my Savior.”</div>
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Habakkuk 3:17-18</div>
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This season of my life has been about finding JOY in the dry spells. Being joyful in my savior when times are hard because he is there, carrying us through.</div>
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Yes. There are unknowns. Yes, the WHOLE process may fall through and It’s hard putting your heart out there if you’re not for sure it can be definitively returned. But the reality is, a piece of our heart is sent out in each document that is signed, notarized and mailed. That is the beauty of hope. That is the beauty and richness in knowing that my faith is filling in the gaps. Our sweet boy is going through this right now as well. A promise…..a promise of family..pictures of brothers, a home…a mother and father who will love him. what must his five year old self be thinking? I pray that he too shares hope and faith that we are fighting for him….preparing a home for him, just as our father is doing for us. </div>
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So many have supported us on this unexpected journey thus far. Many have asked how they can support us. </div>
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Will and I are applying for grants to help ease the burden of the adoption fees in hopes that we can maintain our savings for Jia-Ming’s unknown health and heart condition. Our recent yard sale provided us with a great start up fund for a medical checking account for when he comes home. </div>
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Other friends have generously offered to host parties in which a portion of the proceeds will go towards the adoption. </div>
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At this time we’re not comfortable setting up a go-fund me page. Those who have wanted to make a donation of some sort have contacted me and donations have gone into Jia-Ming’s medical savings account. </div>
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We are overwhelmed by the love of our friends and family throughout this process. We have such an amazing village to raise our boys to be fine men- it makes my heart sing. </div>
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Please connect with me if you have question about our adoption..or anything about the process. I try to be as transparent as possible and would love to chat. </div>
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From one of my adoption sites: <i>He who calls you to this work will be faithful to equip you for the work he has called you to.</i></div>
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<b>“For the God who calls you is faithful, and He can <i>be trusted to</i> make it so.”</b> — 1 Thessalonians 5:24</div>
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Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-35404919452252183562017-12-02T10:05:00.000-08:002017-12-02T10:05:43.045-08:00The Wyatt<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;">
I am not a morning person…and yet, this Saturday morning I woke up at 6 AM, went into The Wyatt’s room, scooted him over in bed and held him for a while. Wyatt has always been a cuddler. Me? Not so much. </div>
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Wyatt sunk into his bed a little lower and nestled into me. I closed my eyes and held him a little tighter. I breathed in deeply, smelling his Old Spice Swagger Shampoo…so very different from that little baby head smell of the past.</div>
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I have the privilege of having a unique relationship with each of my sons. This guy? I felt The first flutters of life in my womb with this child. Being my first, he is the first to experience ALL my inadequacies and mistakes at parenting. Some days I know he knows the jig is up….I have no idea what I’m doing. </div>
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How lucky am I that he has the ability to love me anyway. The Lord made this child to be a caring, sensitive, funny, and forgiving child. Most days when he sees me struggling, he jumps in, and hugs me…the cuddler that he is. </div>
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Will and I look at him sometimes and laugh because if ever there was to be a combo of two of the most differing personalities you could find, Wyatt would be it. So much of Will and so much of myself combined into a fine young man. </div>
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Holding my Wyatt now does not make me long for days of the past, but yet, excites me for his future adventures and all that is to come. </div>
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He is an exceptional young man and I am forever thankful that the Lord entrusted him into our care.</div>
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Happy Birthday my Wyatt. </div>
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Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com72tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-74560199524630785962017-11-02T09:31:00.005-07:002017-11-02T09:37:34.268-07:00Hurdles and Faceplants<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Logically, you may know the steps to clear the hurdle</td></tr>
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EVERY family has its issues.<br />
Myself? I'm a sharer. I try to be transparent in the realness, because Motherhood can be so damn isolating sometimes. The pressure? It's overwhelming. We are not in this journey by ourselves, so if I need to open my junk drawers or take pictures of the dishes in my sink and share, I'm happy to do it. We can not do all and be all.<br />
Parenting in itself is such an incredible journey...each so unique. Adoption happens to be a part of ours. While our son's social history is not for public consumption, I feel that the hurdles I jump..whether I clear them or face plant, if it can help another momma in ANY way, well- I'll spill. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But this is reality</td></tr>
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Adoption is a wild ride.<br />
There are so many unknowns; palpable grief, unanswered questions. There are therapists, counselors, paperwork and phone calls. There are undesirable behaviors, more grief, and more unanswered questions. Medical unknowns are scary. The questions he will ask us one day are unfathomable.<br />
I struggle. A lot.<br />
One of my biggest pet peeves that I totally self -impose upon myself is this. Just because we adopted doesn't mean I can't vent about motherhood. This is a child, that is mine, just like my biological child. Sometimes <i>I feel </i>that there is an undercurrent of tsk tsk'ng as if I <i>brought this upon myself </i> so I shouldn't talk about the daily challenges. That I signed up for this. That I knew there was going to be struggles.. that EVERYONE knew there was going to be struggles , so why am I dishing about it. Whether imposed or perceived..that's crap. This is why I cherish my support group and why I love support groups in general. You're not alone. The struggle is real.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHc36otHI6nlultPNjbUOle3SdThdHzDPAByqioSmGfWjk12JywKi3_9pLwRPmMB7L6R55HG2O3wnwtRwyEYwKAJFXfxkHS1UeEeMMVKtXGqFz5pBod69Sayz1-Cg1jKL_gpU8o1KceuW7/s1600/1930005_14597557991_4198_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHc36otHI6nlultPNjbUOle3SdThdHzDPAByqioSmGfWjk12JywKi3_9pLwRPmMB7L6R55HG2O3wnwtRwyEYwKAJFXfxkHS1UeEeMMVKtXGqFz5pBod69Sayz1-Cg1jKL_gpU8o1KceuW7/s200/1930005_14597557991_4198_n.jpg" width="200" /></a>I remember after I had Wyatt I was a mess. I didn't know what to do. I was new at this mom thing. He wasn't breastfeeding..was that normal? How much milk was I supposed to produce? Not being able to produce milk..was I doing something wrong? Was he going to be more prone to illness because I couldn't breastfeed? He was kind of yellow..that wasn't normal..but what do I do? Do I lay him on his back? On his stomach? Should he sleep in our room? In our bed? Is he breathing? His sleep pattern is all messed up. How long of a nap is too long. Dear God what have I done?? I experienced the mom guilt. I was working. I was going to school at night. Was this a good decision? Bad decision? Was I missing out on critical moments? Should I just quit school and my job and stay at home? Would anyone be happy if I actually did that?? The tears came and they wouldn't stop.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqorAOuDS7VaRGVNRMQX1fpd2PIptGxoonr19Jt1-pEe5xmrAapwAsmHyMMkQBbVg-CfKLbl8KryMFOUPrgOgPKBcUjBkAxOUbkvGZPnBuXw7y9pdsh_or414lYf46sMF55Td0fFBPYS0/s1600/adoption.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaqorAOuDS7VaRGVNRMQX1fpd2PIptGxoonr19Jt1-pEe5xmrAapwAsmHyMMkQBbVg-CfKLbl8KryMFOUPrgOgPKBcUjBkAxOUbkvGZPnBuXw7y9pdsh_or414lYf46sMF55Td0fFBPYS0/s200/adoption.jpg" width="200" /></a>Nearly 7 years later, I found myself in a strikingly similar situation, yet SO different.<br />
I remember arriving to the orphanage as a family of 3 and leaving the orphanage with Alex, stepping into the cab to head back to the station as a family of 4. Will and I kept turning around and laughing nervously. It was a surreal scenario. All the waiting leads to this moment. I think we kept turning around to see if anyone was running after our cab to stop us. That there had been a terrible mistake.<br />
We went back to the hotel that night with our son...who was this little man? What were his preferences? Dislikes? Did he understand us? Should I call him by his Chinese name or his new English name? Would he learn to love us? I had missed all his firsts..I could only rely on a translated document of what he may or may not like. The pressure for attachment and bonding felt overwhelming. Then there were the night terrors- those screams that could pierce through your soul and make you weep the moment they started. That someone so little could emit sounds of such anguish is indescribable. There was the endless head banging, as he could not express himself adequately enough, and would turn to what he knew to communicate a need. I felt helpless. I felt ill-equipped and so, so tired. The tears came and they wouldn't stop.<br />
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There are no hard and fast answers. All these feelings of self-doubt, fears, helplessness..well that IS motherhood. You do the best you can with the God given gifts you have. Grace and Truth have been the two ever present themes this past year and in my daily walk. I thank the Lord for this crazy journey I am on and all that he has planned. He is so much bigger then I know, so on the days where I feel like I just can't, I can rest a little easier knowing he can.<br />
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<br />Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-58455992904023512452017-10-17T23:11:00.000-07:002017-10-17T23:19:50.905-07:00Tagging Out<div class="p1">
<b>Today.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b></div>
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I’ve written this in my head about a bajillion times, and now at 11:19 PM as I’m sitting down to actually write it..no words are coming. Bummer. I’m pretty sure it was WAY more profound about 3 hours ago.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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Today was really hard.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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But let's be honest. Life wasn’t meant to be easy. If it were, how could we possibly taste the sweetness or appreciation of accomplishments or growth?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> Right?....RIGHT?!?!?</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVgbsEDEAKD-M6q3V7zfqHykrDKot23CqzNTYxcRkRvDGuy1UwPdb9tPuvjSW6_X40Qn4fvCJi2zBbS1dn9hZHTbXlpwFcHLEIKg9YVaAS53xGMaK5Es2kIncCA_x6XLXCpBqqbSoDc7A3/s1600/10398514_58941312991_700482_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVgbsEDEAKD-M6q3V7zfqHykrDKot23CqzNTYxcRkRvDGuy1UwPdb9tPuvjSW6_X40Qn4fvCJi2zBbS1dn9hZHTbXlpwFcHLEIKg9YVaAS53xGMaK5Es2kIncCA_x6XLXCpBqqbSoDc7A3/s320/10398514_58941312991_700482_n.jpg" width="320" /></a>Days like today I close my eyes and think back to my expat experience when I was surrounded by friends literally on the daily. Someone was ALWAYS there. It made me feel secure, supported and heard. I was able to use adult words to <i>actual </i>adults who would then <i>actually </i>respond back in kind. This is perhaps the single most difficult issue I’ve had to reconcile with. People in the US are crazy busy. We aren’t on this insulated bubble of an expat island..people here are running around crazy, whether it be to school, work, activities, the gym…life! I am not their priority..imagine that?! While I know that this was inevitable upon our return, over a year later I’m still trying to find that balance and not wallow in the blahs and what was.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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Days like today I close my eyes and think back to when Wyatt was a toddler, being watched by the Hawthorne's,.. a family in our precious Virginia village. I think about the significant impact that they have had on our lives. I laugh when I think about my no gun policy.( like of the plastic toy variety, guys) .. ..back to when my 2 year old Wyatt was fashioning guns from sticks and I said…<i>Suzan, I’m not comfortable with guns</i>….<i>Aly, </i>she said patiently<i>….two year old boys will pretend ANYTHING is a gun. </i>#truth</div>
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Can you imagine if <b>I </b>was the sole influence in that child’s life? ack. I sure can’t. Wyatt’s imagination is unreal. He wields both imaginary and wooden weaponry with vigor and always (of course) comes out the hero in the end. Shame on me for preventing him to play and use his imagination in a way that only I saw fit through my narrow lens.</div>
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Guys..we don’t have to be alone in this journey. Do you really want that burden?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> What is holding you back? Fear? Pride? Seeing yourself as a failure or that you are weak for seeking help?</span></div>
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The saying, <i>it takes a village</i> is no joke. This is not the first time I’ve written about it. I LOVE my village.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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<b>Today.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></b></div>
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<i>I phoned a friend.</i></div>
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<i>I called it in.</i></div>
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<i>I passed the baton.</i></div>
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<i>I tagged out.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></i></div>
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<i>Mercy I screamed!!!!</i></div>
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Alex in his own way said all of the above as well. However..it was done by throwing objects at my head. Hitting me in the face and having numerous meltdowns within a 30 minute period. We needed to not see each other’s faces for a couple hours.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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She came. My village swooped in, took my boy and loved on him in a way that my fatigued, drained mama body couldn’t.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU0E-ERmBJiCUvp3HArqpQMn9BGlCSZSbt6X2d46Mso9dDtjclmxx0wMXLo5itU4izyBVSMhAigOmH7Vk1M11Yz-cbzL6Yg4yIINYYLLj67Lpu_x5_8iQGgnFzldQKlcLOEbsxXqUMaG6q/s1600/download.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU0E-ERmBJiCUvp3HArqpQMn9BGlCSZSbt6X2d46Mso9dDtjclmxx0wMXLo5itU4izyBVSMhAigOmH7Vk1M11Yz-cbzL6Yg4yIINYYLLj67Lpu_x5_8iQGgnFzldQKlcLOEbsxXqUMaG6q/s400/download.jpg" /></a>I relaxed while playing a wicked game of Mario Kart with my Wyatt and doing load after load of laundry. In peace. And. Quiet.</div>
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Our sermon series recently has been about being a control freak. I know I am one…and I know that the Lord is REALLY working in me, to relinquish that control.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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If you’ve got that village you love and trust, let them help you. Give up the reigns and let it go. For the good of you…and most of all for the good of your children.</div>
Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-85179784703243461992017-08-26T16:14:00.003-07:002017-08-26T16:14:50.029-07:00Looking Up<div style="color: #454545; font-family: '.SF UI Text'; font-size: 17px; line-height: normal;">
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Today is one of those days where I feel it is necessary to preface that I love my children because I'm going to be honest. </div>
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I know there are stronger women than I out there.</div>
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But there are days I. just. can't.</div>
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The desire to run away is strong.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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I feel like I'm drowning.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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There is a permanent lump in my throat. Tears are bound to flow at a moments notice.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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I cry out for Jesus to just help me. Hold me. I feel weak, impotent, spent.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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I don't want to hear the whines, screams or crying. I don't want to be touched, pulled, kicked or peed on.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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Laundry mounts, sinks are full and everywhere I turn are goldfish crumbs.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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You've seen those hallmark movies or read the books, right? Where the mother flees the scene? We gasp and say we could never.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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I empathize. I feel that mother, because today? I. just.can't.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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My precious husband knows. He hands me the keys as I peel out of the driveway. He offers me a hotel room away, the bed to myself.. so I can recoup. So I can just think. Pray. Reflect without the noise.</div>
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Mamas. I feel you. Take a moment.</div>
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Look up. He's got you.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-88888272450057254832017-08-21T00:02:00.001-07:002017-08-21T00:50:11.514-07:00Operation: Take bed backAugust has been filled with lots of house changes and switcharoos. This makes my heart happy as I have a hard time with anything being in one place for too long. While I'm sure this speaks to bigger issues..we'll delve into that at a later time.<br />
We moved Wyatt's bedroom downstairs despite my hesitations and Will's reassurances. Alex shifted over to Wyatt's bedroom and we've made Alex's room into a home office for Will and I.<br />
I say Alex's "bedroom"loosely as he's been sleeping with us since the day he came into our lives 2 1/2 years ago. The night terrors have lessened but are no less painful to hear. The thrashing has subsided slightly, yet the kicks to the gut, head and privates are stronger and incredibly unfortunate in the middle of REM sleep. The pediatrician said about 8 months ago that Alex should transition to his own bed. Um. Sure. While I respect his opinion, I just wasn't ready to listen.<br />
Now 8 months later, here I am. It's time. My problem is, it's so different then with Wyatt. I'd let him cry for a bit and he was able to self soothe and go back to bed. But Alex...his cries pierce this adoptive mamma's heart. I missed the first year and a half with our boy. Who was lifting him from his crib or stroking his cheek during those early stages? All I know is, it wasn't me...which leads me to this place...feeling conflicted.<br />
So we've found a happy medium. I hope.<br />
If you can believe this; Wyatt's old convertible crib is now Alex's and we have "converted" it into a full size bed. Which <i>means </i>we can ALL have our own space and hopefully get through REM uninterrupted without drop kicks to the groin. If he needs us, there is plenty of room to cuddle with him in his bed, while still preserving ours.<br />
Again, only one night down *successfully* with lots of prayer, lavender and frankincense being diffused. I'll keep everyone posted, as I wouldn't want anyone out there to lose sleep over MY sleep.<br />
On that note...g'nite.<br />
And Just out of curiosity....which position have you found yourself in? We're in Roundhouse Kick Hell.<br />
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https://yldist.com/purelyoiled/Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-87861318533531342902017-07-20T14:33:00.001-07:002017-07-20T14:37:52.131-07:00Today. Is. The. Longest. Day. Ever.<br />
Phone in Toilet Bowl.<br />
Unruly Children.<br />
Dropping $8.00 of dimes for the kids lunch all over the gas station floor.<br />
Child spitting out lunch and screaming he doesn't like what he picked out 2 seconds after purchase.<br />
Woman asking if Alex is mine.<br />
Inability to locate anything I'm looking for within a house I am resisting to clean.<br />
Why has time stood still?<br />
What am I doing about it? Yelling, Sighing with exasperation, rolling my eyes.<br />
I'm totally sweating the small stuff instead of looking at the big picture, treasuring what I have. I know this in my head. Putting it in practice is so much harder.<br />
SO in the spirit of a do over, I will eat some chocolate, take a deep breath, pour on some happy oils, pray, apologize and ask forgiveness from my children and begin the countdown to 5:00....the socially acceptable time to crack open my beer. Cheers Mamas. Summer on.<br />
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Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-16094865534615058992017-07-13T20:31:00.000-07:002017-07-14T01:43:00.708-07:00Blue all over. You?I am a lover of a good quiz. In fact just yesterday I discovered if I was going to be a descendant of a Greek God it would be Athena. Um, I'll take it (Thanks Wyatt ; ) But personality quizzes?...Well they're my favorite..which is why I was LOVING the color quiz we just took in my work group. It's forward thinking when everyone takes the time to figure out what makes their team tick. What is the other person's motivator? What lights their fire? What is their passion? I mean, how fascinating that this knowledge can help us all get to the same place taking different paths. We're obviously not all going to think, act or approach a situation in front of us the same way. My thinking is the sooner we figure that out and stop trying to <b>change </b>people and work with their God given gifts and talents the better. It's time we exhort one another instead of tearing them down for not being like us.<br />
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Unless of course they suck. That is a different issue in it's entirety.<br />
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So do me a favor. Take this. Then have your spouse, significant other or bestie take it as you and see if you're filling it out as someone you want to be rather then who you truly are.<br />
<a href="http://marcaccetta.com/personality-test/">http://marcaccetta.com/personality-test/</a><br />
Tell me what color you are!!! I want to know!!!<br />
So I took the quiz and I'm blue baby. I confirmed this with my hubby, so that is why I write with confidence. HA! Sometimes I don't trust myself.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8sDeJ7Kf6qrbV76uVBvh7iCdd6DTX18BN7PLSDwB60TN3kd_8cyjyyBquFe2kSPCLlcZDlPbG7NkphEdcTI38ZUtdl6d23D6oo7Xck79x9Lu-Zw8NxjVr_4xZsGb5RWjp2pe9rCgLzYA/s1600/19884304_857903894372458_702246845463135518_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ8sDeJ7Kf6qrbV76uVBvh7iCdd6DTX18BN7PLSDwB60TN3kd_8cyjyyBquFe2kSPCLlcZDlPbG7NkphEdcTI38ZUtdl6d23D6oo7Xck79x9Lu-Zw8NxjVr_4xZsGb5RWjp2pe9rCgLzYA/s320/19884304_857903894372458_702246845463135518_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "san francisco" , , "blinkmacsystemfont" , ".sfnstext-regular" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">BLUE TYPICAL CHARACTERISTICS</span></div>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #1d2129; font-family: "san francisco" , , "blinkmacsystemfont" , ".sfnstext-regular" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">"They are fun loving. They live for the moment. They like bright things and happy people. They like to follow strong leadership as long as the leaders treat them nicely. They love a sense of humor in someone. They are very spontaneous. They are not very mindful of being on time. They are forgetful. They spend their money freely (don’t save much at all). They love to travel and have adventures. They love to be outside in the sunshine. They love being social and meeting new people."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #1d2129; font-family: "san francisco" , , "blinkmacsystemfont" , , sans-serif;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">I mean, this certainly </span></span></span><span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">does not describe me entirely, but it's pretty accurate. I'm followed up by a close yellow, then red and lastly green. I love how if I had taken this quiz years ago, my color would have been different. We're constantly evolving....continually changing. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">I love it. </span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">Ok. Stop reading this. Take the quiz. Mull it over. Feel free to share. Don't leave me hanging.</span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1d2129;"><span style="letter-spacing: -0.23999999463558197px;">https://yldist.com/purelyoiled/ </span></span></div>
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<br />Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-7335704564036179802017-07-06T00:37:00.000-07:002017-07-06T01:30:06.202-07:00Digging DeepSeeing as writing is therapy of sorts to me, I'll just lay it all out there. If it resonates, great. If you start reading and can't hit that red x in the corner of your screen fast enough..it's all good my friend.<br />
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Let me just jump right in. My feelings of inadequacies run long and deep. Sometimes, I <i>literally</i> feel as if the left side of my brain ceases to function. Seriously. When faced with mathematics of any kind; science, equations, statistics, word problems....my pulse quickens, my eyebrow starts to twitch and my brain slowly starts to seize up. I can't concentrate, I try to make a joke to get out of the question asked, or I just deflect, deflect, deflect. How does that make me feel? Stupid. Dumb. Completely inadequate. If you know me well, you may know that I struggle and shut down emotionally when I do not feel validated, when I feel like my feelings, thoughts or words do not matter. (Hmmm.....circling back to feelings of stupidity and inadequacy....) My love language is words of affirmation which I'm pretty sure makes me nearly impossible to live with.<br />
<a href="http://www.5lovelanguages.com/">http://www.5lovelanguages.com</a><br />
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My jobs that I've had outside of the home, the ones that I felt <i>good</i> at, provided me with that verbal validation, that sought after adult conversation. When I was working outside of the home, I felt a sense of competence that I could do or <i>be </i>what I was created to be. I love working with people. I love seeing and delving into what makes people tick and how I can provide them necessary resources to becoming their best selves. I love a challenge, learning new skills and accomplishing tasks. I love fast paced environments and have a love/hate relationship with that nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach before a huge presentation and the state of euphoria when it's ended.<br />
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Motherhood. Like many many mothers before me, I feel like I'm half-assing it. I show up for the game, but a lot of times I feel like I'm shooting air balls from half court. I look back on my day and pray to God that <i>that</i> day is not going to be the reason my kids show up for their first therapy session when they're twenty-two. I'm not the first mom to voice these feelings of course. There's a lot of other better looking, savier mamas videoing themselves and making musicals on why motherhood is crazy and it's ok to feel this way. If I could hold a note and had better hair, I would totally sing this to you too. Shoot, I'd sing it to myself right now, because let's be real, I had a crappy day mom-ming and that has led to this post. Please don't get me wrong- I feel immense gratification at my ability to stay home and be with my kids. I just love working too....the creativity, setting goals..it's so much more then a paycheck. I want...and NEED both.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zq30LZlQ-hfPqW4mOydUYeIKV1-OujI5GLEKOeGuJmNwwGUORsiwDePyFhCCf_BwRUo_g_7oXP3WUMUNEv_z1459Rtxs35cRe5og_rjt29hHtV42LZrXFJy2C3NI-z-qkTefv5HH6eO_/s1600/hopeful.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>So I started my search. When I was overseas, I maintained that connectedness and creativity by delving into direct sales. It's not my forte, trust me. Yeah...The irony is not lost on me...but for me it was fun to get together with friends, throw on some nail wraps and maybe make a few bucks in the process. It filled up some of my free time and filled the work void that I was looking for. When we moved back to the U.S., I knew I couldn't go back into the work force..the boys needed me at home. The little guy requires extra time and support and getting a full time job is just not in the cards right now. So where did that leave me? I took a look at what I was doing, where I spent my free time and where my current interests were directed. You know what? I see a woman I scarcely recognize. I've learned to NEVER say never. I didn't think I'd be living in Utah after living overseas for SIX YEARS in my <i>very </i>late thirties making lip balms and body butter while simultaneously preparing essential oils classes. But here I am.... #notquitekillingit.....Ha. I found I really love my oils and I love the products. It induces eye rolling and skepticism from some and curiosity and excitement from others. I've been lauded and made fun of. If it's not your thing, it's not your thing, but I promise you we can still be friends. It's the balance <b>I found</b> I needed. It has me excited, setting goals, meeting new people, pushing comfort zones, wondering how far I can take it. I've got that nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach at the thought of upcoming classes and that love/hate feeling is front and center. While my time is divided and some days (i.e. today) I feel less than, I feel more motivated than I have in a very long time.<br />
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Phew. Thanks for letting me unload. This motherhood/work balance is not easy. Maintaining your passions and sense of self while raising tiny civilized humans is not easy. It's all a delicate balance....so let's just support one another on this crazy journey and remain #notquitekillingittogether...Ok?*Deep Sigh*<br />
Stay tuned.....<br />
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<a href="https://yldist.com/purelyoiled/"> https://yldist.com/purelyoiled/</a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6zq30LZlQ-hfPqW4mOydUYeIKV1-OujI5GLEKOeGuJmNwwGUORsiwDePyFhCCf_BwRUo_g_7oXP3WUMUNEv_z1459Rtxs35cRe5og_rjt29hHtV42LZrXFJy2C3NI-z-qkTefv5HH6eO_/s1600/hopeful.png" imageanchor="1"></a><br />Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-88944907789409969522017-06-01T13:29:00.001-07:002017-06-01T13:29:17.936-07:00Crystal Bliss<div style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 12px; line-height: normal;">
“Crystal is the first truly expensive gift in the traditional anniversary list. The costliness of crystal is representative of the sacrifice and investment the couple has made to the marriage over the past fifteen years. Crystal also symbolizes clarity and transparency, reflecting the state of the couple's relationship. They now know each other better than they know themselves.”</div>
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This becomes even more interesting to me when you take a look at the differing types of crystals. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijEIOMFrq8u-q6iIshC5ETS6e9OKVhLRqgatGv6A-piPKzi9DL7eTKOsWixNj8_rkYkR03jNNLPXC8DZAeI947TYRbTaqJpFUIQ7-vLPW6z8cZKG92eS_ya8d93AgvoHszPnHKN58MBl0I/s1600/Swarovski-Kris-Bear-Birthstone-February-5126873-W360.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijEIOMFrq8u-q6iIshC5ETS6e9OKVhLRqgatGv6A-piPKzi9DL7eTKOsWixNj8_rkYkR03jNNLPXC8DZAeI947TYRbTaqJpFUIQ7-vLPW6z8cZKG92eS_ya8d93AgvoHszPnHKN58MBl0I/s200/Swarovski-Kris-Bear-Birthstone-February-5126873-W360.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>Covalent crystals</b> are crystals whose atoms are connected with covalent bonds. <b>Covalent bonds</b> exist where the atoms share electrons. These bonds are extremely strong and very hard to break. Because of this, the crystals themselves are also very strong and have high melting points. Imagine gluing together beads with super glue. The super glue is the covalent bond. Now think of trying to glue beads together with a glue stick. They probably wouldn't hold together very well. The glue stick is analogous to another type of crystal we will talk about later. An example of a covalent crystal is a diamond, which is one of the hardest substances known to man.</div>
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<b>Metallic Crystals:</b></div>
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Individual metal atoms sit on lattice sites while the outer electrons from these atoms are able to flow freely around the lattice. Metallic crystals normally have high melting points and densities.These crystals sparkle with the lustrous sheen we think of metals having. They are extremely good conductors of heat and electricity.</div>
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<b>Ionic Crystals:</b></div>
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This is a crystal where the individual atoms don't have covalent bonds between them, but are held together by electrostatic forces. An example of this type of crystal is sodium chloride (NaCl). Ionic crystals are hard and have relatively high melting points.<b>I</b></div>
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<b>Molecular Crystals:</b></div>
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This is a crystal where there are recognizable molecules in the structure and the crystal is held together by non-covalent interactions like van der Waals forces or hydrogen bonding. An example of this type of crystal would be sugar. Molecular crystals tend to be soft and have lower melting points. Molecular crystals are crystals formed from weak bonds called hydrogen bonds. these bonds are very weak,,,, </div>
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See what I mean? Not all crystals are created equal. Some have strong bonds, others weak. Another is held together by an electrostatic force while the other is sweet to the taste but can’t take the heat. The same comparisons could be said of couples…</div>
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One would <i>hope</i> by the time you get to your fifteenth year with your spouse, your beloved, your chosen one, that there is more clarity, transparency… that you know them better than any other. </div>
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Me? I chose a winner. I love this covalent bond I share with my spouse. Each year we have been together has been filled with new and deeper adventures, complications, stressors, intimacy, and knowledge that I had ever thought possible. Across the span of the past fifteen years we have developed a very strong, hard to break bond. He is my champion- my biggest fan, my rock. Will is a practical minded man of deep rooted faith and integrity. He is gentle, loving, sensitive and an amazing father. </div>
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Marriage can be so hard. There are peaks and valleys. You are walking through the feast, famine, desert, and lush pastures with this person you chose to do life with. Seasons fly by quickly as do the little moments. I have learned to watch my tongue, be more thoughtful…try to be more sensitive..more of what my man deserves. HE deserves the very best- I can scarcely find the words to express how much I appreciate and love him. He is my greatest treasure here on earth. Happy Fifteenth Babe. </div>
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Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-43821243515336645282017-05-14T22:26:00.000-07:002017-05-15T06:15:58.516-07:00The quibbling of an emotional mother<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidUcmkjNMS8UkcyHEW1QcooerxmvQqQJz0wMWOm0G5WYZPvucTgqo7a-yGpcjzQbymLfVuamuu9Ro3tL2RYg9Kk8_tbOQrHDGESQ4CpDTk_DD5FfIXRR1T3H4j2nonbZrPnqFk93E1_FRq/s1600/13445385_10209479313082180_8655658383971943674_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidUcmkjNMS8UkcyHEW1QcooerxmvQqQJz0wMWOm0G5WYZPvucTgqo7a-yGpcjzQbymLfVuamuu9Ro3tL2RYg9Kk8_tbOQrHDGESQ4CpDTk_DD5FfIXRR1T3H4j2nonbZrPnqFk93E1_FRq/s200/13445385_10209479313082180_8655658383971943674_n.jpg" width="150" /></a>I never thought I was going to be a mother. I thought there were women better suited, more compassionate, more loving, patient, gentle and kind..and yet here I am- a mother of two. Some days are fist pump worthy and others? Well, I just apologize, crawl under the covers and start again the next day.<br />
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It was at church that my mind started wandering and I thought about the moms whose children had left the house..moved away- grown men and women with families of their own- how will they celebrate? When my sons are grown, will they call me? Visit me? Miss me? These fleeting moments that I'm spending with my boys- will they remember? Will they cherish them? Will they tell them to their sons and daughters as a delightful bedtime story as they reminisce about their childhood? Will I be an older woman with regrets of what I should have or could have done? Will my children harbor resentments and untold hurts against me? To raise a child for decades only to see them once a year with an occasional obligatory phone call rips at my soul.<br />
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I think back to the day I found out I was becoming a mother. The mix of joy and horror- the fear of the unknown. The fluttering I felt when this child began moving in me for the first time. The endless months of vomiting, Dr's appointments and the anticipation of this child's arrival. The moment I was told I was having a girl and stared blankly at Will as he stared blankly back until we were told it was a mistake and we both sighed deeply. His reentry into the hospital with jaundice and the terror I felt that I was going to lose him. My feelings of inadequacies of having a first born. What do I do, how do I act? Will I break him? All the firsts. Seeing our Wyatt for the first time, loving him but not feeling that immediate attachment that I thought all mother's had. Faking it til' I was making it. Seeing him develop. His sense of humor. His sensitivity. His sweetness. A mother's pride. <i>Finally </i>feeling that attachment and the fierceness of a mother's love.<br />
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I think back to the day we chose to adopt. The choice to become a mother of two. The mix of joy and horror-the fear of the unknown. The fluttering I felt when I opened the email in my inbox and read a biography about a little boy. The endless months of meetings, background checks, paper trails and the anticipation of his arrival. Walking through the MRT station in Taiwan looking at grown Asian men and teenagers, wondering if that's what my son would look like one day. Tears streaming down my face in public places became commonplace as I thought of my son...my inability to hold him, love him, nurture him. all the firsts that we missed. All the firsts that we experienced. Seeing our Alex for the first time. Loving him, feeling that attachment and praying to God he felt it as well. My feelings of inadequacies as we brought him home. My helplessness to "fix" the problems. Faking it til' I was making it. Seeing him develop. His sense of humor. His bravery. His resilience. His zest for life. A mother's pride. Experiencing a love for two boys that I did not feel was possible.<br />
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I'm thinking of the mothers today who have experienced the loss of being unable to bear a child, those that have lost a child, or those unable to care for their child and then selflessly placed them in the arms of another woman. I think of the women AND men who have lost their mothers and the indescribable grief that must sear one's heart at a loss so great.<br />
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I'm trying to pull myself together here. Seriously I'm an emotional basket case right now. Anyone else like that today? Right before I started writing this, as I was tucking the boys into bed and with Will out of town, Wyatt asked if he could sleep with me. I rolled my eyes. ugh. My perfect opportunity to starfish hindered by a ten year old body. But these moments are fleeting- and one day he may not call me, visit or miss me, but tonight? He wants to cuddle with me....so pardon me while I end this here.Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-37129438183775185112017-04-28T07:57:00.000-07:002017-04-28T08:02:39.665-07:00Ergo....<div style="color: #454545; line-height: normal;">
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Alex and I butt heads and test one another on a daily basis. I lose my temper? He throws himself on the ground and begins beating his head. I raise my voice to discipline? He laughs in defiance. He’s small, he’s quiet and I lose him in the house on a daily basis. He’s smart and strong-willed. He’s a dare-devil who loves to leap from high places. People gasp. I sigh. </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh2jtcc6J3u7y7k7bfed147oBmeK5O1mkvbrSBtvQZ6kXBomFpHrKbdVAGPUYJJIExg77DxLa6E3KMrnvmnR8lqVY0LZt1rWZ0EMIEYa_97GfIcL8qzm-9EcD-skoQl5FUeTzmzbfONY0o/s1600/18156344_10154645402032992_7702640205911850378_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh2jtcc6J3u7y7k7bfed147oBmeK5O1mkvbrSBtvQZ6kXBomFpHrKbdVAGPUYJJIExg77DxLa6E3KMrnvmnR8lqVY0LZt1rWZ0EMIEYa_97GfIcL8qzm-9EcD-skoQl5FUeTzmzbfONY0o/s320/18156344_10154645402032992_7702640205911850378_o.jpg" width="320" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I love him. From the depths of my heart to the bottom of my toes I love him. I mourn that I was not the mother who carried him in my womb and brought him into this world. I anguish on the fact that he did not feel my love for him the moment he was conceived, that it was not me who was able to provide him safety and nourishment within the womb and cradle his sweet face and nuzzle his little neck his first day on earth.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">I’ve had to parent him entirely differently from Wyatt and a lot of days I feel broken and incapable. I know that the Lord is using Alex in my life to stretch, mold and break me into a better, stronger person. His inability to communicate his needs in a clear way forces me to listen, repeat, listen, repeat…and focus on what he’s trying to say. He snaps me into having to be present…REALLY present. The Lord has broken me into learning patience. The Lord is dealing with my anger issues. Alex is my emotional barometer. Each emotion I display is reflected in my child’s behaviors. There is nothing more simultaneously humbling and horrifying. The Lord has brought the hammer down on my judgmental spirit. We have no idea what another human being is going through. Instead of an eye roll, I ask that momma if she needs help getting things to her car. A mother’s kid is screaming and tantruming in the store? I tell that mom.. You got this. A kid looks like he hasn’t bathed in days and is eating an ice cream cone? I get it. Do whatchya gotta do. I have no idea what I’m doing. There was a picture on Facebook that I posted of Alex in the ergo. It had been months since I had put him in that ergo. Naturally it was another day of ultimate nap resistance despite him needing one, and he was beside himself. I was beside myself. So I threw him in the pack….he was feeling my frustration, my anger, my exasperation…and I believe in those moments he just needs to know I’m there, despite myself, and he needs to feel my love for him despite what I may be saying or showing. So in the pack he goes and he immediately settled and fell asleep. I feel uncomfortable with people saying I wish you were my mom, you’re so sweet…on and on….because no-one saw the moments leading up to that raw picture of seeming sweetness. It is only by God’s grace that I get through the day. It is only by his strength that I make it to the end of the day without having verbally torn my children to shreds. I am a work in progress….and I am thankful for my savior who daily packs me into his ergo and holds me close…because momming is hard..and I’m pretty sure it does not get any easier. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">Thank God it’s Friday.</span></div>
Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-15010142234536229802017-03-23T20:50:00.001-07:002017-03-23T20:50:53.252-07:00Brown cylinders and date nights<a href="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSCkoJejJzLRD5bLguJTVW8K7a28URDBwguZhtTMnP39RinBeQWsA" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for bathtub water" border="0" class="irc_mut iU5X0hhvUGGk-HwpH6ZlgJaI" height="149" src="https://encrypted-tbn2.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSCkoJejJzLRD5bLguJTVW8K7a28URDBwguZhtTMnP39RinBeQWsA" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="200" /></a>Will and I stared into the tub, willing those dark cylinders at the bottom of that murky water to be lego figures. Please be legos, please be legos, please be legos.......<br />
<i>ALEX.......are those your toys</i>?????<br />
<i>MO</i>.<br />
He was not lying.<br />
Sighing deeply, Will and I looked at one another and our minds synchronized as only fifteen years of marriage can allow our minds to do and we both silently/not so silently called it.<br />
<i>WE NEED A DATE. </i><br />
I read an interesting blog article the other day that talked about married couples and date nights. I think the general gist was that an hour in a restaurant does not make a marriage (which is exactly what the title said); she doesn't date much with her hubby, and it's about living the vows they made daily, in the trenches...date when possible, but not to waste their days....<br />
I get it.<br />
I appreciate the writer's sentiment and I agree with her that marriage is fun and meaningful with <i>or without </i>date nights. There is nothing that makes me love my hubby more then getting down and dirty in the trenches of our sweet life and doing that life together. I appreciate Will and the sacrifices he makes. I adore when he comes home after running to grab eggs(Cadbury included) at the store, gives the little one a bath, and doesn't utter a single complaint about eating pasta from a box....again. One of my favorite things to do is to sit on my rocker with him on our tiny porch drinking a cold beer while we both watch the kids play on our patch of grass. Both boys would pile into our bed every night if given the opportunity and our sweet Alex, our sleep struggler <strike>often times </strike>always ends up snuggled between Will and I. Every. Night.<br />
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" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Image result for brown lego cylinder" border="0" class="rg_ic rg_i" data-sz="f" height="191" jsaction="load:str.tbn" name="dsor-oN4cZOu2M:" 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" style="height: 186px; margin-top: 0px; width: 194px;" width="200" /></a>A dinner out in that corner booth the writer was talking about will not save an unhealthy broken marriage. A dinner out in a corner booth will definitely breathe a breath of fresh air into a marriage that needs a minute from the murky cylinders on the bottom of the tub. A dinner in a corner booth where you can hold hands with your spouse without speaking may be just what the Dr. ordered. A moment to pour open and vomit out thoughts, feelings and emotions that have been piling up for a few weeks may be imperative. <br />
With all that being said -date night does <b>not</b> have to be a dinner out in that elusive corner booth...Perhaps we need to rethink what a "date night" means. What it comes down to is carving out that time. Being creative. "Penciling" it into the electronic calendar. Writing it down will be a reminder to me...Aly, wash your hair. GET OUT OF ACTIVE WEAR. For me, these scheduled pockets of time are times of refreshment, revitalization with the outcome of being a better self with my love and a better mom for my kids.<br />
Without these scheduled periods of reconnecting I feel spent, tired and a little bitter if I'm going to be honest. For the last few months I've ordered date boxes for Will and I to have a night in, sans kids (i.e. continued yelling at them to leave the room we're sequestered in) and to reconnect with one another after a tiring couple couple weeks at our jobs. It has been so much fun, and he's been a great sport about rolling with it.<br />
Whatever it is do it. Carve it out. Your marriage deserves it.Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-36412925884367070262017-03-19T21:21:00.002-07:002017-03-20T07:41:14.212-07:00Nothing to see here- just us Cheese ballsNothing exotic or awe-inspiring going on here. I'm trying to find simple treasures in the ordinary. Humor in the every day adventures of mom-ming. Cue my last shopping adventure to our local Harmon's.<br />
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Seeing as it was a Saturday, I had the luxury of sleeping in; waking up to the bright sun outside and dressed for the warmer weekend in cute jean Capri's that I actually fit into again and my new converse sneakers. I looked freaking adorable, with the exception of my hair, which was having some serious issues. Nothing that couldn't be tamed by pushing sunglasses on top of my head in place of a headband.. like I said..freaking adorable. </div>
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Caffeine. I needed caffeine. I stared at my coffee pot. It stared back and wasn't going to brew itself. *Sigh.* Will had gone back into work for a couple hours and I stared at the boys after staring at my silent coffee pot . I needed coffee, it was gorgeous out and we needed to kill some time. We were walking to the grocery store. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilOGY2vyQa3R4K84tNMFKcL3K8rVNH_QOvK1ko6p2lF92wj1-JHNYnyXBqsQvTxQu3HihDIadP5i_9k_G18xng4okhughFbhv6WTTGd0mDYWXAwTs1v0GfcM124cLmBOe8rFAMm3AXrnqD/s1600/skinnygirl-logo.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilOGY2vyQa3R4K84tNMFKcL3K8rVNH_QOvK1ko6p2lF92wj1-JHNYnyXBqsQvTxQu3HihDIadP5i_9k_G18xng4okhughFbhv6WTTGd0mDYWXAwTs1v0GfcM124cLmBOe8rFAMm3AXrnqD/s400/skinnygirl-logo.png" /></a>With new tires on my jogging stroller that I, at this time only use for leisurely strolls, and random piles of crap on the bottom of it which included a 6 month bag of popcorn and some clothing items that I didn't have the energy to remove, we headed out. </div>
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As we were crossing the highway a middle-schooler who was skateboarding in the opposite direction called out, <i>NICE SHIRT!!</i> I was wearing my Operation Underground Railroad tee. I smiled to myself. <i>Clearly</i> I was killing it today. </div>
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We had a few extra items to pick up, all which would fit perfectly under the stroller. A few items ended up turning into a lot more, but still looked like it would fit. I eyeballed the checkout lanes....Ugh. I HATE self check out, but we were still under the required amount, and The Wyatt loves scanning. Because I'm such a great mom, I thought, <i>sure</i>. Let's go crazy and self scan today. After codes were typed in and the lady came over like 4 times to clear our screen because WE DIDN'T WANT A FREAKING BAG and Alex got his sticker, I shoved all our items under the stroller and we were finally ready to get my coffee. Sweet mother. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3lxh3DMgOBkZGe1TescQqf_LMU0X1ItZXC77MVjyGar1cBJJbO4LnacEOpkSuTjPIitZvDDnxkW1T2hWQ8MvFLNMNKL6DeEdUDiI6K-dXieJcGT_a9AZqN0GUZ9iJ4qhU3QTNFtntnUgp/s1600/garlic_cheese_ball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3lxh3DMgOBkZGe1TescQqf_LMU0X1ItZXC77MVjyGar1cBJJbO4LnacEOpkSuTjPIitZvDDnxkW1T2hWQ8MvFLNMNKL6DeEdUDiI6K-dXieJcGT_a9AZqN0GUZ9iJ4qhU3QTNFtntnUgp/s200/garlic_cheese_ball.jpg" width="200" /></a>With my order placed, we traipsed over to my iced coffee where a sweet, slightly older then high school looking girl sat smiling at me on a stool by my coffee. <i>Excuse me,</i> she said. <i>Oh man. She wants to tell me how cute I look today</i>....oh the burdens I bear..... Seriously people. These are my narcissistic thoughts. Like, for real. <i>Yes?? </i>I ask with a confident, knowing smile.<i> Well....I didn't want to embarrass you when you were standing in line....</i></div>
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<i>Ugh. This conversation had taken an ugly turn. Did I have a poopy pull-up somewhere on my person?? Something was on me. CRAP. Something was definitely on me. Where was it. Shhhhhoooot. </i></div>
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<i>Yes? </i> I asked this again taken down a couple notches. </div>
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<i>Well, the lady at the self service counter didn't want to embarrass you but she thinks you forgot to scan a cheese ball.</i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9wuPWflUhypIqSVP0qFjF5jfOGafJbgWVoYqbtaw30qr-h3T7agWtl_PjV1FqGw1Ak1L33PscQfKwQRCa1PpYl0ruHeoZnFVCupSt2fL60i4t3HxjmcK_DGCz3wR2XQiK8tdli3lAPO64/s1600/Unknown-1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="105" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9wuPWflUhypIqSVP0qFjF5jfOGafJbgWVoYqbtaw30qr-h3T7agWtl_PjV1FqGw1Ak1L33PscQfKwQRCa1PpYl0ruHeoZnFVCupSt2fL60i4t3HxjmcK_DGCz3wR2XQiK8tdli3lAPO64/s200/Unknown-1.jpeg" width="200" /></a>I heard, <i>embarrass you and cheese ball</i>. Oh for the love of all things..I have a cheese ball in my hair??My hand flew to lightly touch my hair. We didn't eat cheese balls for breakfast. Crap. Did we eat cheese balls for breakfast?</div>
<div>
Wait. That's not what she said. </div>
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<i>What? OH...um....</i>I handed her my receipt.....the Cheez-Its...did I pay for those? </div>
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<i>No that's on there....she said she thought she saw a cheese ball. I'm so sorry. I'm sure it was just an accident...</i></div>
<div>
Ok. I was finally tracking with what she was saying. Took me long enough. I stared longingly at my coffee which I had not yet picked up. ugh. Stupid non existent cheese ball. She didn't know that though...SO</div>
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I unloaded everything on the grocery store floor in front of her. Item by item.</div>
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She was mortified. I think it was that really old bag of popcorn...I really needed to throw that out..particularly if it's being mistaken for a cheeseball....I actually felt really bad for her, she kept apologizing....</div>
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But at the end of the day..everyone has a job to do. I told her this. Hers was to ensure I wasn't pilfering a cheese ball and mine was to respect her position and show my boys that their mother was gracious without coffee and could remain polite despite a silly mistake. </div>
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At the end of the day we all left content, me with my coffee and ALL of us with a hankering for some cheese. </div>
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Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-55490138005977329212017-02-01T15:12:00.003-08:002017-02-01T15:22:07.361-08:00Career Day.....<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I have been struggling with mom-dem lately. I don't know what my issue is. I don't know <i>why</i> I feel like any kind of self-worth is wrapped up in a paycheck. I don't know <i>why</i> I am struggling with working within the home as of late. That is why I started to laugh...kinda, sorta, not really... when Wyatt brought home a flier about career day. Hmmm. If I had balls enough to do it, I'd sign up and get started on my powerpoint...but I don't so I'll just lay out my presentation here. Thanks for listening.<br />
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<b>Investment</b>- <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">a</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">devoting,</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">using,</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">or</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">giving</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">of</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">time,</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">talent,</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">emotional</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">energy,</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">etc.,</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">as</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"></span><span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">for</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">a</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">purpose</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">or</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">to</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">achieve</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">something </span></i></span><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-family: "verdana" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 15px;">(</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;">(dictionary.com)</span><br />
<b>Engineer</b>- <span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><i><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-size: x-small;">a person trained and skilled in the design, construction, and use of engines or machines, or in any of various branches of </span><span style="color: #6a6a6a; font-weight: bold;">engineering</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-size: x-small;"> : a mechanical </span><span style="color: #6a6a6a; font-weight: bold;">engineer</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-size: x-small;">; a civil </span><span style="color: #6a6a6a; font-weight: bold;">engineer</span></i><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-size: x-small;"><i>. 2. a person who operates or is in charge of an engine. </i></span><i><span class="oneClick-link" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">a</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">skillful</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;"> </span><span class="oneClick-link oneClick-available" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #666666; font-size: 15px;">manager </span></i><span style="background-color: white; color: #545454; font-size: x-small;">(dictionary.com)</span></span><br />
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Hi. My name is Alyson Cooper and I'm an Investment Engineer of a small outfit called Cooper Inc. This is a co-ownership that my husband and I have ventured into together, however my husband works two jobs, so I assume a large portion of the day to day responsibilities of the company when he is unavailable. Let me say however- without him, I would not reach even half of my potential within this business.<br />
Currently Cooper Inc. is running with two employees, a perfect number in my opinion. While I have learned never to say never due to the fact that God laughs as soon as that word is uttered from my lips, I am confident in the assessment that I would be unable to handle additional employees and function at normal human capacity at this time. <strike>I.E....I would freak.</strike> So no, we are not seeking out further employees at the time if you are looking to change corporations.<br />
My <i><b>job responsibilities</b></i> include a certain degree of the following: flexibility and empathy with a working knowledge of how to clean, cook, read, drive and maintain appropriate health and nutrition.Oh yeah...and financial management. That one is critical apparently. One must be playful with a cheerful attitude, have the ability to lift anywhere from 20-50 pounds daily, possess a certain degree of physical and mental aptitude with problem solving-skills, have <strike>infinite</strike> patience and the ability to maintain enough organizational wherewithal to manage multiple schedules and to do so in a punctual manner. This all must be done on approximately <strike>4</strike>-6 hours of sleep.<br />
<strike>Basically Mary Poppins on crack. </strike><br />
Our two employees could not possibly be any more different. The skill set you have to work with one, will not work for the other. Rewards that work for one, will not work for the other. One is a rule follower while the other is not. I have found that I have to be extremely creative, stick to a schedule that both are comfortable with, outline the day precisely with little digression and possess the ability to repeat tasks without losing my ever-loving mind.<br />
<strike>Bribery is completely acceptable within my line of work.</strike><br />
<i><b>Describe an average day of work.</b></i><br />
One of the exciting things about Investment Engineering is that you NEVER know what you're going to wake up to! Crazy exciting right?! Each day is anything but normal. In fact, you almost <b>crave </b>normality in this job! Sleep is at a premium since we engineers are on the clock and can be summoned by our employees anytime during a 24 hr period. Our employees can be high risk, demanding, whiny, moody, wiley, forgetful, dirty and sometimes just gross. One currently is still defecating himself. I know what you're thinking. BUT on the flip side they can also be loving, caring, sensitive, warm, inviting and SO much fun. Investment Engineering is a high stress job, so when looking at the big picture, you have to soak up that side of the list that hugs your heart so that it acts as a salve when the other behaviors are playing out.<br />
Ensuring that the Physical, Social, Emotional and Spiritual well-being of both my employees are met is paramount. While I am only human, it is <i>imperative</i> that I have a mental checklist going daily to see how our employees are faring and what I can do to be a loving source of encouragement. We HAVE to be our employees biggest fans. We HAVE to be in their corner and be fierce advocates for them if the situation arises. This is not to say that we let them do what they want, but we have to lovingly hold them accountable so that they can live their lives in a Godly, compassionate, courageous manner. As Investment Engineers, we are investing in our employees lives.. in their future.....in their spouses future if that is a path they choose to take.<br />
<strike>NO PRESSURE. I mean, what could possibly go wrong?</strike><br />
If you choose to go into Investment Engineering, the investment is high, and the initial payout may sometimes feel low. Unless you're looking for hugs, kisses and boogers...in which case, <i>that</i> payout is HUGE. HOWEVER...payment accrues over the years and while it takes a signifigant amount of time to see the investment, it pays you back in spades. I am told this. I am still within the initial payout phase. I'd be happy to follow up with the class in approximately twenty to thirty years.<br />
You may be thinking. Whoa. Um....I'm not ready for that kind of career. I get it. I said the same thing. I went to school for 20 years to do something entirely different. And one day I may take a second job and do that as well. That's the incredible thing about Investment Engineering. There are SO many different types of personalities and ways to run your companies. There is not ONE <i>right</i> way to do it. Successful Investment Engineers see the big picture and work toward small, daily, acheivable goals. Investment Engineers all look and act different. What works in one company may not fly in another. Owning your own company is hard...it's something you really should take a lot of time to discuss and go over before jumping into.<br />
<b>Help students to see the connection between academics and your career</b><br />
<strike>UMMMMMM.</strike>...As I just mentioned..I went to school for 20 years. I know. You do not need your Masters or a PHD to become an Investment Engineer. What IS helpful is to have common sense and a strong support network. You will find that while yes, it is helpful to have a basic knowledge of 4th grade math <strike>(I don't</strike>)...it may be better for the relationship of you and your employee if you just send them to a tutor...because some battles aren't worth your relationship.....but I digress.<br />
I think what the school is looking for is for me to say education is important to and will help with this future career....so there you go.<br />
I have attached requested visual aids below and have described each briefly.<br />
I hope I didn't scare any of you away from this career path. Despite challenges you may face, I feel myself growing more as a person daily. The woman I was when I set out in the start up phase of this company is not who I am now- and that is a <strike>good</strike> great thing.<br />
One day, should you advance onto this career path and you feel like you can't make it through the day...if your employees are loved, fed and alive, you have done an incredible job....Tomorrow is always a brand new day.<br />
Thanks so much for listening and having me in today.<br />
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<b>Visual Aids</b><br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxbRYlVssG3gfvYqrPBog02EvFfif4ifjOyobm6mQO_VgGSnp_lW3oKJMFkgdSiIrCABqARRhnIOhBxoSrCsiMfTrV10wVDXFDvu4afRX2x8OXE7HZQVPqGAG9u4T9uuD0Yhz6g5Z-vW8t/s1600/4070991958_2d5aa6c5a4_z.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxbRYlVssG3gfvYqrPBog02EvFfif4ifjOyobm6mQO_VgGSnp_lW3oKJMFkgdSiIrCABqARRhnIOhBxoSrCsiMfTrV10wVDXFDvu4afRX2x8OXE7HZQVPqGAG9u4T9uuD0Yhz6g5Z-vW8t/s320/4070991958_2d5aa6c5a4_z.jpg" width="252" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Investment Engineers all look different<br />
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<img border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSQl27bWBRaaf1SfFycYr5m4H1E4ga6aJxP3cQ9lbFngaQxYJEw-xFeNtRszBC2JymZiYbeSLdoKxL-gYlyMRMEJKQNVLGCn2OfVLVsvmptomDKvfJoAioJriRa6TCCjneuQ4g-hvGeriA/s320/housewife-2-300x200.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px; text-align: center;">Fiction</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicndnDdxavNo_ojzVaTh66R1q7Zfyr2A80cA_4wxb7fGETMvOxYbD9wxHX6gF4bWQM5KcUzj2u75y2_j2RqkSHEhKwzM7xw55Uh46GMBDqOctT0HxsQPXJwumfe4G1b1lQgOGVNgMCoQ1S/s1600/drinking-coffee+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicndnDdxavNo_ojzVaTh66R1q7Zfyr2A80cA_4wxb7fGETMvOxYbD9wxHX6gF4bWQM5KcUzj2u75y2_j2RqkSHEhKwzM7xw55Uh46GMBDqOctT0HxsQPXJwumfe4G1b1lQgOGVNgMCoQ1S/s320/drinking-coffee+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">Reality</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sy-sPkhPpw4GJFCizNFXgaBDHTOONTdsEIXl0P3FdNoFpNXhQqO7Ghtz9tXdmhmBoBcOyNHt3TXejT8wZC_ychm7G1AcoysYdSF7jlz2QIK6K9Vt-yJO7i2rZK-DJ6Xrg4N80IBbzp5x/s1600/AAEAAQAAAAAAAAJTAAAAJDg4NDZmYWZiLWI5YmItNDk3ZS1iNmU4LWQ4OGM1ZTc2N2YyZg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="183" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5sy-sPkhPpw4GJFCizNFXgaBDHTOONTdsEIXl0P3FdNoFpNXhQqO7Ghtz9tXdmhmBoBcOyNHt3TXejT8wZC_ychm7G1AcoysYdSF7jlz2QIK6K9Vt-yJO7i2rZK-DJ6Xrg4N80IBbzp5x/s320/AAEAAQAAAAAAAAJTAAAAJDg4NDZmYWZiLWI5YmItNDk3ZS1iNmU4LWQ4OGM1ZTc2N2YyZg.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.800000190734863px;">A few job responsibilities of the Investment Engineer</td></tr>
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Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2600947305812788395.post-31110383425712347952017-01-26T14:18:00.002-08:002017-01-26T14:27:47.336-08:00#stillrealI've been on this keeping it real kick lately...just being sensitive to those around us...to other women...other mothers. Just my disclaimer before you decide to read any further. It may sound repetitive...it's just where I'm at right now.<br />
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Conversational encounters with other adults before 7 pm is generally rare for me, so typically I have unintentional diarrhea of the mouth when the opportunity arises. Just setting the scene....<br />
I'm sitting in the library...as is our usual when Wyatt goes to Math tutoring, and I had <i>just</i> cracked open my book while Alex was potentially going to play. I say potentially, because he hadn't had a nap and we were teetering on the precipice of a meltdown. Another mom and her husband were there with their two toddlers who were about to put on a puppet show. Unfortunately, I had claimed the most comfortable seat which was directly in front of the "puppet theater" and I decided begrudgingly (though with a smile) to offer her my bench so she could see. She said we could share. Awesome..though I figured that meant I'd have to half-heartedly laugh at this kid's show.<br />
We chatted a little and I came to find out she was looking for a Pre-K, so I told her where Alex goes and that he was going 2 days a week, but now it was 4.. blah blah blah...and it's a life saver for everyone. She looked at me with this immense relief, as if she had found a kindred spirit. I mean it wasn't like she was going to tear up but her immediate response was agreement at cherishing the quiet moments and how sick she was of hearing #blessed all the time. I looked at her and said um...well welcome to #real. From that point on we opened up and had a great conversation. Two strangers just having met in the library....united over keeping it real.<br />
Don't get me wrong. I KNOW I'm #blessed. Yup. I do. BUT FOR THE LOVE. I feel like I can't put it out there enough. Please, be real with me. I'll be real with you. Some days it's all I can do to pull myself up and out of bed..that's what Jesus and coffee are for..<b>because it's freaking hard. </b><br />
Our neighbor just had a baby and I went over there with a loaf of banana bread and a hat over my dirty hair, knocked on her door and said, <i>It'll be OK. Some days really suck though.</i> Will was like, <i>really Aly? That was very neighborly of you.</i> But it's the truth, and she looked at me the way new moms look and said <i>some days are really hard.</i>... <br />
YES. YEEEES. SOME DAYS ARE <b>REALLY</b> HARD.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg18a1tDim2IYYcOWD34Pe1ZpGwxukcmRqbAXDZ9OetBclDvRxRE6UeCfWhCuZStn-GHyKwmOPh6Qiwhbgl-QeBEwpth4KTgCsCwdaJaGQMTnQtL5uxJqFlLt9O7WV5AZPoPRGy8BUBgkyu/s1600/still+real.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>Be there for those women. Be present. Be real. Talk to someone who looks lonely or tired or worn down by life. Love on them. Tell that mom (OR DAD!!) in the store with the screaming kid that the day is almost over, or that she can do it..that you've been there and are in her corner. It may be the only source of encouragement she gets that day.<br />
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<b>This Week's keeping it real moments....</b><br />
*Some days I don't shower. But I ALWAYS sniff myself to make sure I'm palatable enough to exit my house.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg18a1tDim2IYYcOWD34Pe1ZpGwxukcmRqbAXDZ9OetBclDvRxRE6UeCfWhCuZStn-GHyKwmOPh6Qiwhbgl-QeBEwpth4KTgCsCwdaJaGQMTnQtL5uxJqFlLt9O7WV5AZPoPRGy8BUBgkyu/s1600/still+real.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg18a1tDim2IYYcOWD34Pe1ZpGwxukcmRqbAXDZ9OetBclDvRxRE6UeCfWhCuZStn-GHyKwmOPh6Qiwhbgl-QeBEwpth4KTgCsCwdaJaGQMTnQtL5uxJqFlLt9O7WV5AZPoPRGy8BUBgkyu/s320/still+real.JPG" width="320" /></a>*I have a plastic poop pile of diapers in my garage that desperately need to be walked a couple hundred feet to the dumpster. I thank God for the cold weather that has preserved them.<br />
*When Alex naps in the afternoon it is like a sweet song to my soul.<br />
*When for the 400th time Alex asks for juice I start sipping half empty juice boxes around my house to ensure they haven't fermented and hand him those.<br />
*I have floated eggs before in my fridge to make sure they're not spoiled. Totally a thing. Check it out.<br />
*I have fish that ALSO needs to go in the dumpster, but it is currently in my fridge so it doesn't smell....cause if I trashed it, that would TOTALLY smell....I really need to go to the dumpster today....<br />
*Dishes are my freaking nemesis. eh. who are we kidding. Cleaning is my nemesis.<br />
*I had a fight with my found bag of Rolos today and totally lost.<br />
<br />Will, Aly, The Wyatt, Alex!http://www.blogger.com/profile/01388576019675471226noreply@blogger.com0