tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82840754689896302032024-02-22T15:08:21.252-05:00Picturing the Ordinarypicturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.comBlogger364125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-21865472223671534332021-04-06T22:13:00.002-04:002021-04-07T07:09:45.640-04:00Marveling at what used to seem like an impossibility<p>Yesterday I clicked on my facebook memories and scrolled through posts I'd written and pictures I'd posted, going as far back as nine years. I read that nine years ago, the feeding therapist Isaac had at the time, told me he probably would never be able to chew food and would have to drink all of his meals. Nine years later and she wasn't completely wrong. He can't chew food--though we did give our best effort for about a year, but he doesn't necessarily drink all of his meals--though they are all pureed, he does eat them with a spoon, so I won't count that as drinking. </p><p>Isaac's preferred food is Silk Almond milk yogurt and 8 ounces of Kate Farms formula. He would have that exact meal five times each day if I would let him. We let him have this meal two times each day and he has to have 'soup' for the rest of his meals. We started calling every meal except yogurt, 'soup', only because that's what the inpatient feeding clinic called it. Unfortunately, these 'soups' don't magically appear. I blend food (using my trusty blendtec blender) for him every day--sometimes multiple times each day if I haven't blended large enough quantities to last more than one meal. </p><p>It has only been during the last few years that Isaac has been feeding himself independently. Prior to this accomplishment of self feeding, I had to spend painful thirty minute increments trying to get Isaac to eat all of his soup. It was a situation where he could launch an Angry Bird (maybe two), and then he had to let me feed him a bite of soup. It was quite unpleasant. Then, after the meal, he was rewarded with time on his iPad. It was a horrible cycle and it has taken years and many baby steps to wean from that whole situation. I won't divulge all of those baby steps today because it would probably be horribly boring. I'm thankful that 99% of all meals these days are accomplished with little fanfare and he feeds himself with such a rapid speed in order to finish the meal as quickly as possible. Oh, and he doesn't get screen time after every meal anymore (only breakfast). </p><p>Have you ever met anyone who didn't like to eat? Who, even if you offered them the most decadent dessert they would refuse it? Me either. Until Isaac. It's hard to understand. </p><p>One of Isaac's preferred soups is what I call peanut-butter-sandwich-soup. It's exactly as it sounds: two slices of bread, a banana, two tablespoons of peanut butter, sometimes some carrots or whatever other random items I throw in the blender, and some oat milk. I made this soup for him this evening and stuck it in the fridge telling him that whenever he was hungry, his next soup would be ready for him. Usually I have to keep him on track for each meal because he eats approximately every three hours, but since this was the last meal of the day he had some leeway to choose when he wanted to eat. I sat down in the living room to read my book and about twenty minutes later I heard him come upstairs from the basement and get his soup out of the fridge. He put his soup in the microwave, turned it on, and then I heard him take it out of the microwave and blow on it, hard, many times (even though I know it wasn't hot--we heat all soups for only 30-45 seconds which is barely room temperature because he doesn't like anything too hot or too cold), and then he brought his soup into the dining room and sat down and continued blowing on it to cool it down. Meanwhile, I sat unnoticed in the living room, watching him quietly. He sat for a moment and then grabbed the towel that he uses to wipe his face (leftover habit from the feeding clinic--it must be a washcloth type of towel, not a paper napkin or paper towel), and proceeded to rapidly spoon soup into his mouth. </p><p>I observed all of this unnoticed, and I kept it that way because I wanted to take a moment to marvel at how much progress he's made in nearly eleven years (his eleventh birthday is next week). The fact that he noted his hunger, stopped playing video games, got his own soup from the fridge and heated it up on his own without asking for any help, may not seem like much, but it's absolutely amazing for him. I'm so thankful for this brief, seemingly ordinary moment. </p><p><br /></p>picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-91047485651036435462018-11-28T11:38:00.000-05:002018-11-28T11:42:28.089-05:00Nostalgia <div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Nostalgia: a wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one’s life; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time. (Dictionary.com)</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">Last week I heard a discussion on NPR about </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">nostalgia</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">and since then I’ve been thinking about the memories that cause me to experience nostalgia. These are a few: </span></span><br />
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<li><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My dad is an avid cyclist. Actually he’s avid for all things fitness and I can only hope to be as in shape as he is when I’m 63. He got my sister and me involved in biking pretty early and that soon led to </span><span style="font-style: italic; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">bike trips. </span><span style="vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This is essentially where people pay money to ride hundreds of miles with hundreds of other people and then sleep in tents every night. As an adult, I’ve been confused by my friends who pay money to run long distances in races, but I recently joined that trend and even though I still think it’s a little crazy, I’m planning to keep at it.</span></span></li>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I believe we took our first bike trip when my sister was twelve and I was fourteen. An important aspect of the bike trip was training, because on average we would need to bike fifty miles each day, for six days. So my dad set out to get us in shape. Just so readers have a point of reference, my mom refuses to let my dad even attempt to “get her in shape”. He’s intense about training and exercise; he’s been logging his workouts and exercise goals since he was a child, so it literally makes me laugh as I’m writing this to think about my dad setting out to prepare us for a bike trip and the thoughts that were probably running through his mind. His regimen meant long rides on the weekends and some training on the stationary bike. He would load up the Honda Civic hatchback with our bikes and we’d head out somewhere in the country to bike a planned route. My dad had these little maps that he attached to the top of his bike bag and I wouldn’t have known if we ever got lost or not. We just knew we were going to bike until we got back to the car. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Getting back to the car was the fun part. Once the bikes were back on the bike rack, we’d drive to a gas station and my dad would buy Gatorade and a medium bag of spicy Doritos. And my sister and I would sit in the back seat chugging Gatorade and eating all of the Doritos. It was the best. I’m not sure why, since as an adult I never ever drink Gatorade and I rarely eat Doritos, but this is the memory I always come back to when I think about those bike trips and those training rides. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(There are </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">many</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> other memories regarding those bike trips that I’ll share in another post)</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">2. My dad has always worked late. He has a demanding job as a psychologist and after seeing patients well into the evening he would go to the gym, so this meant my sister and I spent lots of evenings alone with my mom. We’d often just stay home and do homework, play outside, or watch Rescue 911 or Home Improvement--which is really funny to me now because my husband grew up without a television and he’s recently been watching reruns of Home Improvement since we don’t have cable. Sometimes though, my mom took us to Beachwood Place Mall. Not for shopping, just to walk around--something to do in the winter I guess. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I tried to find a little history about the mall and its renovations, but couldn’t find much. The mall is very different today than it was in the 90s. For us, the mall was very exciting because where they now have an open area with escalators, they used to have a fountain with a glass elevator that would lower near the water. Near the fountain was the food court, whereas today, the food court is on the second floor. We almost never ate at the food court because it was too expensive, or my mom didn’t want us to eat unhealthy food and just told us it was too expensive, so instead, she would pack sandwiches in brown lunch bags for each of us and we’d sit on the steps to the fountain. My sister and I thought this was great fun--especially watching the glass elevator going up and down. Whenever I go to Beachwood Mall and pass through that area I remember sitting there, in a spot that no longer exists the way I remember it, with my mom and my sister eating our packed sandwiches just outside of the food court. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">3. When I see mothers nursing babies I feel a pang of longing for the many hours I spent nursing Isabella. Isabella’s infancy to toddlerhood was simply the best time in my life. I felt a sense of belonging for the first time in my life and I was proud of my body for the first time in my life. Breastfeeding and La Leche League led me to establishing my most valued friendships with women I wouldn’t have met otherwise. Eleven years later each of those women, even though a few I haven’t seen in over a year, hold a very special place in my heart.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I used to sit in a very uncomfortable glider I bought at a second hand store, nursing Isabella to sleep and singing </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Amazing Grace</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Grace Flows Down</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> over and over again. Isabella would fall into that drunken baby stupor, milk dribbling down her cheek while I soaked in the weight of her, and felt as if I couldn’t bear to part with her, ever. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I think nostalgia shows up when you least expect it. It’s so interesting how very small, seemingly inconsequential details, will immediately jog a memory. Last week, we were having dinner and Walter asked how my grandma was doing, and before I responded he said, “‘bout half?’” because this is what my grandpa always said when we called and asked, “how are you, grandpa?” In the moment, I had to blink away tears and still do as I’m writing this. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Maybe after reading this, you can take a moment to remember the “happiness of a former place or time”. </span></span></div>
picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-17092700616141256662018-11-21T11:39:00.001-05:002018-11-21T11:39:57.725-05:00Why do people have kids? <div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Last week Isabella and I were in the car together, and she was in the back seat because I don’t let her sit in the front. I don’t think I’m ready to have a front seat companion and even though she's eleven, she's probably not even big enough. My general rule has always been, no talking in the car. It’s my sanctuary or something. The rule started when Isabella was a toddler. She was basically born talking and since I’m a fairly quiet person who is </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">extremely</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> sensitive to noise, it just made sense that everyone should cease talking for at least ten minutes on the drive to the library, or the grocery store. So, it’s worked all of these years. My kids look at books or we listen to an audiobook, sit in silence, or very rarely, listen to music. But then over the last year I’ve realized I should probably allow talking because that’s supposed to be a good time for parents to bond with their kids or something like that. </span></span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-11ed0ad0-7fff-f25e-6b23-2034b5e40358" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With the ban on talking lifted, it meant on this particular day that I got to hear about Meth and how it destroys your body and could very easily blow up your house if you try to make the drug. Noted. So far sixth grade has been most beneficial for learning all about drugs and alcohol in health class. I don’t think she’s learned anything else. And as I was listening to the riveting facts regarding Meth, I thought, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">why do people have kids? I mean, really, what is the reason? </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This also gives you a window into the weird thoughts in my brain. </span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When you sign up to have kids, you also sign up to be in a perpetual state of exhaustion, give them all of your money, put stress on your marriage, have stretch marks in places you didn’t even know you could have stretch marks, and thanks to birth, lose your ability to hold your pee. So why on earth do millions of people sign up for this? And why do the people </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">with</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> kids get confused when other people </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">don’t </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">want kids? </span></span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I actually don’t have an answer. I googled: “why do people have kids” and it led me down the rabbit hole that is the internet, citing reasons like, “to give and receive unconditional love” and “fix the mistakes of their parents”. First of all, Isaac doesn’t even tell me he loves me back. When I drop him off at school I say, “have a fun day! I love you!” and he says, “bye, Charley!” and runs to the building. He also doesn’t hug me, so the whole love things is definitely not a good reason to have a kid. Secondly, you might fix the mistakes of your own parents but you are </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">surely</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> going to make a million of your own mistakes, so that’s a horribly selfish reason to bring a human into the world.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I got pregnant with Isabella when I was in my last year of college (which was actually my fifth year of college). Before that I had a surprise pregnancy and before that, I wasn’t planning to ever have kids. I know, crazy turn of events. Doesn't make sense to me either, but something weird happens to the brain when you read those two lines on a positive pregnancy test. For me, after the panic dissipated, I thought what power my body had to hold and grow a life. And then I immediately fell in love. I am completely aware that it may not be this way for everyone, but with our first pregnancy that came and went so quickly, I fell in love, plain and simple. And though my miscarriage was extremely early, apparently these days it’s called a “chemical pregnancy” which seems so cruel, I felt like a mom, instantly. Because what does a mom do: protect, grow, love, nourish...whether you’re newly pregnant or the mother of three...and as I had a miscarriage, I felt I’d failed at all of those things. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">From that point it seemed only natural to me that I would want to get pregnant again. I desperately wanted that life inside of me again. So I did, and I graduated from college about a month before Isabella was born. Two years later I still wasn't interested in having a second baby. I loved Isabella so deeply (and still do, </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">obviously</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">) that I couldn’t imagine having another child and thought we were perfect with just Isabella. But after some convincing, I told Walter he had two months and if I didn’t get pregnant one of those two months we were done. I got pregnant the first month. And of course, I fell in love. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But all of this still doesn’t the answer the question: </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">why do people have kids</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. I mean, I didn’t have any good reasons to have children or get pregnant while I was still in college and planning to follow the path to become and English Professor.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">So I thought about it some more and I came up with a few reasons: </span></span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Once they’re old enough, they can get stuff for you so you don’t have to get up and do it yourself. This is assuming they can actually find what you ask for, so this isn’t always beneficial since kids are born blind and I'm not entirely sure that the male species ever recovers their sight. Literally, my kids can’t find something that’s right in front of them. </span></span></div>
</li>
<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">They provide an excellent source of entertainment. Kids are basically a built in entertainment system. From the first sound they make you’re just in awe that they could do anything so wonderful as that little coo. </span></span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">They say ridiculously adorable things. Like last week when we were at a store and Isaac said, “hey Isabella, when we get outside, do you want to play that game where we try not to step on the cracks?” Obviously Isabella rolled her eyes and said, “no, I don’t want to play that game” in a disgusted voice, but she’s 11 and has been kidnapped temporarily by monsters that I assume will return her loving self when she’s about twenty. </span></span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Hypothetically, they’ll take care of you when you’re old. This is assuming you don’t screw up their childhood. </span></span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Even though I tell the people in my house if they say, “mom” one more time I’m going to change my name or explode, I still love it. </span></span></div>
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<li dir="ltr" style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; list-style-type: decimal; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">Now that they’re older we can actually do fun things like play games that I actually enjoy and have real conversations...about meth.</span></span></div>
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</ol>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">This list is not conclusive and I don't pretend that it comes close to answering the main question.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif;">I never had a strong pull to be a mother. In my mind it’s hard to believe we actually signed up for this job. Kids manage to drain you physically and mentally, every single day. They are literally the neediest creatures on the planet and always need food. But we get up every morning (and for many of you, multiple times each night) and do it all over again, pray we get it right, and love them as deeply as one can possibly love another. </span></span></div>
picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-26045482090050323312017-08-07T20:51:00.000-04:002017-08-07T20:51:17.421-04:00Emotional Growth<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Cambria, serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The first day of school is next week and suddenly I felt like I needed to start preparing Isaac.
Last night I got into bed with him and started on my spiel about how we handle
situations that make us mad and what to do if someone says something that isn’t
nice. Isaac doesn't like when people bump into him, or even </span><span style="line-height: 18.4px;">accidentally</span><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> brush up against him--this makes carpet time and standing in line particularly challenging. He seemed to understand that yelling isn't the right path, though we’ll see how it goes when all of this is
put into practice. Out of nowhere he started talking about a girl he
liked at school and all about how he asked her to be his friend and that his
heart thumped out of his chest when he saw her go down the slide—to show me
this he joined his hands over his heart and pulled them away from his body and
back in. And it dawned on me that I always pray for Isaac to have friends, or
even just one buddy, because we’ve never known if he would be able to
understand love and relationship the way we do. But I’m finding that as he
develops he is starting to understand emotions and is expressing compassion in
ways he never did before. Sometimes he even volunteers a hug which is always a
special moment for me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">About
a month ago, I rested my head on my arms against the kitchen counter and Isaac
said, “you have a headache?” I was shocked. He’s never asked or seemed to
empathize with another’s feelings or emotions. This was an incredible first.
Since then he has asked me if I felt sad, and another time, if I was angry.
This is really exciting progress as it shows me that his realm of understanding
emotions is broadening. Perhaps this will even help him express his own
feelings since to this day, when he is upset, language is the first skill to
go. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Cambria","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ascii-theme-font: major-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: major-latin;">As
Isaac talked about the little girl who made his heart swell, I knew that I
needed to start praying for his future life partner and for Isaac's sweet innocence. I think my son will be
able to understand love and heartache, and passion and pleasure. It makes me
happy to think that he may some day have a meaningful relationship with someone
outside of our family. Since the day Isaac was diagnosed, I was saddened by what might be a lack of friendship and quality relationships in his life. But we have seen glimpses of possibility, and because relationship is central to being human, this makes me so happy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-36931808070973045192017-06-12T20:08:00.002-04:002017-06-12T20:17:35.879-04:00Maine Vacation Day 3Today we made our way to Port Clyde and went back to the little beach at Owl's Head since we loved it so much. I'd wanted to go back to Rockland to see if the local art shop was open, but Isaac was done for the day and insisted we head back to the house. He's been super flexible on this trip, so we ended the day's adventure and came home to relax which was needed anyway.<br />
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Drift-in Beach--the tide was in so we only stopped for a few minutes.<br />
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COFFEE!!! We enjoyed a break and a cappuccino in Port Clyde:<br />
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Back at Owl's Head Beach<br />
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I try <i>not </i>to get a tan. As you can see, my legs reflect the sun. Only cool people are proud of this.<br />
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I have to take pictures of myself so it looks like I was on this vacation, too.<br />
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Marshall Point Lighthouse</div>
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picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-34607311632590252432017-06-12T09:09:00.000-04:002017-06-12T09:09:27.589-04:00Maine Vacation Days 1 and 2All I keep thinking on this trip, is that Isaac has come so far and this allows us to do some things that we used to avoid. Yesterday we were able to go kayaking as a family and I talked to Isaac beforehand about how brave he would have to be since the kayak would rock a little bit. He said, "okay, I try" and handled the whole experience beautifully. Isabella, our born explorer and adventurer, took charge of her own kayak. She had one moment of panic after discovering a spider in her kayak, but was able to work through that issue. As for me, water in general makes me anxious and I was trying not to worry about the kids drowning for most of our kayak trip, but everything went well--no one tipped over, and we all made it back to shore unscathed--except for that spider.<br />
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As you'll see in the photos, Charley is with us on this vacation. It's one of our first vacations including a dog and I couldn't be happier. Stella is at home in Ohio enjoying having the run of our house while my mother-in-law takes care of her. Charley did well on the fourteen hour drive. We tried to block him in the back of the van, but he seems to think his head should be between the driver and passenger seat and creates his own third seat (just for his head). The kids did very well and for the most part we were able to maintain Isaac's meal schedule. It's so hard to stick to that schedule when we are away from home and unfortunately, the change in his routine is causing some very frustrating meal-time issues, but that was to be expected.<br />
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We've rented a house for the week in Friendship, Maine. We share the property with the owners who are very nice and have allowed us the use of their kayaks. The following pictures are from our first morning walk to the edge of the property:<br />
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In the evening went found a little beach area where because the tide was out, we could walk out to the little island to the left.<br />
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More mud on the dog...<br />
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Isaac stayed in pretty much the same spot the whole time, but he's becoming more interested in exploring.<br />
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Random spot where we stopped to check the map on our way to Owl's Head Lighthouse.<br />
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Walk to Owl's Head Lighthouse:<br />
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Beach area where we spent a while looking for shells and sea glass. I <i>loved </i>this beach area. The rock formations are so interesting and I like looking at how the shadows fall along the crevices. I'll have lots of material for my next watercolor class.<br />
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Attempts for a family photo:<br />
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In Rockland. By this point Charley is tired of wandering around a small town and decided to lie down in a flower bed--oops! I went to Over the Rainbow Yarn Shop and can't wait to start some new projects with Maine-made yarn!<br />
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Outside the Andrew Wyeth Museum. I'd like to go back. We didn't have enough time to actually go in the museum.<br />
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Hike to Mt. Battie. Everyone was exhausted and sweaty since it was a very steep climb. I was worried about Isaac but he was a trooper. By this point we were all getting a little slap-happy and then a little angry. Unfortunately, even with the steep climb, we didn't make it to the top since we lost the trail. Walter went back for the car and we then drove the .5 miles left to the summit.<br />
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By this point I'm angry at Mt. Battie, and reluctantly took these photos. Isaac sat in the car and refused to get out--ha!<br />
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Everyone earned some ice cream, so we stopped in Rockport at River Ducks Ice Cream.<br />
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Ironically enough, I think Isaac is the only sleeping well on this trip. He's been snoring so loudly that Isabella has been sleeping on the couch in the living-room.<br />
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<br />picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-6483498019888164652016-12-13T19:05:00.001-05:002016-12-13T19:09:08.699-05:00Feeding Update35.6<br />
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<i>No. That can't be right. She's looking at me. She knows this is too low. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
-Let's do it over again.<br />
-We just had it calibrated.<br />
-Well, that can't be right. We were just at GI and he weighs 37 pounds. Bud, step back on the scale; real quick.<br />
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35.6<br />
<br />
<i>I felt the tears. Here they come and once they start they don't stop. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>She offers to try a different scale, so Isaac puts on his shoes slowly, and deliberately because his socks have to be just right (double checked and rechecked) before he puts the shoe on and then the strap has to cross the velcro in just the right way. After a couple minutes of watching the shoe donning process I say cheerily, "Good job, Bud!" We've worked hard for this independence. Then we march down the hall to another scale. </i><br />
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35.6<br />
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<i>She gives me the, "I told you so" look. I ignore her. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>"Okay, Bud. Time to put those shoes back on!" And we walk around the corner to meet with the rest of the team. By this point tears are dripping down my face. I tell them I'm about to have a meltdown, so they should get ready because this is going to be a big one. The behavioral psychologist tells me we'll come up with a plan. I tell them that I don't want to hear another plan, and I drove two hours just so that I could sit there and have three people analyze everything I'm doing and question why my son is suddenly down almost two pounds! It's dramatic, I know. But I've worked for every single ounce this child has gained over the last five and a half years. </i><br />
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Isaac has had some vomiting lately, so we're attributing the weight loss to that. Part of me refuses to believe the number on the scale.<br />
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Other than the initial upset, the appointment went well. We have some new ideas for his outpatient OT who is focusing on teaching Isaac to chew. We're also working on a plan toward more independence during his meals, and trying to figure out new ways I can threaten him, I mean, <i>encourage</i> him to finish his drinks on his own. During our family game night on Friday, I meant to tell Isabella it was her turn and instead said, "two drinks!" We all burst out laughing. Some days I feel like my thoughts do not go beyond telling Isaac to take <i>two drinks. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
We're also looking ahead to summer and considering another inpatient stay to push Isaac to the next level of eating and managing food in his mouth. He has made significant progress but only eats pureed food blended to a very specific consistency. This is fabulous, and I am happy to remain in this place but I also want to keep moving Isaac forward to more age appropriate food intake. Every time we go back to The Children's Institute in Pittsburgh, he asks if we're going to get a room and walks around like he owns the place. I'm thankful he has such a positive association with the hospital and I know if we were inpatient again he would take it all in stride.<br />
<br />
We continue to maintain The Institute's meal schedule at home. He has five meals each day. Two meals consist of his eight ounce drink and the other three consist of six ounces of puree and his eight ounce drink. He has thirty minutes to complete the meal, and we do use the iPad for motivation. If it weren't for the iPad (and of course our inpatient stay), he would still be tube fed. Isaac does not understand his own hunger though he has started to express thirst, so I think this is a good sign, and he has no inherent desire to eat. He doesn't even really care what things taste like, just that they are perfectly pureed, so you'd better believe I'm amazing with a blender!<br />
<br />
That is all for now. If you have any questions about inpatient feeding programs or The Children's Institute and their philosophy, do not hesitate to ask.<br />
<br />
Sierra<br />
<br />picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-17138269493148726612016-12-05T12:02:00.000-05:002016-12-05T12:13:22.327-05:0033When I put the kids to bed I turn the heat down to sixty-five, and when I wake up I turn it back up to sixty-eight. But this morning, as I was punching the numbers on the thermostat I thought, "it's by birthday, let's warm this place up", so I set it to seventy. That's just an example of how wild and crazy my life is. Don't be jealous.<br />
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On other birthdays I've made a list of important things from the past year and this has been a fairly notable year for our family, so I feel compelled to make a list of thirty-three things I don't want to forget. </div>
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1. Isaac learned to eat. He still has the feeding tube for his medication and in case of an illness. He is on a strict feeding schedule and it can be quite trying to feed him but supposedly at school he feeds himself and doesn't need any prompting--I'm not bitter about that at all. </div>
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2. I lived away from Walter, Isabella, and my dogs, in a hospital room for five weeks, and survived.</div>
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3. My friends are amazing and supportive, and I couldn't imagine this journey without them. </div>
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4. I want a pack of German Shepherds. They are weirdest, most sensitive and emotional dogs (I guess that means we have a lot in common) but I love them. </div>
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5. We have a new kitchen! This makes me love my house even more. </div>
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6. I enjoy working on projects with Walter. </div>
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7. I find it slightly hilarious that Isabella is a "cafeteria worker" and is 'paid' with a free lunch on Mondays. </div>
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8. I learned how to play the guitar...and recently gave up playing the guitar. </div>
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9. I took a surfing lesson. This was a serious boundary breaker for me. First of all, I don't like water; I don't even really like to shower. Secondly, I'm not one to go out of my comfort zone. </div>
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10. I flew to Dallas, Texas for the second time to visit my sister and didn't spend the whole flight crying and imagining myself spiraling from the air to a messy death. </div>
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11. I work for All Dogs Go to Kevin and get to work some amazing people. </div>
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12. It's refreshing to have friends who don't have kids. </div>
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13. Walter does most of the unloading and loading of the dishwasher now. </div>
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14. I love cooking for my family, but I'm also okay with less-than-healthy quick meals on busy nights. </div>
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15. Sometimes I buy Cheetos and hide them from Walter and then he finds them and says, "you've been eating these without me?!" </div>
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16. I love to knit. </div>
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17. A few years ago we started going to a church in a diverse community and it's been a wonderful experience for our whole family. </div>
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18. I like to sit quietly. </div>
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19. I enjoy walking through the woods alone with my dog. </div>
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20. I like to make people laugh. </div>
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21. I love when other people make <i>me</i> laugh. </div>
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22. I don't take life too seriously. </div>
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23. I love good coffee.</div>
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24. I take naps and don't feel guilty. </div>
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25. I'm going to take a drawing class. </div>
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26. Both of my kids are in school and I have more freedom than I've had in the last nine years. I'm still trying to figure out what to do with all of this freedom. But most days, it doesn't work out as I'd expect because I'm bound to get a call from the school about one thing or another. This freedom has also afforded me the opportunity to be readily available for friends in need, and this is something I appreciate being able to do. </div>
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27. Charley has brought new life to our eleven year old Stella. This is good because I don't know what I'll do without her. </div>
<div>
28. I think I'm finally at peace with being a mom and a wife. I know that sounds weird, but I've often felt desperate for something more and felt like I was just waiting for the kids to be old enough for me to live <i>my </i>life, but I've learned that I <i>am </i>living my life, and I don't need a higher degree, or a special job to feel better about myself. </div>
<div>
29. I still want to write a book. I'm sure it will happen, but I don't think it's going to happen the way I expect it to, and I'm not in a rush. </div>
<div>
30. I like houseplants, and I've actually managed to keep a few alive. Particularly the one that "thrives on neglect". </div>
<div>
31. My book club still meets once a month and these are the women I feel safest with. </div>
<div>
32. Taking a liquid iron supplement and a high dose of Vitamin D is probably the best thing I could start doing for myself. It makes me feel like a different person. </div>
<div>
33. Our little family of four, plus two dogs, in a relatively small house, is exactly what I want and where I want to be. </div>
picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-33727227619872286272016-11-15T13:17:00.004-05:002016-11-15T13:19:16.760-05:00Book Review: To the Bright Edge of the World by Eowyn Ivey<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; line-height: 115%;">To the
Bright Edge of the World </span></i><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; line-height: 115%;">by Eowyn Ivey <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: large;">I fell in
love with Ivey’s first novel, <i>The Snow
Child</i>, and its many mystical qualities and themes of love, loss, and her vivid
appreciation of the Alaskan terrain. <i>To
the Bright Edge of the World</i> is quite different from Ivey’s first novel but
once again, I was drawn in by her ability to capture the reader within the
first few pages. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: large;">The novel is
written entirely in the form of letters and journal entries. Beginning in what
we can assume is the present tense with a letter to a museum curator who
collects artifacts for the Alpine Historical Museum, Ivey sets out to take the
reader along on an Alaskan expedition that took place 1885. She writes, <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<i><span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: large;">The Colonel’s journey was
a harrowing one. Maybe it was doomed from the beginning, but I don’t see as to
how that takes away from its importance. His expedition is surely the Alaskan
equivalent of Lewis and Clark’s, and these papers are some of the earliest,
firsthand descriptions of those northern lands and natives. (3)<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing" style="margin-left: .5in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: large;">We then
begin to follow Lieut. Col. Allen Forrester through his diary entries as he
embarks to explore the uncharted territory of Alaska on March 21, 1885. Forrester
and meager crew set out from Perkins Island, Alaska with the goal of reaching
Norton Sound before winter. Meanwhile, Forrester’s new bride, Sophie, living in
the Vancouver Barracks, keeps her own diary while waiting for her husband’s
return. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: large;">I think the
novel gives equal service to Col. Forrester and Sophie. Not only does Ivey
share the hardships and perils of the Colonel’s journey, but also Sophie’s
longing for her husband and development of her own interests during her husband’s absence. Sophie is portrayed as an
independent young woman who is interested in birds and botany. Throughout the
novel she develops a passion and a keen eye for photography. Thus the novel
details the process of early photography and the challenges women faced in
general in the 1800s if they chose to stray from commonplace female mindset of
that era. Sophie had little interest in hosting teas and attending parties while
wearing the latest fashion. Instead, she opted to explore the woods in search
of bird nests—especially that of the elusive hummingbird. Midway through the
novel Sophie writes, “I am not even sure I will know it when I see it, yet I
possess in my mind a scene. The gentle warm light of early evening. A slender
branch. The promise of an unbroken egg-shell; life aquiver in feather and
flesh. Yet it is the light that holds my desire” (234). As a photographer who
practices seeing light in different ways, I appreciated this passage and many
others. The reader becomes enamored with Sophie’s goal and I found myself
cheering her on in hopes that she would be successful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: large;">Colonel
Forrester’s diary details his journey across uncharted Alaskan territory and
the meeting of native tribes in the Wolverine River Valley. This is where Ivey
incorporates the enchanted and mystical qualities of the novel. The reader, and
even Colonel Forrester, wonder if they are merely hallucinating due to hunger
and poor provisions. Forrester declines to share in his Army reports of the
native woman whose husband turned into an otter and now wears his pelt around
her neck; or when they came upon women splashing in a river and they
disappeared as a flock of geese rose up and flew out of the water; or The Man
Who Flies who at one moment was a man perched in a tree bringing good luck or
bad to the crew and at times even stealing their provisions, and another time
was a crow visiting Sophie at the Barracks. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: large;">Throughout
the novel Colonel Forrester’s great-uncle corresponds with the Alaska museum
curator. In these letters Ivey touches on a variety themes including: the
future of mining in Alaska, the later devastation to the native tribes brought on
by the very expedition laid out by Colonel Forrester, the changes in the
Alaskan territory and the Wolverine River Valley, and even the impact museums
face when they lack funds and resources. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif"; font-size: large;">The novel
ends with a newspaper clipping applauding Sophie Forrester’s work as one of the
first aviary photographers and female naturalists. Ivey ties up the ending
well, though possibly a little too neatly. My only wish was that I could have
read the diaries of Sophie and Colonel Forrester after they were reunited at
the Vancouver Barracks.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "garamond" , "serif";"><span style="font-size: large;">Without
giving too much away, the themes of fatherhood, motherhood, loss, and tender
love are currents that run through Colonel Forrester’s and Sophie’s diary
entries. With this novel, Ivey continues to woo her readers with magical
realism, gentle portraits of marriage, and adventure in the unforgiving terrain
of Alaska. </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-78821513645437386522016-11-09T13:19:00.000-05:002016-11-09T13:19:05.179-05:00Fall BeautyI felt a call to search for beauty at a moment when my mind was going dark. This is what I found.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAeyRJvFxOlmKH1oOIDHRTT85TPovi_9aXj6tW7K0MVNVPSdn6ts_TZzkxxo1zZkWXBNIlIKJxzpTMtuw5tJzMZtOCNW0tkc8Wko9L6WcPzI1ybSfeSDq4hycS-c9O0Q8NVo-8_YiVabcO/s1600/October+2016+%25281+of+14%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAeyRJvFxOlmKH1oOIDHRTT85TPovi_9aXj6tW7K0MVNVPSdn6ts_TZzkxxo1zZkWXBNIlIKJxzpTMtuw5tJzMZtOCNW0tkc8Wko9L6WcPzI1ybSfeSDq4hycS-c9O0Q8NVo-8_YiVabcO/s640/October+2016+%25281+of+14%2529.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
<i>from </i>Mornings at Blackwater by Mary Oliver<br />
<br />
What I want to say is<br />
that the past is the past,<br />
and the present is what your life is,<br />
and you are capable<br />
of choosing what that will be,<br />
darling citizen.<br />
<br />
So come to the pond,<br />
or the river of your imagination,<br />
or the harbor of your longing,<br />
<br />
and put your lip to the world.<br />
And live<br />
your life.picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-58468281218737144762016-10-29T20:51:00.000-04:002016-10-29T20:51:57.650-04:00Holden Arboretum Walter had plans for the day and I had to get out of the house. I didn't necessarily <i>want </i>to get out of the house, but for the sake of my mental health we needed to go somewhere. Isaac's been begging to visit the zoo, but I'm one of those moms who can't handle "boo at the zoo" and I regularly deprive my kids of most popular activities, so we had an outdoor adventure at The Holden Arboretum. Isabella said it was "the best day of her life" and after walking across the canopy bridges, Isaac said, "that was <i>awesome</i>"! We had a fabulous day together and Isabella let me take pictures of her which was a bonus.<br />
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<br />picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-19940738986517424612016-02-22T14:21:00.000-05:002016-02-22T14:21:10.172-05:00Who are you? <i>We can travel in the direction which will lead us to that place where we might find out who we really are. -Madeleine L'Engle</i><br />
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Isabella invited to our house four friends from school. I was told by several people that I was brave for doing this. But I consider it possession more than bravery. I'd rather know what's happening than have her elsewhere, and not know what's happening, so I let the circus in my house. By the time they left I had a migraine, was disappointed in Isabella's attitude toward me, and was trying to comfort an exhausted Isaac while we waited for the last friend to leave.<br />
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I walked into Isabella's room to say good-night and to also share my displeasure in her attitude, but she started crying. And I can't go into all of the details for the sake of her privacy, but she blew me away with her self-analysis and the strong feelings that had obviously been brewing for a while. I think it's true of any human, we get snappy, short-tempered, act out, respond unfairly, when there is so much confusion or hurt deep down, just waiting to pour out to the person we feel safe with. And thankfully, on this day, she felt safe enough with me to let it bubble and brim to the top. In case there comes a day (which is basically inevitable) when she doesn't want to share this stuff with me, I just hope she turns to a trusted adult. I've always had a person in my life I could be completely honest with and I hope the same for her, even if it isn't me.<br />
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Anyway, she expressed a lot, and most of it centered around not knowing who she is anymore. And yes, she's only eight and these are big feelings for an eight year old, but we're an emotional, touchy-feely kind of people over here so I understood. I'm in my thirties and I feel like I'm finally starting to figure out who the heck I am, so this hit home. She actually pleaded with me to help her. I promised we would come up with a way to help her remember who she is and what makes her <i>Isabella</i>.<br />
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The next day I still didn't know exactly what to do about this situation, but I finally came up with an idea and it really worked for her. It's super simple and doesn't take long.<br />
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The <i>I Am </i>Jar:<br />
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I cut strips of paper. I'm not a fancy person so this was just white printer paper, but you could use something cuter.<br />
Set out a jar, which I happened to have, but you could use a ziplock bag.<br />
We each picked a pen color and I told her to write on each strip of paper, "I am" and then something that defines her. And told that on my strips of paper I would write, "You are" and a trait that I feel defines her.<br />
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After we finished we read all of the papers out loud to reaffirm who she is and who I know she is, put them all in the jar, and now she can refer to her <i>I am </i>Jar any time she is feeling unsure or feels caught up in peer pressure.<br />
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After we finished the <i>I am</i> exercise she hugged me and told me she felt so much better.<br />
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I told my parents about this idea and my dad said he would write, <i>"I am not", </i>which I feel would also be a good idea because we all walk around with little self-doubt or shaming bubbles over our heads.<br />
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I think this exercise is applicable to anyone. You don't need to have a jar, just take out your journal or planner and pick a page to write your list and remind yourself who you are. As a stay-at-home, my husband is always trying to remind me that my job in this house, as the mother of Isabella and Isaac, is a lot of work. And I'm a forgetful person, so I <i>always </i>forget this truth and wander around thinking I'm not doing enough.<br />
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So I suggest starting out the most basic list:<br />
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<i>I am a mother. </i>(And if you're having a day where this doesn't feel like it is enough, write out all the tasks you do as a mother. I bet the list you come up with surprise you...maybe depress you a little bit since being the CEO kinda sucks sometimes, but read over that list and absorb how awesome you are--even if you put sticky peanut butter knives in the dishwasher to annoy your dear husband. Hey, maybe a tantrum was happening in the background so he'd better just be thankful the knife made it in the dishwasher, right?)<br />
<i>I am a wife. </i><br />
<i>I am a daughter. </i><br />
<i>I am a sister. </i><br />
<i>I am the bill payer. </i>(I mean, that's totally boring, but it counts!)<br />
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All the while reminding yourself that these are <i>big </i>tasks. I'm reminding myself of these things as I'm typing.<br />
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And then go deeper:<br />
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<i>I am a writer. </i>(true, I have yet to publish anything, and my grandma is the most consistent reader of this blog, but I am owning being a writer)<br />
<i>I am a Christian.</i><br />
<i>I am an artist.</i><br />
<i>I am a photographer. </i><br />
<i>I am...</i><br />
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It's good to remember that this list is allowed to change and your list is uniquely you, good or bad. Madeleine L'Engle wrote in, <i>A Circle of Quiet</i>:<br />
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I don't know what I'm like. I get glimpses of myself in other people's eyes. I try to be careful whom I use as a mirror: my husband; my children; my mother; the friends of my right hand. If I do something that disappoints them I can easily read it in their response. They mirror their pleasure or approval, too.<br />
But we aren't always careful of our mirrors. I'm not. I made the mistake of thinking that I 'ought' not to write because I wasn't making money, and therefore in the eyes of many people around me I had no business to spend hours every day at the typewriter. I felt a failure not only because my books weren't being published but because I couldn't emulate our neighboring New England housewives. I was looking in the wrong mirrors. I still do, and far too often. I catch myself at it, but usually afterwards. If I have not consciously thought, 'What will the neighbors think?" I've acted as though I had.<br />
I've looked for an image in someone else's mirror, and so have avoided seeing myself. (30)<br />
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It is <i>so </i>hard to stay true to our <i>self </i>and resist looking in those other mirrors. As part of this public school experience, I signed up to be a room mom. Basically, big mistake. I am <i>not</i> room mom material. Ask my husband. I actually had a full-blown pre-Valentine's Day Party tantrum. It went something like: "I don't even <i>like</i> crafts, and I don't even <i>like </i>kids"--tears and everything. For the record, I do like kids. I'm pretty partial to my own though, and I legitimately could never handle being a school teacher. It's just not my thing. Kids are unpredictable, they whine a lot, they are basically covered in germs and goo of all varieties at all time...So this experience has led me to be completely okay with the fact that I am not going to spend very much time planning for school parties and make amazing, pinterest quality cupcakes like the other room mom. Furthermore, I am enormously grateful for that other mom because without her, I think the third grade class would have some really crappy parties.<br />
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Try to steer clear of the person you think you <i>should </i>be or the person other people want you to be. Trust me, I don't think I <i>should </i>be a great room mom. Try to be thankful for differences, and think of yourself through your own eyes and not the eyes of others.<br />
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<br />picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-11963025931163535262016-02-04T14:57:00.002-05:002016-02-04T15:09:52.800-05:00When there is no end in sightMy friend and I sat on little-kid library chairs and she shared how with all of the challenges in her days, it feels like there is no end in sight. I get this. I have without a doubt, been exactly where she is right now. Our individual challenges and experiences are different, and whether we talk about it or not, most of us have been at a point where the challenges seem unending.<br />
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I used to drag myself out of bed after a night full of Isaac screaming in my arms, only to wake up to what was bound to be an entire <i>day</i> of him screaming in my arms. I often thought I couldn't go on. And I fell into this horrible pit of darkness where nothing made sense and it was like my mind had left my body and my body was just going through the motions. Hold the baby. Feed the baby. Bounce the baby. Explain to yet another doctor that something is wrong with the baby. Drive to more appointments. Sleep an hour here, an hour there. Never enough sleep.<br />
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There are a few books that I feel have completely changed my life, one of them being, <i>One Thousand Gifts: a dare to live fully right where you are </i>by Ann Voskamp. My friends are going to say I am such a broken record because I swear I can bring everything back to this book. I guess it fell into my lap at just the perfect moment. I read it at a time when I was grappling with the decisions I'd made that had propelled me into becoming a wife and a mother. I read it at time when I desperately longed to run away and truly every single time I drove on the highway and passed the Marriott, I dreamt of checking into a room and not telling a single sole and being gone for days. I read it at a time when I felt like was letting down my toddler, and when I held a baby whom I loved with all of my heart but at the same time I feared becoming too attached because passing him off to surgeons was happening far too often.<br />
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So when I read: </div>
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[...] I wake to the discontent of life in my skin. I wake to self-hatred. To the wrestle to get it all done, the relentless anxiety that I am failing. Always, the failing. I yell at children, fester with bitterness, forget doctor appointments, lose library books, live selfishly, skip prayer, complain, go to bed too late, neglect cleaning the toilets. I live tired. Afraid. Anxious. Weary. Years, I feel it in the veins, the pulsing of ruptured hopes. Would I ever be enough, find enough, do enough? [...]</div>
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It's the in between that drives us mad. </div>
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It's the life in between, the days of walking lifeless, the years calloused and simply going through the motions, the self-protecting by self-distracting, the body never waking, that's lost all capacity to fully feel--this is the life in between that makes us the wild walking dead. (27) </div>
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I knew that Voskamp was a gift to me and eventually her book helped bring me back to life. </div>
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Now, this didn't happen overnight. As I said, I was in that pit, or, "the depths of despair" as Ann of Green Gables coined it so well. I didn't understand what God was doing to me and why He'd given me a baby I felt so detached from. But I began to take in earnest that "we only enter into the full life if our faith gives thanks. Because how else do we accept His free gift of salvation if not with thanksgiving? Thanksgiving is the evidence of our acceptance of whatever He gives. Thanksgiving is the manifestation of our <i>Yes!</i> to His grace" (39). As a disclaimer, this doesn't mean I'm always thinking, "Yay, thank you so much for giving me a kid with a feeding tube!" or "Thank you so much for this day that sucked!" No. But I have learned to intentionally take even a fleeting moment to note the most subtle element worthy of thanks. </div>
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Gradually, as the mind shifts perspective and thanks is given for the birds at the feeder, the squirrel performing acrobatics and making the kids laugh, the clothes smelling fresh even if they aren't put away, the scattered toys in remembrance of creative play, then we notice less what we feel our life is missing and more of what is present exactly where we are. Over the past four years this has been my challenge to myself. Some days I literally write down my list of thanks, and some days it's just enough to take note in my mind. Actually, I recently discovered a really great app just for this purpose. It's called, Grid Diary and you can choose from a list of writing prompts for each day, one of which is, "What am I grateful for?" and another related one is, "What are three good things about today?" I definitely suggest checking it out if you have a smart phone. I don't actually have a smart phone (but I use it on my iPod) since we're cheap and I also like leaving my house and being mostly 'unplugged' as they say. </div>
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None of this easy. And the process is ongoing. Just last year I experienced one of the worst and longest bouts of depression I have experienced. Hence the major break in writing and photography. But I always like to have a toolkit in place for the times when things beyond my control take over. Just as I have my toolkit for dealing with Isaac's sensory processing disorder and one for Isabella's meltdowns and drama, I have one for my moments of despair and the times in my life when it feels like there is no end in sight to the exhaustion. We each have to discover what is essential to our toolkit and for me, Ann Voskamp is front and center. </div>
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I think Ann Voskamp's approach is an extension of mindfulness. Dr. Patrizia Collard, author of <i>The Little Book of Mindfulness: 10 minutes a day to less stress, more peace</i>, defines mindfulness as "being aware of or bringing attention to this moment in time, deliberately and without judging the experience" (6). When Walter and I go on hikes I completely annoy him with my mindfulness jibber jabber: "are you being mindful right now? Did you notice the sound the leaves are making beneath your feet? Did you hear that bird?" </div>
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I really appreciate that Collard includes "without judging the experience" in her definition. Far too often we get in the habit of running circles around our thoughts. I know I do. I'm going to share a Rumi poem that she included in her book. I think it's important, especially for Christians, because too often people think, "oh I shouldn't feel that because it's bad and I should be thankful." No! Feel it. That doesn't mean you have to <i>become</i> it. </div>
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The Guest House</div>
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This being human is a guest house. </div>
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Every morning a new arrival. </div>
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A joy, a depression, a meanness, </div>
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some momentary awareness comes</div>
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as an unexpected visitor. </div>
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Welcome and entertain them all! </div>
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Even if they're a crowd of sorrows, </div>
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who violently sweep your house</div>
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empty of it's furniture, still, </div>
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treat each guest honorably. </div>
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He may be clearing you out for some new delight. </div>
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The dark thought, the shame, the</div>
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malice, meet them at the door</div>
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laughing, and invite them in.</div>
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Be grateful for whomever comes, </div>
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because each has been sent </div>
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as a guide from beyond. </div>
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Jalal Al-Din Rumi (1207-1273)</div>
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translated by Coleman Barks </div>
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If you'd like to share, I'd love to hear what you keep in your toolkit for those tough days. The other life-changing books I've read are, <i>Daring Greatly </i>and <i>Rising Strong</i> both by Brene Brown. The rest of my toolkit is filled with my friends. I really don't know what I would do without such a strong support system.</div>
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picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-44331965660103267812016-02-03T11:42:00.000-05:002016-02-03T11:42:17.468-05:00My Growing GirlWe pulled into the library parking lot and got out of the car when Isabella ran back to her door saying, "hold on mommy, I just need to fix my hair." <div>
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<i>Fix her hair? When did this happen? </i></div>
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She has a spray bottle full of water sitting by the mirror in her room, along with an array of hair brushes she regularly confiscates from the bathroom, my bedroom, and Isaac's room. She tells me she has to "flatten the fuzzies" and comes out of her room with the top portion of her hair slicked and definitely flattened. She doesn't let me brush it, and though her hair is thick, she only brushes the top portion. I told her her hair looked beautiful when she took one slim strand and wove it across the top of her head and pinned to the other side. </div>
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She's always had a unique fashion sense. Mixing outrageous colors and patterns. Wearing impractical shoes for mud tromping and park playing. </div>
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"Isabella, are you making mud pies?" </div>
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"No! I'm making <i>mud paint</i>." </div>
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And she proceeded to paint all of the porch railings. </div>
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This is how she is creating her being. And I will not be the one to stop her. </div>
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I love that she is bold and knows herself. When to do we lose our selves? When is the <i>self</i> taken by friends and influences and media? I don't know. I suppose it's a slow process. Maybe even beginning right now, as she wonders at taming the fuzzies on her head. But I know it is all part of the greater story and as the self is realized and reclaimed, the life-story is molded into being. For eight years she's been teaching me how to reclaim my self. </div>
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I love that she says she likes walking a greater distance across the field and to the new location where I park the car and wait for her after school. In her words, "then I get to mumble anything I want, imagine anything I want, even talk really loud to myself because in school, we can't talk whenever we want." She runs outside in the morning to talk to "Mrs. Robin" and this makes me smile because I talk to birds, too, and why shouldn't we? </div>
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Mary Oliver wrote in her poem, <i>Invitation, </i></div>
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Oh do you have time</div>
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to linger</div>
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for just a little while</div>
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out of your busy</div>
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and very important day</div>
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for the goldfinches</div>
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that have gathered </div>
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in a field of thistles</div>
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for a musical battle, </div>
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to see who can sing</div>
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the highest note, </div>
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or the lowest, [...]</div>
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My wish for her in this fast paced world, is to always "have time to linger". </div>
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Oliver, Mary. "Invitation". <i>Red Bird. </i>Boston: Beacon Press, 2008. 18-19. Print.</div>
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picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-39920000648667330492015-10-29T15:06:00.003-04:002015-10-29T15:06:55.794-04:00Day Off<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-18910908588120849832015-10-14T11:35:00.001-04:002015-10-14T11:42:56.460-04:00Medical Complexities and Changing OpinionsOver the past couple years I've been joking with Walter that I am going to become a dog trainer. And he has joked back that I'm not allowed until Stella is a "good dog" (see previous post). I looked up the requirements to attend <a href="https://www.academyfordogtrainers.com/index.html" target="_blank">The Academy for Dog Trainers</a> and found the essay question each applicant must answer. At first it stumped me but it didn't take long before I knew exactly what I would write about if I were to complete the application process.<br />
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Below is the essay question and my response, which exceeds the 300-500 word limit, but for the sake of this post and my personal interest in the importance of this question, I am choosing to flesh this out in detail.<br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">We’ve all had the
experience of holding an entrenched or strong opinion and then changing it,
sometimes as a result of gradual reflection, persuasive arguments made by
others, epiphany or a combination of factors. Describe a time when you changed
your view about something. How did it come about and how did it change you?
Your experience can be about any subject (not necessarily dogs).<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I grew up going to <a href="http://www.llli.org/" target="_blank">La Leche League </a>(LLL) meetings with my mom. LLL is an international organization devoted to helping and supporting breastfeeding mothers. To say breastfeeding was a big part of my life is an understatement. I'm not even sure when I realized that another form of feeding for infants even existed, but I was significantly older that most. My mom was (actually still is) an LLL Leader, which meant she was devoted to counseling struggling mothers through the process of breastfeeding. This also meant our home phone rang off the hook with crying mothers on the other end of the line. I remember a little pepto bismal pink message pad at the ready by the telephone and my sister and I were given detailed lessons on how to properly answer the phone and take down messages. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When I was pregnant with Isabella I didn't even consider an alternative to breastfeeding. My husband didn't consider an alternative either, we didn't see any necessity for formula and it was clearly written out in my birth plan that Isabella would not be given a pacifier or bottle, and would be put to the breast upon delivery. I'd even been attending LLL meetings in Kent, Ohio as an expectant mother and I couldn't wait to enjoy a magical breastfeeding experience with my daughter. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Nursing Isabella was hard right off the bat. And I began to understand why people choose to replace the breast with a bottle. But I was determined and I stuck with it and got through the hard part. And nursing Isabella <i>was</i> magical. I loved nearly every minute and enjoyed lazy afternoons snuggling my infant and feeding her the world's perfect food. Not only that, I was enthralled with idea that <i>my body</i> was not only able to grow a baby, but it was more than capable of providing her with perfect nutrition for the first year of her life. As someone who struggled with an eating disorder and previously felt completely uncomfortable in my own skin, this was an incredible experience and extremely healing for my body and my soul. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Fast forwarding a little bit, I went through the process of becoming an LLL Leader and within a year I was leading meetings and counseling other women. I felt strongly, actually, I was even hardheaded that breast is best and formula is evil. Isabella never had a bottle. We didn't even own a single bottle. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Let's </span>fast forward<span style="font-family: inherit;"> a little more...to Isaac. </span></div>
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Isaac was born and the dreams I had of recreating my experience with Isabella quickly dissolved, no actually, they were smashed, with a giant hammer and then shredded with a chain saw--how's that for imagery? </div>
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Breastfeeding Isaac was miserable. He cried. No screamed...all hours of the day and night. There's this lovely moment after a satisfying feeding in which the baby unlatches and some breast milk dribbles from their mouth and they look completely drunk on love. Yeah, that <i>never</i> happened with Isaac. Nursing him was miserable, living with him was miserable, trying to get sleep while living with him was miserable. You get the idea. We blamed most of this on his need for the upcoming <a href="http://picturingtheordinary.blogspot.com/2010/11/i-wrote-book-for-you.html" target="_blank">craniofacial surgery</a>. I was convinced his head shape was giving him headaches and that after surgery and recovery we would be back on track. Surgery came and went and several months later Walter and I were having a meeting with the pediatrician about Isaac's lack of growth and weight gain. I was furious and I felt like a failure. The doctor (who has since apologized) blamed breastfeeding even though by that point I was on a stressful and exhausting quest to find out what was wrong with my baby. I knew in my heart it wasn't breastfeeding and I was determined to continue providing my son with what I felt was the very best nutrition. </div>
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Nine long months later, <a href="http://picturingtheordinary.blogspot.com/2011/10/surgery-take-3.html" target="_blank">Isaac got a g-tube</a>. I angrily breastfed him until he was fifteen months. I say 'angrily' because it was never enjoyable and by this point he had a slew of doctors and was in feeding therapy slowing gaining one ounce after another. We went from not even owning a bottle to trying to get Isaac to take any number of bottles on the market. </div>
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The puzzle pieces of his diagnosis gradually came together in a painful process and by this point I was stepping away as an LLL Leader. Going to meetings was hard and I usually went home feeling sad and frustrated with my own situation. Mothers at meetings were worried about how often they should nurse their baby and it seemed so trivial compared to what I was going through. All I wanted in the world was for my baby to be satisfied by breastfeeding. Not only that, but formula was on the horizon for us. And admitting that to those around me, to my entire community of friends so devoted to breastfeeding, was daunting. </div>
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Unfortunately, g-tube = formula. That is beginning to change a little and I can share more in a different post but when your kid goes into surgery for a g-tube, they don't leave without a prescription for formula. Within a matter of days, I went from feeding my baby the most natural meal on earth, to the most artificial. But guess what, he literally wouldn't have survived without formula. Isaac had long been diagnosed as failure-to-thrive, which is a stab in any mother's heart, and he <i>needed</i> medical intervention in order to have any chance at reaching his greatest potential. By fifteen months old, my son wasn't walking, crawling, babbling (let alone talking), and the future looked grim. </div>
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Isaac still has a g-tube and at this very moment I have three boxes of canned formula in my kitchen. And yes, I still blend real food meals for Isaac, and he does get the packaged <a href="http://realfoodblends.com/" target="_blank">Real Food Blends</a> created by a brilliant mother on the quest to change what the standard of enteral feeding looks like, but pretty much every day Isaac has formula. And you'd better believe that every day I am thankful for that can of Organic PediaSmart. </div>
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I am no longer an LLL Leader. I resigned shortly after Isaac got his g-tube because it was too hard emotionally for me to attend meetings. But I have an incredible group of friends that grew out of LLL and their support along this journey with Isaac has been unwavering. Walter and I still believe "the breast is best" but we also believe that formula has made our lives, and the life of our son, so much better. With sincerity, I now understand why some moms just don't want to breastfeed at all, why some babies need formula, and why some moms may want to breastfeed but due to medication or medical issues, they are unable to make that choice. Ultimately, <i>formula exists for a reason</i>. Those of us who are LLL or breastfeeding supporters, can hold strongly to the opinion that breast milk is the perfect nutrition, but we shouldn't bash the need for formula and a mother's choice to choose what is best for her, and her baby. </div>
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Isaac is no longer diagnosed as failure-to-thrive. It has taken a very long time to remove that diagnosis and I am thankful that there are many ways we can provide nutrition to the medically complex child. I am also thankful for my many experiences and opportunities for growth that have come from raising a medically complex child. I have learned that it is okay for previously steadfast opinions to morph. As a result, I am more capable of supporting other mothers in a loving and thoughtful way. </div>
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picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-84140674738473322672015-10-13T11:57:00.001-04:002015-10-13T11:57:09.667-04:00Good DogI've been thinking about what makes a dog a characteristically, <i>good dog</i>. Spoiler alert: I don't have an answer. So it's your choice if you waste your time reading this post.<br />
<br />
Now that we are raising a puppy, it is quite obvious that dogs are very similar to children. For example, Charley (our five month old German Shepherd Dog), takes things without asking then tries to lie about it (conceals stolen item in his mouth until he is out of sight), gets far too excited about meals (have you ever seen how desperate a toddler gets at the thought of a cracker--it's mind boggling), rips up paper, invades personal space (every kid I've ever known--except Isaac) and likes to explore disgusting items, like trash (this is comparable to my kids trying to drink their bath water).<br />
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So what do we do with these disgusting and out of control creatures? <i>Redirect.</i> It's pretty simple. But it's time consuming.<br />
<br />
There's a reason everyone is told to "baby proof" the house as the baby gets older. Those computer cords you think are boring and hidden from sight, are readily sought after by the curious toddler. Disappointingly, some parents choose to swat the curious toddler's hand every time they reach out to touch a cord or that important piece of paper left on the coffee table that you're too lazy to move. What does this teach that toddler? Fear, and exploration is a negative experience.<br />
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I'm still learning a lot about dogs, but I think it's pretty similar. Swat the dog on the mouth every time it gets mouthy, whack it on the hind quarters when it goes after something enticing, knee it in the chest when it jumps. What does this teach your dog? Fear, and exploration is a negative experience--and human hands are not to be trusted.<br />
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I didn't know much about dog training when we brought home our now ten year old rescue dog, Stella. It didn't take long before Stella was banned from my parents house for stealing an entire pork loin off the counter followed by an expensive apple tart from the local bakery. <i>How could she possibly resist such a tasty meal?</i> I'm pretty sure Stella's stomach is lined with diaper gel beads. If I could ask her what her favorite thing to steal is, I am one hundred percent certain she would say, "Duh, you human idiot, dirty diapers. It's so fun to toss them around and rip them apart and make a huge, smelly mess for you to clean up. After all, you've been ignoring me for years while you take care of these crying children!" And I'm pretty sure he arteries are nearly blocked from chowing down on sticks of butter. Is it her fault she find these things so enticing and can't resist them when we aren't looking? No! We left the diaper out or the trash uncovered, and we left the butter on the counter within reach. It's simple.<br />
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Unless told otherwise, our dogs and our children will continue to make mistakes and probably the same mistakes over and over again. We daily teach and redirect our children so they can become well functioning adults and part of society (though I do wonder if Isabella will still jump on the kitchen counter as an adult) and as dog owners, it is our responsibilities to do the same with our canine companions. You can't bring home a dog and expect it to know what you're thinking and instantly be aware of all the household rules and boundaries.<br />
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Imagine I had a lovely piece of cheesecake, with chocolate drizzled on top and lots of whipped cream. And I sat down at the table to enjoy this dessert and just then Isabella walked in the room:<br />
"Oh, that looks so good! Where's my piece?"<br />
"Sorry this is just for me."<br />
"But you know I love cake, and chocolate, and whipped cream!"<br />
"I know, but this is for me, sorry."<br />
Beginning to get desperate, "That's not fair! Why can't I have some?"<br />
At this point she quickly swipes her finger across the whipped cream for a taste.<br />
<br />
Replace Isabella with a dog: The desperation is replaced with demand barking and the swipe of her fingers is paws on the counter or table and/or a tongue reaching out to the plate.<br />
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Now, obviously I would never do this. Any sane person should know they can't enjoy a dessert in front of child without offering some to them. This is why I save my dark chocolate for <i>after </i>bedtime. I would guess, this is how our dogs feel when we begin cooking dinner or sit down for a meal. Charley assumes he should have his paws on the counter while I'm cooking and demand barks at me while I'm chopping vegetables. I guess my point is, there is no point in yelling at him for this response, he hasn't been taught, or rather, he is in the process of being taught, that this is not appropriate behavior. Instead of yelling or kneeing him in chest for jumping up to the counter, he is redirected to something enticing of his own like a bully stick, or a his favorite toy, and for demand barking, he gets a time-out because this is a behavior we are really working on with him.<br />
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So what's a <i>good dog</i>? I think a good dog can be found with a <i>good owner</i>. And most bad owners don't realize that they have a <i>good dog </i>who just needs some help.<br />
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Let's set up our dogs for success in the same way we set up our kids for success. Our expectations have to be within reason. And just as you shouldn't be a lazy parent; don't be a lazy dog owner.<br />
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<br />picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-88687274846469098052015-10-11T11:33:00.001-04:002015-10-11T11:33:29.810-04:00Enjoying<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-14994992960972190082015-10-03T19:24:00.001-04:002015-10-03T19:24:21.668-04:00School DaysTwo weeks ago I dropped Isaac off at his first full day of preschool. Six, childless hours loomed ahead of me and I stood in my dining-room and cried. What the heck, I thought. I'm supposed to be experiencing pure <i>joy</i> right now. I've been waiting for this day, <i>this exact moment when both kids are happily at school</i> for eight years and yet, I'm <i>crying</i>?<br />
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As it turns out, I didn't actually miss my kids. I love them, but I also love handing them over to the proverbial village. I just had no idea what to do with my six hours--it was intimidating. I could be productive and prove that I worked hard during those hours, I could lie in bed and catch up on endless hours of TV, or rent one of the three hundred movies I've missed out on over the past eight years, I could walk the dogs, or read, or knit...I sent an iMessage to my family and said I was confused and didn't know what to do with myself. I was paralyzed in my freedom.<br />
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My dad said to take nap...or any of the other aforementioned ideas.<br />
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I took a hot bath. Have you ever taken a hot bath during the day? I'm not sure why, but it feels even more luxurious than at night. I think because it's so unusual. Although, I am quite easily entertained so this could all be in head but, I mean, who takes a bath during the day unless they have the flu? Or they're Isabella, who takes baths during the day for fun and literally talks to soap suds (no joke--she is amazing at talking to inanimate objects) for an hour.<br />
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I've had a few more days since then to get used to my new routine without the kids. It is heavenly and I feel so blessed by Isaac's preschool teachers. They excitedly offered to learn how to feed him with the g-tube and it has worked out beautifully. Knowing Isaac, we were a little concerned about how he would react with others performing the feeding routine, but he has taken it all in stride. He also uses the potty at school and even pulls up his own underwear and pants--so many accomplishments over the course of one summer!<br />
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I do spend a lot of time wondering what moms <i>do</i> all those hours their kids are at school. Half the time I don't even know <i>I </i>do. I'm certainly not going to spend all of those coveted hours cleaning. I usually try to have one cleaning goal to accomplish during those six hours and the rest can be done after school hours when the kids are playing or I want to pretend that I'm actually a productive person in front of them so I have witnesses. It's all about the witnesses, people. Don't squander away those hours on cleaning when no one actually <i>sees</i> you in the act! Thankfully Walter thinks I worked hard if I made the bed. He'll come home and say, "Wow, it looks like you did a lot of hard work today." "Why yes, yes I did. In fact, it takes many steps around the king size bed in order to arrange the blankets just so."<br />
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I should mention that Isabella is doing very well in public school. The transition from homeschooling to public school worked out better than we'd hoped. She does tell me that she works harder than anyone else in our family and last week she said that "third grade is less fun than second grade." While there are some things lacking from her education and most definitely things I would do differently, I can tell she is learning and above all else, she is <i>happy</i>. Except when we assign extra work for her and in that case, she falls in a puddle of tears and tells us how mean we are and how "nobody else at school has to do extra work!" Dude, when did I ever convey that we want to be <i>like everyone else? </i><br />
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Back to the main to the main theme of this post. I have a list of what I'd like to accomplish around the house during my 'free' hours, and I also have some research goals and a very long list of books to read and projects to knit and dog training to get done. One step at a time, I tell myself. I know too well that too many goals just sends me into a paralysis otherwise known as, depression. Yes, the 'D' word. I know some of you are cringing--thinking of it as a shameful word not to be spoken, but it's called <i>life</i>, and it's called, <i>chemical imbalance</i>, but more on that another time.<br />
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As for right now, I enjoy hugging my kids in the morning (well, not Isaac, he doesn't like hugs, but I try to steal them every once in a while) before they happily run into their respective school buildings and trust me, they do run. Maybe they are just as excited to get way from me as I them. I come home and greet my dogs, who honestly believe I am the most amazing person in the world. And savor a day without doctor or therapy appointments for Isaac, a few less tantrums to deal with, one less g-tube feeding, and one meal without interruptions. Life is good. <br />
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<br />picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-14230551176730612512015-10-02T12:41:00.000-04:002015-10-03T08:22:13.624-04:00The Family MeetingWhen I was growing up my parents periodically announced the need for a "Family Meeting". My earliest memory of a family meeting was when my parents told us that our dog, Brandi, the dachshund, had died. I remember passing around rolls of toilet paper as we sat on the floor of our living-room. I was in kindergarten.<br />
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As we got older, the meetings were usually related to not putting our bikes away and hence they were left out in the rain, leaving books outside overnight, poor grades on report cards and the need for a tutor (this was in direct association with me--my sister is the one who is good at math and science), messy rooms and a new form of bribery related to actually putting one's shoes and coats away.<br />
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And now I'm a mom. And I get to call the Family Meetings.<br />
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-Walter, we need to have a Family Meeting tonight.<br />
-Should I be the secretary and take down the minutes? Do you have a bullet-point agenda?<br />
-Hardy-har-har. You are hilarious.<br />
<br />
He makes me sound so 'Type A'. The state of my desk would quickly make you realize that I am not. I'm more of a messy, unstructured, creative, free-spirit, type A--if such a juxtaposition exists.<br />
<br />
My mom couldn't stop laughing yesterday as I recounted our latest Kohn Family Meeting. Isabella has been suffering from a case of the 'mean grumps' and we needed to talk it out.<br />
<br />
When I was taking classes to earn a Professional Writing Certificate, I learned that if you are writing a business letter in which negative information must be shared, you should begin with a positive and end with a positive. I implement this strategy during our Family Meetings. It starts out something like this:<br />
<br />
-Isabella, we love you very much <i>(but you're being a pain in the butt and we're looking into boarding schools--</i>just kidding, we don't actually say that<i>) </i>and you've done so many wonderful things lately (insert example(s)). Right now we are concerned that you are feeling emotions you might need to talk about <i>(this is where Walter looks at me like I'm a crazy person and gives me the eyes that say I just need to spit it out)</i>. We feel like you've been disrespectful with us lately and we want to help you make a change. (This is also the point where Isabella crashes her head into the pillow and starts sobbing: <i>Why are you guys being so MEAN to me!? You just say everything that I do WRONG and you think I'm a HORRIBLE person!) </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Whoa! Back. It. Up. What just happened?<br />
<br />
Rein it back in. Gently discuss the negative, finish with the positive, wrap it in a bow and give hugs all around. Wipe brow--roll eyes with husband and eat some chocolate.<br />
<br />
Oh, and here's an example of a "meeting" between Walter and I:<br />
<br />
-Sierra, you just need to understand that the dishwasher does not remove chunks of peanut butter from the knives.<br />
-It will <i>eventually.</i><br />
-No, it won't.<br />
-Well then, you just need to engineer up a dishwasher that has little scrubbers that are released inside, like minions, and then we won't have anything to worry about!<br />
-Actually, I need to install sensors that send me a message every time you load something with chunks or put too much soap in the dispensers.<br />
-Whatever. My idea is better.<br />
<br />
------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<br />
What do Family Meetings look like at your house?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-42170971296047640602015-08-05T11:13:00.000-04:002015-08-05T11:13:41.442-04:00Voice Memories <div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";">Here I am. Staring
at this blank screen for the first time in over a year and yes, it’s a little
frightening. I’m afraid I might just purge a bunch of junk and feelings that
will spill out in letters on the page. Let’s hope not. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";">On Sunday my
cell phone stopped working. Just so you know, I don’t have a smart phone or
anything fancy like that. I have one of those phones with the keyboard that
slides out—it’s actually really handy for texting. I’ve been in need of an
upgrade, to the same phone, but one with a keyboard where the spacebar doesn’t
get stuck. My words slur together when I send messages to friends…’I’m not
drunk, my spacebar just doesn’t work anymore!’ But I’ve been reluctant to
replace my phone because I have important messages saved on my voicemail and
supposedly, the messages are lost during an upgrade. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";">So like I said,
my phone stopped working, and then I realized I’d have to make that dreaded
trip to Verizon where you inevitably wait forever for them to do <i>nothing</i>. Isabella and I went to Verizon
and the guy helping me was very nice but said he couldn’t actually <i>help</i> me because my name isn’t on the
account, so we tried to contact Walter (who doesn’t answer his phone or respond
to text messages). Well, after a long string of annoyances he reactivated my
phone and it was able to make calls again except for one little thing, my phone
was now having an identity crisis and thought it was Walter’s phone. So back to
the Verizon store, where the nice guy helping me said he couldn’t actually <i>help</i> me anymore because we still hadn’t
been able to get in touch with Walter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";">I headed home.
Annoyed and hungry—a really bad combination for me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";">Finally I got
in touch with Walter who shared that he did call Verizon and found out that
someone had hacked our account and tried to purchase iPhones. I mean, I
actually do want an iPhone, but not like that. I need to point out here that
the company we pay for our <i>phone</i>
service, did not contact us to let us know that our <i>phones</i> had been compromised. Nice one, Verizon. Thank you for being
helpful. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";">About an hour later Walter came home early because he was getting ready to go out of town for
work and the phone issue was all-consuming by that point. It sounds ridiculous, doesn't it? To be so dependent on a working cell phone. But anyway, all of our phones needed to be reactivated over again since my phone
was still in the middle of an identity crisis. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";">Walter said gently, “I
just need to prepare you, and let you know that you may have lost all of your
voicemails.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";">For a moment I
looked stunned and then the tears began and then the sobs, and then Walter was
hugging me because he knows how much those voicemails mean to me. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";">They are the
voices of my grandmas telling me they love me. It is the voice of the last time
my grandpa called to sing <i>Happy Birthday</i>
before he died. It is Walter wishing me a good day and telling me he loves me
and looks forward to seeing me after work. It is my grandma acknowledging how
much love I’ve put into raising my children and wishing me a Happy Mother’s
Day. It is memories wrapped into the sound and cadence of people I love and
have lost. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";">I couldn’t bear
the loss of those memories. Isaac told me to ‘stop crying’ because he’d never
seen me cry like that I think it scared him a little. Walter assured me we would
try to get the messages back. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";">After our
phones were reactivated and all identity was restored, we tried to check
voicemail but it didn’t recognize the old password. Walter re-set the password
on his phone as a test to see if his messages were still there, but we waited
on my phone thinking that if it didn’t work maybe they would have a way to
recover the messages at the Verizon store. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";">Surprisingly,
even with the password change and deactivation and reactivation of his phone,
his voicemail was saved, so I tentatively agreed to have him re-set my
voicemail. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Garamond","serif";">The first
message I heard after punching in the new password was my grandma and grandpa
in chorus singing, <i>Happy Birthday to you!
</i>Relief washed over me in a new stream of tears. The voices weren’t lost and
I quickly backed up the voicemails on my iPod, and for the first time since my
grandpa died, I listened to him over and over again. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-82222457010686919772014-07-30T19:46:00.000-04:002014-07-31T07:50:33.989-04:00Summer<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
<span style="text-align: left;">I'm struggling with this summer. I miss quiet, and I miss being stuck in my house because it's below freezing and who really wants to go out in that mess. I miss my kids actually wanting to snuggle in bed and read or play board games. I miss hanging out with Isabella. She dashes out the door in the morning and runs two houses over to play with her friend every evening. Mainly, I miss togetherness, because it feels like we are separate this summer, and it's driving me a little crazy. Don't get me wrong, I love sitting outside and I love not having to bundle up in layers of bulky winter gear, but our nightly family dinners are rushed because the kids can't wait to get back outside and bedtime is incredibly late because the fireflies just haven't gotten my memo to turn out their lights at a reasonable hour! And no, I really can't deny the catching of fireflies because Isabella, already in pajamas and past the point of being tucked into bed, tells me <i>they are calling for her</i>. The fireflies will not leave my daughter alone! And then, Isaac hears all of this debate about firefly catching and he chimes in, "Me too! Mom, mom, mom, me catch fireflies too!". A year ago he couldn't put all of those words together, so out they go, cupping one firefly after another in tiny hands. </span></div>
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********************************************************************************</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
The last of our vacation pictures: </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">
*Isabella turned seven. To me this is unbelievable. It sounds completely ridiculous that I should be surprised that she is seven, but it's also completely ridiculous that every single week I am surprised and annoyed that I have to wash and iron all of Walter's clothes...again. And every single day I am annoyed that I have to clean my house...again. Why? I must be in denial. </div>
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*Every time we say, "Who wants a hamburger?" or "Who wants a donut?" Isaac shouts, "Me, me, me!" Sips of water from a sippy cup and reluctantly putting a Cheerio to his lips--this is the progress we have made. Actually, the drinking of water, is quite a significant gain.<br />
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*Next week I am attending a writer's retreat. My friend asked if I would facilitate a discussion and I chose the topic, <i>Writing for Healing</i>. I am planning to discuss how reflection in the form of writing (journaling, prayer, poetry--any written form) can aide in one's processing of emotions and feelings. This blog has been an opportunity for me to share my struggles and joys in raising a son with special needs. I believe God uses many avenues for healing, and in my life, He compels me to write, and I look forward to discussing that with other writers and hear their own experiences. If you're interested in attending (women only), there are a few spots left, so feel free to contact me. <br />
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*Isabella's end of year homeschool evaluation went really well. Now that all of the paperwork is in the mail, we're just waiting to hear that we are approved for another year of home education. Even though Isabella says she never gets a break from school, after almost two months off, we began our school year on Monday. We are taking a fairly different approach to learning this year, which I will share in another post.<br />
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*Isaac's speech is exploding by the day. One morning as he stood in his room, he said, "Mom, mom, mom, you help me choose new shirt."<br />
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I think after next week, our summer is going to finally slow down. We had our trip to North Carolina, two trips to Columbus, family in town several times and business trips for Walter. I'm done! At least the weather has been amazing, and even though I miss that togetherness I wrote about, I do love the fact that my kids play outside all day and find so many ways to explore and be creative in our own backyard. picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-62106146843946219412014-06-28T21:02:00.001-04:002014-06-28T21:02:17.143-04:00Ramblings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I tend to take life with Isaac in stride, knowing that even a year ago life with him was a lot more exhausting and trying. I have friends who daily lift wheel chairs in and out of cars, watch their children overcome daily seizures and a whole host of other things, so my tasks seem fairly minor in comparison. But this week I was tired of diapering and tube feeding and blending and mixing and putting on braces and taking off braces and calculating the risks and benefits of possible tantrum inducing settings. I was tired of lifting up steps and down steps and I was thankful Isaac isn't any heavier than he is, even though he's supposed to be gaining weight that I can't seem to get him to gain. I'm definitely tired of worrying about his growth in weight, in height, in color recognition, in counting, in overall smarts that we measure our children with that really in the scheme of things don't even matter. </div>
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It's exhausting pretending to be a pirate (I have this whole pirate scene I act out in an attempt to keep Isaac from screaming when I wash his body--it's worked a couple times) while bathing a screaming tyrant and going from silly pirate to bad-guy mom who has to change the extension tube because it really has been in too long. And then there's the clothing issue. Do I let him stand there and scream until he finally consents to putting the shirt over his head on his own, or do I take the easy way out (so they say...but no one really counts on having to dress, bathe and diaper their four year old) and just do it for him. If I continue doing it, does that mean I'll be dressing him when he's eight, thirteen, sixteen? Probably not...<i>probably.</i> </div>
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Anyway. My grandma says, "the complaint department is in the bathroom." I guess I should go spend some time in the bathroom. </div>
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<i>More about vacation...</i></div>
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Isaac is my brother's number one fan. For some reason Josh is allowed to walk up to Isaac and hug him or pick him up without assaulting his personal space and setting off his bodily alarms. Josh is also allowed to talk to Isaac and get more than a growl in return. He's magical. </div>
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Everyone had to participate in cooking a meal while we were on vacation. Except Walter. Walter either feigns being unable to cook grilled cheese or he truly is incompetent in the kitchen.<br />
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This is an action shot to prove that my dad did cook, even if it was a matter of heating up already made meatballs and spaghetti sauce that my mom made at home and froze for a quick meal on vacation...or a meal that my dad could pretend he spent all day in the kitchen cooking.<br />
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Josh is also allowed to touch the iPad. You know you rank high in Isaac's world, if you're allowed to touch the iPad.<br />
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Isabella shared a room with Jesse and Josh and talked to them non-stop. Jesse and Josh like to sleep late and take naps...they quickly learned that Isabella likes to wake people up and ask completely random questions.<br />
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First night at the beach...<br />
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Thankfully Walter recognized that I needed time to myself today, or I just made that clearer than I usually do. I slept in, read a book in relative peace, managed to write this barely coherent blog post, and took Stella for a hike. Walking with Stella was probably the best part of the day. We don't let her join in on hikes because she believes all other dogs should be ferociously attacked. Today an old lady was walking her two ugly little dogs, sorry but some dogs are just ugly and mine isn't one of them, and I saved those dogs at the expense of Stella's claws attacking my thigh as she repeatedly lunged at them. The rest of the hike was quite peaceful.picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-35517154217155612352014-06-19T16:59:00.003-04:002014-06-27T21:21:21.133-04:00The Elizabethan Gardens<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We spent last week at the Outer Banks in North Carolina and had a wonderful time with my family and soaked up getting to see my sister before she returned to Texas. You may be wondering how Isaac liked the beach. The short answer is that <i>he didn't</i>. The long answer, is that we managed to have two good days on the beach with him (with minimal screaming) and one day where he only lasted an hour before I had to remove him from the beach before the dolphins decided to move to a different ocean. He was the only person on the beach wearing socks and shoes, but that was the way he agreeably (for the most part) walked on the sand, and the first day I learned my lesson to never ever say, "Isaac, let's put on your super cool shark bathing suit and swim diaper so you can <i>go in the water!</i>" No. Very bad idea to mention water. From then on he screamed the entire time it took to get ready for the beach yelling, "No me water, no me water!" </div>
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As usual, Isaac and I spent a lot of time together, but we managed to make some fun out of it. My treat for soothing Isaac's antics, was going to The Elizabethan Gardens. The skies opened up and poured rain for several hours that morning but between the drive there, a visit to a little book shop, coffee shop and lunch, it finally cleared up and left the gardens looking beautiful. </div>
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I have tons more to share about our vacation but I've been helping Isabella start her own blog today in addition to trying to restore order to our school room, so this is all for now. Isabella desperately wanted a camera for her birthday and right after she opened it she announced that she needed to start her own blog. She has already written two posts (today) and you can check them out at: <a href="http://www.isabellasadventuresinlife.blogspot.com/">Isabella's Adventures in Life</a> .picturingtheordinaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06841272391496299690noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8284075468989630203.post-66731507334853399552014-05-17T17:04:00.000-04:002014-05-17T18:16:48.498-04:00Simple Nature Study With Kids"Everyday--a little conversation with God, or his envoy<br />
the tall pine, or the grass-swimming cricket.<br />
Everyday--I study the difference between water and stone.<br />
Everyday--I stare at the world; I push the grass aside<br />
and stare at the world." --Mary Oliver, <i>The Leaf and the Cloud</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
"Come on guys! I'm really excited to show you something in the woods!"<br />
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I told them I'd spotted a lone daffodil in the woods and it would be fun to observe it and draw a picture of it. I love observing nature. I'm like a kid in a candy store when things start blooming and the birds start showing off for us. We recently re-landscaped our front yard and Isabella says it looks like a nature center. That was kind of the goal. I can't wait for the perennials to grow up so that we can observe even more interesting flying creatures from our front window. We've set up several bird feeders and we watch a variety of birds throughout the day and always keep a book handy to identify new ones (though I'm about to go crazy trying to figure out the variety of sparrows). I've been working on a print-out of the birds we commonly see so that I can keep it by the window for the kids.<br />
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As for our daffodil study. It was very stress-free, as any nature study should be. I tend to over complicate most things, and assume I should become an expert before I can even begin a new hobby, but in teaching Isabella how to learn, and showing her that there are beginning steps you must take in any aspect of learning, I've relaxed a little bit. I don't have to be a master artist or a botanist or a naturalist, I just have to sit, listen, and make observations. Those observations may be in the form of writing, drawing or just verbal observations I share with my children. Until this year, I always said I couldn't draw anything other than a stick figure, and even my attempt at a "good" stick figure was lame. Isabella and I have completed several exercises in the book, <i>Drawing With Children </i>by Mona Brookes, and I've decided that I <i>can </i>draw more than a lame stick figure, and I actually enjoy drawing, even though I find it quite frustrating at times because it's much easier to snap a picture of a beautiful flower than it is to sit for half an hour trying sketch every detail. I've found that I enjoy the slowness of drawing, and I'm encouraging Isabella to slow down as well.<br />
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A progressive study...<br />
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"Isabella, let's take a careful look at this daffodil. Do you see how pretty it is? And isn't it interesting that it is the only daffodil in our woods?"<br />
<i><br /></i>
"You can use any art supplies you want. I'm going to use a pencil and we draw the flower the way we see it."<br />
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<i>Isabella's first drawing...</i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIXH-U14f_3kBEuP7x11Yx4V_EWI8VSX5EVZHibLUrBVO_tLAq8XYULc1Sl_ubFNcfEISthqg8-HJOqQHvb5Mjdbf4OvWLI9coF7fla_y5NWV8o_8duddZb8zyhoE7e779FI1jItc-ocJF/s1600/20140426-DSC_4972.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIXH-U14f_3kBEuP7x11Yx4V_EWI8VSX5EVZHibLUrBVO_tLAq8XYULc1Sl_ubFNcfEISthqg8-HJOqQHvb5Mjdbf4OvWLI9coF7fla_y5NWV8o_8duddZb8zyhoE7e779FI1jItc-ocJF/s1600/20140426-DSC_4972.jpg" height="422" width="640" /></a><br />
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"Wow! You made a very broad picture of what this daffodil looks like. How about you do it again, but this time get up close to the flower, and look at it from several angles, and then draw it again."<br />
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<i>Second drawing...</i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7eYz7nvYc7eJfk0uxR7xPrrZ2EzOqViRX_Tg4AxyV6iRRMMnvc60-nbP1Zshy38eS4tlmpn0FFhH1ReCuwbS9pv2aIzO_5gYSTIjyzPJI9-EyAcpgllq5oHbgKWntdP5sjs3LDu0S3Tdw/s1600/20140426-DSC_4973.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7eYz7nvYc7eJfk0uxR7xPrrZ2EzOqViRX_Tg4AxyV6iRRMMnvc60-nbP1Zshy38eS4tlmpn0FFhH1ReCuwbS9pv2aIzO_5gYSTIjyzPJI9-EyAcpgllq5oHbgKWntdP5sjs3LDu0S3Tdw/s1600/20140426-DSC_4973.jpg" height="422" width="640" /></a><br />
"That's great! I like you showed more detail of the flower itself. Now, let's do it again, and notice the shape of the petals."<br />
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<i>Third drawing...</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtr64eYtOBVgLRLKw59rOoTMSggWvW7vowa0XEzz07dbrOo_IobC02mD3lSBo-3pU6n5qRDzko9eLD9ox6_qZN5GUh_GTF_rIGztrstuyeWY_bFT8WUx8iu_u1QmsT9ZztpTdFkeoKRVy/s1600/20140426-DSC_4970.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtr64eYtOBVgLRLKw59rOoTMSggWvW7vowa0XEzz07dbrOo_IobC02mD3lSBo-3pU6n5qRDzko9eLD9ox6_qZN5GUh_GTF_rIGztrstuyeWY_bFT8WUx8iu_u1QmsT9ZztpTdFkeoKRVy/s1600/20140426-DSC_4970.jpg" height="420" width="640" /></a></div>
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I think the progression of drawings is really interesting, and I like that after some simple encouragement to slow down and take a closer look at the flower, she was able to draw a closer representation of the daffodil. Or I could just be crazy...but I think this kind of stuff is cool and it is in moments like this that I feel we get the most our of homeschooling.</div>
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Meanwhile, Isaac wrote the letter 'I' all on his own, without any prompting.</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdjgnFi4PrI6exbSXlTCA4YZtDf7BebhMVvwUKQqX93fKK3qkicqHTtHK4l1AMEUzIBL0DDWZtVl6iVOa7fKgLIbtJdZ9I2_-YcImS_S0zGFfB5O2upEc-5CTBnikXPHOraCIhtYFxR6e3/s1600/20140426-DSC_4959.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdjgnFi4PrI6exbSXlTCA4YZtDf7BebhMVvwUKQqX93fKK3qkicqHTtHK4l1AMEUzIBL0DDWZtVl6iVOa7fKgLIbtJdZ9I2_-YcImS_S0zGFfB5O2upEc-5CTBnikXPHOraCIhtYFxR6e3/s1600/20140426-DSC_4959.jpg" height="420" width="640" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisM4BDMv2TzhczRr1H1jOAT5HX_1jiVBzwPWcITl-kdZ7yVT9dfoDauXhJbPggDCpo3xmd2cAlEG3oHU13fC7lZ2zSh73djzrBoN8X6MkNmTuUUoUe2Q6pBPTEd2lG1i3_jMoyufeUL31x/s1600/20140426-DSC_4962.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisM4BDMv2TzhczRr1H1jOAT5HX_1jiVBzwPWcITl-kdZ7yVT9dfoDauXhJbPggDCpo3xmd2cAlEG3oHU13fC7lZ2zSh73djzrBoN8X6MkNmTuUUoUe2Q6pBPTEd2lG1i3_jMoyufeUL31x/s1600/20140426-DSC_4962.jpg" height="420" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8Bt_rT9LYONnPr0r-GDKm-LZaZszxz5He255fKtIWmmsLcm9ktiBnl6XzR6WB3o79ozX6xujcRbX5t9OnzUb_Wb71uHvTtojz0q8dqzuMKmGiWXAHbNH54U22OCfY-cDfK2RkKMqa2WcL/s1600/20140426-DSC_4963.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/AVvXsEj8Bt_rT9LYONnPr0r-GDKm-LZaZszxz5He255fKtIWmmsLcm9ktiBnl6XzR6WB3o79ozX6xujcRbX5t9OnzUb_Wb71uHvTtojz0q8dqzuMKmGiWXAHbNH54U22OCfY-cDfK2RkKMqa2WcL/s1600/20140426-DSC_4963.jpg" height="420" width="640" /></a></div>
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While we sat observing the daffodils, the chickens observed us. Before we got chickens my grandma told me that we'd know when a chicken laid an egg from the loud noises they make. It was definitely laying time when we were out there because they made quite the raucous. Chickens are very social animals and they really wanted to be over by our blanket, but they're sociability has been going too far lately since theywander over to my in-law's porch for treats and poop everywhere. They've been on probation and we're trying to train them in the evenings to stay in the woods and out of the porch and gardens. They're doing pretty well with their new rules and Isaac loves when we look out the window and say, "Hurry! We have to go chase the chickens out of Opa's garden!" Then he chases the chickens while laughing hysterically. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM2FtoTLk_dkVWU18OXL-vVkwZLup6FVMsFHw79TuvEEGWpK_szfGS2db0AWjM74jVl2wkHVN4W0FMJRiXhU3YFNt8AEGk1poeBCjewpUUob5WBV6z6bRs0pjAEuN6lossOJZSDrspnSPP/s1600/20140426-DSC_4967.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM2FtoTLk_dkVWU18OXL-vVkwZLup6FVMsFHw79TuvEEGWpK_szfGS2db0AWjM74jVl2wkHVN4W0FMJRiXhU3YFNt8AEGk1poeBCjewpUUob5WBV6z6bRs0pjAEuN6lossOJZSDrspnSPP/s1600/20140426-DSC_4967.jpg" height="422" width="640" /></a></div>
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Isabella generally melts in a puddle when I ask that she write anything, but during a visit to the local book shop, she used her money to purchase a little notebook and began writing one story after another. On this day, she wrote a story about our morning trip to the woods. I asked permission to record her story here: </div>
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<i>The Adventure With Mom and Isaac</i></div>
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<i>Once opon a time Isaac me and mom fond a flouer. We all drwo a picture and Isaac made an 'I' it was cool because he had never made an 'I' before. The end. </i></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHMVYL59EcvrD1_yB6lW2ktcppllF8CiE7A6jnoGmpk49UV9xnsEMooucCSdNCLAD3HZzrsGjizB9QKsJ4JBWN3iAWL0noMv97wOuzOXhwBwQKHj5RXEBkjwNJ9hljKYrNxgKiLnZe3PUi/s1600/20140426-DSC_4969.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHMVYL59EcvrD1_yB6lW2ktcppllF8CiE7A6jnoGmpk49UV9xnsEMooucCSdNCLAD3HZzrsGjizB9QKsJ4JBWN3iAWL0noMv97wOuzOXhwBwQKHj5RXEBkjwNJ9hljKYrNxgKiLnZe3PUi/s1600/20140426-DSC_4969.jpg" height="400" width="263" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ7jxRB7akOKASkTLCWtKUSqMJDA72nEyltqEKWtuPaUpIrkEtjqVDRS0knnFf3giIitX0-tpYNJiIq_cR1I-8648byUb0Ea74-QFBEQ04HcHThcVKPyJotEBm6q3g2xC508e4KJL_SJP4/s1600/20140426-DSC_4975.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ7jxRB7akOKASkTLCWtKUSqMJDA72nEyltqEKWtuPaUpIrkEtjqVDRS0knnFf3giIitX0-tpYNJiIq_cR1I-8648byUb0Ea74-QFBEQ04HcHThcVKPyJotEBm6q3g2xC508e4KJL_SJP4/s1600/20140426-DSC_4975.jpg" height="422" width="640" /></a></div>
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Our nature study supplies:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeS01ViuB1x-u-w3l-TwASm-ikPwjA43c3oSk3kmDt0O3KPNwJ4xK6etsJpcggxIEI-XRB6BbQ33626JkWSjorov9RNtGWqhV2_Jqe3Z17UV4yAzKb6DV2J59ugJdwl6PLhyphenhyphen2emlTbZMM4/s1600/20140426-DSC_4976.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeS01ViuB1x-u-w3l-TwASm-ikPwjA43c3oSk3kmDt0O3KPNwJ4xK6etsJpcggxIEI-XRB6BbQ33626JkWSjorov9RNtGWqhV2_Jqe3Z17UV4yAzKb6DV2J59ugJdwl6PLhyphenhyphen2emlTbZMM4/s1600/20140426-DSC_4976.jpg" height="422" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG8rReR413BJNxf_LMhheS0mzJ7o7NYBYuMQG-SnZ8i2GWa7S4yTnyyJkG-LJmUbnIQ6QMybdjVrDAPihyphenhyphenfg324JVkTMI_I4iP3PxtkibMtBr1MNyLtHr0NCgPud0xlyXaCKx8n0KR3f8M/s1600/20140426-DSC_4977.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgG8rReR413BJNxf_LMhheS0mzJ7o7NYBYuMQG-SnZ8i2GWa7S4yTnyyJkG-LJmUbnIQ6QMybdjVrDAPihyphenhyphenfg324JVkTMI_I4iP3PxtkibMtBr1MNyLtHr0NCgPud0xlyXaCKx8n0KR3f8M/s1600/20140426-DSC_4977.jpg" height="422" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMT789Fttk9Jx2tXG3jS91rWN-OErBJiQIlPt31hs-Qfmo4E-ryNU2ejOXpqagm7FVhwGL9hAFCfLU_8l1mC_09GUWJdXx_hGtnwC3kcz0CI5dqjRCzwnkAaKtYmz0uFfFjfC8Fp3BA6dc/s1600/20140426-DSC_4981.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMT789Fttk9Jx2tXG3jS91rWN-OErBJiQIlPt31hs-Qfmo4E-ryNU2ejOXpqagm7FVhwGL9hAFCfLU_8l1mC_09GUWJdXx_hGtnwC3kcz0CI5dqjRCzwnkAaKtYmz0uFfFjfC8Fp3BA6dc/s1600/20140426-DSC_4981.jpg" height="422" width="640" /></a></div>
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Her reaction when I try to take a picture of her.</span></i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIiEvvC6Yh3l4LiVJQEPegRWWCqJaCVRLlp10DVtyuAxYG3Hjub7DwMAD6fwm8APth66gtBNQx0QhlM_SDhiB3t2wpP7rFlPGQvYRkjhqOw9dg2acwC_Q4AY9u8m7frI4_pGtzGwwN1RrP/s1600/20140426-DSC_4982.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIiEvvC6Yh3l4LiVJQEPegRWWCqJaCVRLlp10DVtyuAxYG3Hjub7DwMAD6fwm8APth66gtBNQx0QhlM_SDhiB3t2wpP7rFlPGQvYRkjhqOw9dg2acwC_Q4AY9u8m7frI4_pGtzGwwN1RrP/s1600/20140426-DSC_4982.jpg" height="422" width="640" /></a></div>
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<i>Fashion over function. </i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFgFQEqZmAWeaYXv57EGEmd6MmlkgzX2z_wz6XVMaC_8euJuNDmWXejoa4xvd-lPUfckHGfyRWCCmq21Bx1PQmJpVTDhZ5s1zvMiHScgBXg-pt61G082Qqat_o7_yKasFmbsBEnJWHldHG/s1600/20140426-DSC_4983.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFgFQEqZmAWeaYXv57EGEmd6MmlkgzX2z_wz6XVMaC_8euJuNDmWXejoa4xvd-lPUfckHGfyRWCCmq21Bx1PQmJpVTDhZ5s1zvMiHScgBXg-pt61G082Qqat_o7_yKasFmbsBEnJWHldHG/s1600/20140426-DSC_4983.jpg" height="422" width="640" /></a></div>
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Some tips I've found helpful:<br />
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*Always draw/write along with your children. Chances are they'll feel more encouraged if you are doing the activity and making mistakes right along with them.<br />
*Talk about how it feels to draw with a marker compared to a colored pencil or oil pastels or whatever your art medium is.<br />
*Discuss why we use different paper for different kinds of art (assuming you have a supply of different paper weights and textures, if you don't, don't worry about it. I've learned it isn't about having just the right stuff, it's about the experience).<br />
*Discuss what you each like or dislike about the activity, or what you would do differently next time.<br />
*Encourage your kids to sit quietly for a few minutes and then talk about what you heard.<br />
*If you're excited, chances are your kids will get excited. If I'd started this whole adventure with, "Okay Isabella, we're going to do some school work in the woods today. Let's go find a flower and draw it and talk about science..." she probably would have cried because I used the bad word: <i>school</i>.<br />
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Grab some pencils, colored pencils, markers or whatever you like, any paper you can find, and head outside! I promise you'll find something interesting.<br />
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