tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86715855312699777482024-03-19T07:03:22.621-05:00So this is my 30's...Soooooooo, this is my 30's. Pretty typical really. Husband, three kids, a dog, kids begging for another pet, full-time job. But typical doesn't mean boring! Every day is something new. Some of it wonderful and fun. Some of it makes me want to pull my hair out. Either way this is my 30's and I'm loving it!Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.comBlogger128125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-89982045978914622652016-08-14T22:15:00.000-05:002016-08-14T22:15:46.227-05:00Me Too
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Do you guys know that Meghan Trainor song, Me Too?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s my jam.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Love her songs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So catchy. Every
time it comes on the radio we have to immediately crank it up so I can tap my
steering wheel in perfect drumbeat fashion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I have the head bop/shoulder shimmy down perfectly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve got the rhythm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve got the moves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m so white.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>I get more of a workout in listening to this song than I do in my
yoga classes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If I could carry a
tune even a little bit or had video editing capabilities I would make one of
those awesome YouTube parody videos and become an Internet sensation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But being as that I have neither of those
things, I will settle for blogging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">So every time I hear this song, I add all of my own sarcastic
comments throughout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shocking, I
know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> If you don't know it, listen to it here: </span></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RaveinO4_vs"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Calibri;">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RaveinO4_vs</span></a></div>
<br /><br />
<br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Meghan Trainor</span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Me too</span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><span style="color: blue;">Who’s that sexy thing I see over there?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(</span></em></span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">That’s Ryan Lochte on my TV.)</span></em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">That’s me, standing in the mirror<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(Mirror’s make me want to gag myself….literally)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">What’s that icy thing hanging ‘round my neck?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="color: #0b5394;"><em>(Probably a booger from William)</em></span> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">That’s gold, show me some respect, Oh Ah <em><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;">(No, it’s an $8
necklace from Charming Charlies)</span></em> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I thank God everyday<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(Indeed I do)</span></em> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">That I woke up feeling this way<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(No, I feel this way after millions of hours
and years of gymnastics)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And I can’t stop loving myself<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(It’s real easy)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And I don’t need nobody else <em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(except for my chiropractor)</span></em> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">If I was you, I’d want to be me too<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(Who wouldn’t want to be this?)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I’d want to be me too<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(Well, it’s not ALL that great)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I’d want to be me too<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(yeah, I’m done being me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who
else can I be?)</span></em> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">If I was you, I’d want to be me too<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <em><span style="color: #0b5394;"> </span></em></span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(ok, I have a lot to be thankful for)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I’d want to be me too<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(I’m happy to be me)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I’d want to be me too<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(this song is getting boring, good thing it has a good beat)</span></em> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I walk in like a dime piece<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(don’t even know what that is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So
old.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just so old)</span></em> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I go straight to VIP <em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(nope, I’m poor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I work in non-profit child welfare)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I never pay for my drinks<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(My husband does.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Out of our
joint account)</span></em> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My entourage behind me. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(and in front of me, and running circles
around me)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My life’s a movie, Tom Cruise <em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(I hate that prick)</span></em> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So bless me, baby Ah-Choo <em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(stupid line in a song)</span></em> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And even if they try to they can’t do it like I do <span style="color: #0b5394;">(</span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">yeah</span>,
nobody has it going on quite like we do)</span></em> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I thank God everyday <em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(yes)</span></em> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">That I woke up feeling this way <em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(with a slight hangover from
a margarita.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Damn, I’m old and a
lightweight)</span></em> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And I can’t stop loving myself<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(still working on loving myself)</span></em> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And I don’t need nobody else <em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(except the 14 people it takes
to keep my carpools going to get my kids to all of the zillions of activities I
insist on having them in)</span></em> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">If I was you, I’d want to be me too<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(depending on the day)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I’d want to be me too<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(I’ve got the good life going on)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I’d want to be me too<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(yeah, it IS good to be me)</span></em> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">If I was you, I’d want to be me too<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(except for those days when it’s not good to
be me)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I’d want to be me too<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(like last week when I totally lost my shit on the kids)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I’d want to be me too<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(but I’ve got some good stuff going on….stayin’ positive!)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Turn the bass up. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(I
don’t know where it is in my minivan)</span></em> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Let’s Go <em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(I’m halfway there already)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I thank God everyday <em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(yup, still do)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">That I woke up feeling this way <em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(thankful no one had a
nightmare or peed the bed)</span></em> </span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And I can’t stop loving myself <em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(stiiiiillllll workin’ on it)</span></em>
</span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">And I don’t need nobody else <em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(I do like peace and quiet)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">If I was you, I’d want to be me too <em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(Yeah, I like being me)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I’d want to be me too<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><em><span style="color: #0b5394;">(but you should just be yourself)</span></em></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I’d want to be me too (<em><span style="color: #0b5394;">seriously, quit the single white
female thing)</span></em></span> </span></div>
Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-14885222177546866132016-08-07T22:06:00.000-05:002016-08-07T22:09:39.846-05:00The Instigator<br />
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Anyone that has ever taken their children, or anyone children, to church knows the struggle. Sadly, some weeks it can be a deterrent to even attending Mass. Other weeks it is so clear that we all need a little Jesus that nothing could keep us away. Still other weeks, it is something we are squeezing into our busy life. </div>
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We made it today. Praise Jesus. </div>
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William was William. He wiggles. He talks. He kicks his brothers. He tries, or succeeds, in ripping pages in the hymnal.<span style="color: white;"> </span>He "reads" the book (usually upside down). He stacks the books. He lines them up. He pretends they are cars and makes motor sounds as he moves them along the pew. He sings when we are praying. He plays with my necklace. He stands. He sits. He lays down. He sucks his thumb. He's basically every 3 year old at church or at least the churches I have been in. </div>
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Today his Instigator came with us. The Instigator is not a cuddly stuffed animal with a funny nickname. Nor is it one of his brothers. I think you know who it is. It's his dad. Yup, the Instigator was present today. When the Instigator in in attendance I usually try to keep William with me. We are all better off for it. However after several minutes of squirming and previously identified church behaviors, Instigator decides to take over for a while. Instigator isn't much of a whisperer. He's more of a talk in a low man voice kind of guy. So he "whispers" into Will's ear "You have ants in your pants." To which William loudly says "I have ANTS IN MY PANTS?" Followed by "I have ants in my bottom" several times throughout Mass.</div>
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<br /></div>
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So I separated Will and Instigator for a while. Before long they were back together wherein Instigator looks over at me and non-whispers "Am I in trouble?" No. No 37 year old man, you are not in trouble because I am not your mother. But for the love of all that is good and Holy, please leave that kid alone during church. He gets into enough trouble on his own or with his brothers who poke at him the minute I get him sitting quietly for any period of time. Of course, that is only when they can distract themselves from playing with their Fitbits and trying to scam their step counter by slyly swinging their arms back and forth as if they are walking. </div>
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The kids measure the time in church by the songs. "How many songs left" starts about halfway through church. So we all made it to the last song without any additional notable events. Time for donuts. Everybody happily dodges their way through the crowds on the way to donuts until the Instigator denies them. WHAT?? No donuts? What do you mean we don't have time for donuts? Donuts are the bribe that gets everyone ready on Sunday mornings. They are the finish line. The light at the end of the tunnel. They are the end of our weekly faith journey. They are the reward for staying sane (me). They are the casual threat during church "Be good, or you aren't getting a donut." So there we went. Heads hung low, shoulders slumped, past the stairs that lead to the almighty Sunday morning sugar high. So long sticky fingers. So long spilled orange Kool-Aid that stains their upper lips. We hope to see you next week. </div>
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Addendum:</div>
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On the way home from dinner tonight we passed the Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception and Instigator asked if the dome was really gold. He said when he was young he always dreamt of flying a helicopter and stealing the dome. It's all starting to make sense now. </div>
Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-3752309304360975242016-08-02T13:48:00.000-05:002016-08-02T20:01:36.068-05:00Tooth Fairy<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Parenting, schmarenting. I have my good days and I have my why-in-the-world-did-anyone-<wbr></wbr>think-it-was-a-good-idea-for-<wbr></wbr>me-to-be-in-charge-of-small-<wbr></wbr>people days. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I recently had one of the latter. It involves the stupid tooth fairy. I hate that bitch. She always comes at the most inconvenient time. A tiny flying Tinkerbelle sort of thing that comes into a child's room at night and crawls under his pillow to steal his tooth? CREEEEEPY! Why? My husband tries to tell the kids that the TF actually eats their teeth. I nearly threw up in my mouth even thinking about it. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">As usual with anything that even remotely relates to parenting, I was completely unprepared. Justin's tooth had been "super loose" for weeks. I had stopped paying attention to anything having to do with teeth. Except for brushing of course. I make sure they brush their teeth. Every-ish day. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Anyway, his tooth falls out and we set it on the kitchen counter where all bloody former body parts belong and then we forget about it for two days. It just sits there with all of the other crap including unpaid bills, random change, the still uncompleted school residency form for the upcoming school year, a Kohl's coupon, an empty fruit snack bag, and items that William has set aside for his "collection". </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Then comes the night that he actually remembers to stick it under his pillow for weirdo fairy witch to come take it and leave money. Oh, MONEY??? Nope, don't have any of that. Of course Jeremy the cash cow is at the firehouse and I don't have a single bill on me other than the unpaid ones on the counter. </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">But guess who does have money?</span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">This guy!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHiTnBDv3D5Ly4j3I64QgekEbz0gGpIHQvM8Zq_Bb1fq2xOvkzicoCaWKVvd8VnR_qPocQnOZxm8cEWXP5XX7uJ0ClhXPu2Vv9q6n8fZjhZ4bHghpH07FYpGbzlW0Zl59D1vUfPYkLT0_A/s1600/will+for+blog.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHiTnBDv3D5Ly4j3I64QgekEbz0gGpIHQvM8Zq_Bb1fq2xOvkzicoCaWKVvd8VnR_qPocQnOZxm8cEWXP5XX7uJ0ClhXPu2Vv9q6n8fZjhZ4bHghpH07FYpGbzlW0Zl59D1vUfPYkLT0_A/s320/will+for+blog.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"></span><br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Right here!</span> </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI8D_bCqLBltcIW82BoC9yj1yF6Nh_6lVgGbzHP60yqUH5kCZKymfcjSY6RoHiU9Tt4vjCgVF3Qg20WbmSw1Ng16ZvVdfIzGhVuncabJeEtVFjSKNL_z7SZVzWLR-76ZRXKr2-pyJI0pop/s1600/j+tooth+piggy+bank.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI8D_bCqLBltcIW82BoC9yj1yF6Nh_6lVgGbzHP60yqUH5kCZKymfcjSY6RoHiU9Tt4vjCgVF3Qg20WbmSw1Ng16ZvVdfIzGhVuncabJeEtVFjSKNL_z7SZVzWLR-76ZRXKr2-pyJI0pop/s320/j+tooth+piggy+bank.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Yup, I stole from my 3 year old's piggy bank. Parenting win! </span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div>
<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">And have I paid those $3 back to Will's piggy bank? Oh no I have not. Why? Because I am generally unethical and Will is clueless and 3 years old and he doesn't know any different and I'm really busy with a lot of other things that are more important than finding three dollar bills to stuff back in a glass pig.</span> </div>
Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-86289519295202912852016-05-30T21:23:00.000-05:002016-05-30T21:23:14.681-05:00Weekend Lessons
<br /><br />
I've learned a few things this weekend. Or maybe a more accurate
statement is that I remembered a few things this weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> <br />
<br /><br />
#1.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shoe shopping with three boys is
miserable. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave them the standard
lecture before entering the store.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NO
tag.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NO hide and seek.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>NO nuthin’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just try on shoes and get out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
made an initial tactical error in allowing William to walk instead of using a
cart with a stroller on the front.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
lasted about 20 second.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I turned around
to get a cart/stroller while Leo picks William up like a sack of potatoes and
carries/drags him over to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We got a
stroller and he proceeded to drag his feet on the floor in front of it to
continually slow our minimal progress. We finally made it to the shoe
department.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our problem is either that
they hate all of the choices or they just want the first one they see.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m walking back and forth between Will climbing
out of the cart (with the broken buckle) and the boys trying on shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leo insisted on a pair of orange and blue
shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ugh, Auburn colors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was not impressed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He did it just to tick me off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He hates Auburn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>William is standing in the stroller with one
foot perched on a rack of shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just
left him there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’ll figure it
out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Justin was getting hungry so he
just grabbed the first red pair he could find.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Justin puts his shoes on and immediately says “they slide off my feet a
little bit.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have a lengthy debate on
buying shoes that he very clearly just said do not fit but he insists on
getting because they don’t have another size and he is too hungry to try on
more shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I give in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I give Leo one more chance to pick something
other than Auburn shoes, but I’ve lost that battle too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we get out to the car and everyone immediately
puts on their new shoes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The car was
still in park when Leo says that they hurt his feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Just.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
am reminded that shoe shopping with three boys is miserable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br /><br />
#2.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Flexibility was never my
strength.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My body is old and my
flexibility is at an all time low.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve
taken up yoga/pilates again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is clear
to me now that I always relied on sheer talent, strength, and determination to
have whatever minimal success I did have in my gymnastics career.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not flexibility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, no, no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Not flexibility.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br /><br />
#3.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My children have potty
mouths.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Seriously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It’s embarrassing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realize this
is and will continue to be a part of raising our boys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But when one is telling a kid we just met
that he “sucks balls” followed by “not the private part balls, but like a
baseball” and the other one is telling peers that spelling S-H-I-T is just as
bad as saying it, I would like to crawl into a hole (and scream cuss words).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span><br />
#4.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am much better at mini-golf
than everyone else in my family. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
kicked their butts today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br /><br />
#5.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Toilet bowl cleaner comes out of
quilts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A pale yellow quilt, at
that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In a moment of stupidity I left it
sitting on my bed while I screamed at the top of my lungs at my children so
they would stop wrestling, crying, punching, and dragging each other around the
living room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I got completely
distracted with my discipline efforts and brought them all into the bedroom for
a good ol’ fashioned lecture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Unfortunately I forgot about the toilet bowl cleaner I had set on the
end of the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It had fallen over and
leaked out through the quilt, sheets, and mattress cover.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Super.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Perfect way to end a long weekend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><br />
<br />Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-52130978475009776522015-12-12T20:24:00.000-06:002015-12-12T20:24:25.916-06:00Movement Therapy
<br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">It’s been a rough few months for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After our son Zachary died this year I spent
a great deal of time focusing on the joys that he brought to our life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to or else it would be too easy to
crawl into a ball and hide from the world. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And cry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Lots and lots of crying. Work in particular became tough just because it’s
a place where I need to keep it under control and be professional.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Actually that’s not even true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can keep it relatively under control but
professionalism isn’t really my thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sarcasm is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And humor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I found myself having quite a few rough
days at work in the last several weeks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We had expected Zachary to arrive by Thanksgiving at the latest so
getting over that hurdle was a major step in my grief.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On Thanksgiving weekend I was really dreading
going back to work and carrying on a normal life. That is, until I had the BEST
idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">It’s cartwheels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yup,
cartwheels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no way possible you
can be sad while doing cartwheels.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I’ve
been doing them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At work.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anytime there is no
one around, I do a cartwheel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mostly in
our break room area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or if I think I don’t
have time or the appropriate attire for a cartwheel I do full turns or split
leaps. Last week I did several fouette turns in a row because I couldn't hear anyone coming and then I got a bit dizzy and had to walk back to my office while shaking it off a bit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yup, I’ve just been cartwheeling
and twirling and leaping all over our office and no one knows it (I
think).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As of yet I don’t think I’ve
been caught.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do them while I’m making
copies or when I check my mail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sometimes I just go to the break room to see if no one is around so I
can get a quick cartwheel or leap in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
just really hard to be sad and distracted after being upside down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>
<span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="color: blue; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Score one for movement therapy!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s so healing.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span>Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-60009908975477999012015-09-30T20:47:00.002-05:002015-09-30T20:47:23.299-05:00Humiliatoin DayThere are two things you should know before you read this. <br />
<br />
#1: The weekly school email last week shared information that the school needs cardboard donations for the Global Cardboard Challenge.<br />
#2: Now that he is in 3rd grade, Justin has a planner at school and every day he has to write down what he does throughout the day and reminders that he will need throughout the week. <br />
<br />
So, that's where tonight's story begins. Actually the story begins earlier this morning when Jeremy got home from 72 hours straight at the firehouse to find a huge unkempt pile of cardboard food boxes in the kitchen. I asked him to break them down and put them in a plastic sack for the boys to take to school. Go me!! Contributed to a school project. My kids must really idolize me. Justin will be a hero today for bringing a variety of cardboard boxes of processed foods. <br />
<br />
OR, maybe not. Tonight we were "doing backpacks." It's our nightly routine of people pulling various papers out of their backpacks and throwing them out me at astounding rates as I try to thumb through them all and see what needs to be kept, read, applauded, corrected, returned, trashed, or in tonight's case blogged. <br />
<br />
I have to sign Justin's planner every night. I open it up to find this:<br />
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<br />
<br />
That's right. Today was Humiliation Day. Or rather Humiliatoin Day. Who knew? It begs the obvious question. So, ummm J, what's up with Humiliation Day? His response was well, humiliating. <br />
<br />
"Oh yeah, that. Well Max and I decided today was humiliation day because no one knew why I brought that bag of trash to school. Mrs. Nelson said 'Uhhhhh, I don't think we need it but I guess I can check on it.'. They just need box tops." We asked him what she did with it and he said it was still sitting there at the end of the day. <br />
<br />
My kid was so humiliated that he named a day for it. Parenting. Fail. Jeremy and I have not laughed this hard in a very, very long time. <br />
<br />
<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">Note: I double checked the school email and they do in fact want cardboard for the schools by mid-October. I was just ahead of the game. Boom!</span></em> <br />
Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-33941583582441648862015-09-19T10:26:00.002-05:002015-09-19T10:26:38.083-05:00This is Sew JeremyI'm a procrastinator. There, I said it. It took me a while to realize it. Even longer to say it. Even longer to blog about it. <br />
<br />
I let a whole year go by without sewing any new patches on Justin's Cub Scout uniform. Now Leo's a Cub Scout therefore doubling my opportunity to be unprepared. I had to suck it up and get both of their uniforms up to date. I arranged for my seamstress (yes, I have a seamstress "on staff") to get all of the various little patches in their correct locations. <br />
<br />
Enter: Jeremy. Ten minutes before the first Pack meeting of the year Jeremy said some very unexpected words.<br />
<br />
<em>"Do we have a needle? I think I can sew."</em> <br />
<br />
WTF???<br />
<br />
Yes we have a needle and a tiny sewing kit that I'm pretty sure I got about 10 years ago in some sort of goodie bag at a social work conference. I've used it approximately three times. Ok, twice. Ok, I don't remember if I've ever used it except the few times that I got the miniature scissors out to open the blueberry muffin dry mix bag for breakfast. Or cookie dough. I probably used it to open a bag of chocolate chips. It sure was hell wasn't for sewing. <br />
<br />
Anywho, in his typical "let's not spend any money" mantra, Jeremy wants to sew all of the patches on himself. In my typical "can't we just pay someone to do this" way of living, I insist on using the handy-dandy seamstress (shout out to Heather!). <br />
<br />
So I directed him to the sewing kit. If it can even be called a sewing kit. It's like three of the tiniest spools of thread you have ever seen, one needle, and the aforementioned scissors designed for use on the set of The Littles. <br />
<br />
Sooooooo, he sews. Here he is making his first attempt at threading a needle. Followed by "son of a....." <br />
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"I had it until I heard the click (of the camera)"</div>
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Followed by "UGH!!! I almost had it!" and "We are down to our last needle." As if I need to run out and buy some more to last us the next ten years of non-sewing. </div>
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"Yeah, I can do this. Do you have a thimble?"</div>
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"Oh FUCK! I just got my finger!"</div>
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"Ok this is where I get confused" (as he tries to knot it).</div>
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Here he is pictured cutting the thread with his teeth as I'm sure his fingers won't fit in the teeny tiny scissors. </div>
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SWEET SUCCESS! What a stud!</div>
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How ya like me now?</div>
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Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-35337114612592325772015-08-19T21:38:00.000-05:002015-08-19T21:38:01.286-05:00JOYAgainst all odds, there is so much joy in our life right now. At the very end of Zachary's burial service when only Jeremy and I were left to linger for just a few moments longer than everyone else, our priest said something that has been nearly life changing. He told us that Zachary brought JOY even in all of our sorrow. I believed him and agreed immediately, even as I stood looking at Zachary's tiny casket. Faith brings joy and our faith is strong. Our joy is overwhelming. <br />
<br />
So in this time of extreme difficulty, we are finding joy. I find myself looking for it every day and frequently it finds me. God is putting joy in my life and putting it right in front of my face. Here are some examples:<br />
<ul>
<li>Despite our extreme sadness the moment Zachary was born we also felt joy. Joy in meeting our son and in finding out that (shocker) we had another boy! Joy in seeing his round little O'Brien face just as we had 3 times before. Joy in giving him a name that honored my grandpa and knowing that now all 4 of our grandpa's names are represented in our boys names. Joy in having him immediately baptized and knowing that his sweet soul is safe and loved in heaven. Joy even in heartbreaking sadness. </li>
<li>My marriage to Jeremy is stronger than ever. I love him more than the day we were married and I know he feels the same. We say it to each other. Joy. We rocked this tragedy with a togetherness we had never experienced. We were on the same wavelength at every single step. That's not true for other challenges we have come across, but it was true for this. True love. Joy. </li>
<li>I smile every single time I leave my house because I have a beautiful tree (soon to be two) in the yard with a guardian angel sitting beneath it. Joy. </li>
<li>We have seen and heard from friends that we haven't seen in a while. And it's been wonderful for all of us. Joy. </li>
<li>We are raising an amazing amount of money through donations to Synergy Services for children who either have no home or their home is unsafe or so chaotic that a shelter with caregivers that are strangers to them is a better choice. Those babies will be rocked in chairs, sleep in beds, and cared for between the walls that are paid for by our family and friends simply because sweet Zachary will never get that opportunity. Joy for those kids. They will feel comfort, love, and security that they would not otherwise have without our help. I have rocked all of my babies and I was able to rock Zachary. Rocking babies tugs at my heart and these babies will be rocked with love. Joy. </li>
<li>Our kids are learning grief at their own pace. They are gaining an understanding on what it is to lose someone, even someone they did not know, and still be able to live a life full of joy. They are learning that its ok for adults to cry and cry hard. Ugly cry with hacking sobs of grief and there have been many. They are learning, Leo in particular, that it's also ok not to cry if that's not what your heart feels in the moment. It's ok to be ok. It's so ok to feel joy. </li>
</ul>
Tonight my joy came from William. At the burial service we had each of the boys place a Hot Wheel with the casket. The nursery has always had a Hot Wheels theme and Zachary missed out on all of the Hot Wheel fun. In typical 2 year old fashion, Will refused to leave his. He clung to it and did the age old "MIIIINE!" so we let him keep it. It's a Hot Wheel fire truck and it's been sitting in the car for the last few weeks. A few days ago he randomly brought it inside and I've told him several times that it's Zachary's fire truck and that he is allowed to play with it. Will has been clueless to what has happened and only recently realized I'm not pregnant. Tonight, to my great joy, he put the two things together. He asked about the baby in my tummy and when I reminded him that the baby is no longer there and the baby's name was Zachary, his eyes lit up. He ran upstairs to get the fire truck and has held on to it all night. He is "sleeping" with it now (using the word sleeping loosely because.....he's not!). He's been walking around saying "Zacccree fire truck" and maybe, just maybe, he has created a memory of his brother that will stick with him. Joy. And peace. <br />
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My friend Rachel sent this devotional to me tonight just as I was starting to write this blog. Joy. Thank you Jesus for all of the JOY in my life. <br />
"I continually call you to closeness with Me. I know the depth and breadth of your need for Me. I can read the emptiness of your thoughts when they wander away from Me. I offer rest for your soul, as well as refreshment for your mind and body. As you increasingly find fulfillment in Me, other pleasures become less important. <strong>Knowing Me intimately is like having a private wellspring of Joy within you. This spring flows freely from My throne of grace, so your Joy is independent of circumstances.</strong> Waiting in My presence keeps you connected to Me, aware of all that I offer you. If you feel any deficiency, you need to refocus your attention on Me. This is how you trust Me in the moments of your life."Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-25536316381650771632015-08-13T22:10:00.000-05:002015-08-13T22:10:15.082-05:00Whew!
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">First of all a super odd thing: the last blog I posted was exactly a
year ago today. I obviously don't blog much anymore but tonight was
blog-worthy and so I'm drawn back to it. I miss it so much. I hope to make more time for it again soon.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our sweet and tiny baby boy, Zachary John, was born two weeks ago. He
was immediately received into Jesus' arms. It's been a long two
weeks. Sometimes it doesn’t seem real.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Our priest told us at the burial that Zachary brought joy even through
our sorrow and it is so true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have
received amazing support from family and friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two groups in particular have given us very
special gifts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our daycare family, past
and present, have bought us a tree for our yard in memory of Zachary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We are so excited.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the perfect gift.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jeremy has always wanted a tree in our side
yard and this is the perfect way to honor our baby.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then today we got a knock on the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another tree, this time from my amazing
college buddies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So now we have two trees,
which has always been Jeremy’s plan for the side yard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joy in our sorrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My heart aches and my tears overflow as we realize that Zachary will always
have a place in the yard where the boys mow with their dad all summer and sled
down the hill in the winter.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But that’s not
tonight's only story. The rest of the story is that Jeremy and I put the
boys to bed tonight and invited our friends, Ellan and Robert, over to help us
figure out where to plant the trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Ellan is our daycare provider and a landscaper extraordinaire.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So we chatted inside for a while about which
trees we were getting and how far apart to place them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we went outside to place some stakes in
the ground to prepare for planting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
led to chatting and a few tears as we talked about sweet Zachary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then the cops drove by.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not super
common, but ok.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then they turned around
and came back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And slowed down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So I walked up the hill to the driveway to see what the officer needed.
She said “do you have three small boys?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>My heart stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I swear it
did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could not handle any more bad
news. I couldn’t process why she was asking until I looked back at the house
and saw Justin standing at the window on the phone (with 911 dispatch).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The officer told me that they didn’t know
where we were and they got scared so they called the police.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess we were outside longer than we
realized and they got out of bed and couldn’t find us. I yelled for Jeremy to
go get them inside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He says their faces
were indescribable when he walked up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">They came rushing down the driveway where I was still leaning up against the
police car trying to gain composure that nothing was wrong with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leo gave me the BIGGEST hug and Justin’s face
was ashen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Will was just chilling on the
driveway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So the story goes that Will
wanted out of his room and was banging on his door for us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The big boys couldn’t figure out why he was
being so loud so they came downstairs and realized we weren’t in the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They looked outside and could not see us
(because we were in the side yard).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leo
said he wanted to go outside and check but Justin wouldn’t let him in case
there was something dangerous outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>So Justin called 911.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>LOVE THAT
KID!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He wasn’t sure of our address but
he knew our street name and the elementary school down the block from us so he
was able to lead law enforcement close to us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Dispatch told him to turn on the TV and just relax because police were
on their way to help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Justin
demonstrated how his hands and whole body were shaking as he made the phone
call.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It makes my heart hurt and melt to
know how scared he was but how he stepped up and took care of his family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were so nervous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Leo talked a mile a minute when we got inside
(typical anyway) about how he kept thinking “I hope they didn’t take their
phone with them” and how relieved he was when they found my phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They did it all exactly right.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They made safe choices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
kids are safe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Three are safely in their
beds and one is safely on Jesus’ lap being rocked to sleep.</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-53401001112253778192014-08-13T20:14:00.002-05:002014-08-13T20:14:51.477-05:00A Mom Named Gwen
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<em><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tonight I asked Justin to tell me a story to distract me
from itching my bug bites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As he began
telling stories he has the idea that they were going to be a book series.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He named it “The Mom Named Gwen” however he
says that they are not about me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m not
convinced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Then I just read this back
to him and he laughed hard and said that it is actually about me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is mostly about this family except for the
dad part because he is a nice dad and he loves him for it.)<o:p></o:p></span></em></div>
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<strong><u><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Book 1<o:p></o:p></span></u></strong></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once there was a mom named Gwen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And she was so nice to her boys that she even
got their favorite donuts for breakfast even though they were having a really
hard time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Plus she was also very kind
to share money to the poor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But one day
she was mean to her boys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was very
upset and disappointed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then she
apologized and even let the boys sleep in her bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The End.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<strong><u><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Book 2<o:p></o:p></span></u></strong></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once there was a mom named Gwen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day the boys threatened their mom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then the mom cried and cried while the
boys just cleaned up the whole house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
mom didn’t even look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then they said
they were sorry and the mom said that is not enough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looked at the whole house and there wasn’t
even a crumb in site.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She loved the boys
and she even scratched their back and let them lay in her bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The End.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em>In reviewing his work, Justin believes that Book 2 is “even
more impressive” than Book 1</em>.</span></div>
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</span><br />
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<strong><u><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Book 3<o:p></o:p></span></u></strong></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The Grumpy Dad<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Once there was a grumpy dad named John.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was very mean to his kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One day on a sunny morning the dad thought
about the way he has been to his children all of his life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then one day his heart grew and grew and he
was very nice to his children for the rest of his life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even though he was still a little grumpy to
his kids he always loved him at the bottom of his heart.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And the kids all grew up to be as nice as
that dad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The End.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-33183313035820060742014-08-02T20:44:00.000-05:002014-08-02T21:50:56.433-05:00A Day In The Life of WillHe's a busy little boy!!!<br />
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Just some Saturday morning cleaning</div>
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Swingin' </div>
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Livin' on the edge</div>
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AIRPLANE!!</div>
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Cheese!</div>
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Will taking pictures of his brothers while they sit in timeout, holding hands until they can say something nice to each other.</div>
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Up in their business. Clearly my technique for time out works!</div>
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CHEESE</div>
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Kissing his reflection in the dishwasher</div>
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Lunch</div>
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Sad little boy at naptime</div>
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So instead he will play for a bit </div>
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Lovin' his new big boy bed</div>
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playing with Justin</div>
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Little boy in a big bed</div>
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Sweet success</div>
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Chillin' with his bros</div>
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it's back to hat time</div>
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Supporting Justin as he buried Owen, the beloved turtle </div>
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French fries for dinner on a Christmas plate</div>
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Wearing Justin's shoes</div>
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Helping Mommy with laundry in the basement</div>
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So sad that his brothers don't want to play with him</div>
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Bathtime!</div>
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Nakie baby on the run!!</div>
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Too lazy to hold the phone to talk</div>
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More hats</div>
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Probably my favorite picture of the day. </div>
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Bedtime stories. Roll Tide and goodnight!</div>
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Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-53300861123215586452014-06-12T19:56:00.000-05:002014-06-12T19:56:09.964-05:00Parenting FailI didn't have a bad day. I just had a weird day. One of those days where things don't go quite as planned. I had planned to spend the whole morning turning in some data requirements only to realize that I was a month early. Better than being a month late and allowed me time to start other things on my long to do list. Then I had lunch with a good friend and hurried off to my next meeting. Well, the next meeting was a no-show. Not only a no show but blamed me for a miscommunication on where we would meet and then refused to reschedule for her internship interview!!! Guess she can go do her internship somewhere else. Kinda dodged a bullet there I think. Once again, not in the plans but allowed for more time on the ol' to-do list. Next on the schedule was a conference call. Oops, it was for 3pm Eastern, not Central time so I missed it. Dang it. Really needed that info. Fortunately the people were kind enough to immediately send me the recorded version so I can watch it soon. I finished my work day cooking with/for a bunch of teenagers at work. At least that part went off without incident!<br />
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But then it was home to the kiddos. I attempted parenting success by surprising them with a trip to McDonald's PlayLand. They always beg me and I hate going there. Fed the big boys dinner and headed home. Everyone got their bath/shower and jammies on and we were just winding down for the night.<br />
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OOOPS!!! I forgot to feed Will! I seriously forgot to feed my own child! Total parenting fail!!! What is wrong with me?!?!?! I don't feed him McDonald's at his age and I just plain forgot to do anything related to dinner when I got home. And sweet little Will is so used to just going with the flow that he never even made a peep. Never asked for food or drink. He did have a few apples at McDonald's, but still!! It is 7:10 pm and I totally forgot to feed the little guy. <br />
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So I start berating myself and head to the kitchen telling myself what a horrible mother I am. I think I said something like "UGH! I am the worst mother EVER!!!". To which sweet little Justin responded "MOM, you are a great mom. You were just busy yelling at us." <br />
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Oh well don't I just feel a whole lot better. Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-62936071612134763352014-04-19T23:07:00.001-05:002014-04-19T23:07:30.276-05:00Easter, againOh Easter. Why do you do this to me? Some of you may recall the blog from Easter 2011. <a href="http://sothisismy30s.blogspot.com/2011_04_01_archive.html">http://sothisismy30s.blogspot.com/2011_04_01_archive.html</a> <br />
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This isn't that bad, but it's so typical for me. Nothing ever quite goes right. I am a horrible planner and a huge procrastinator and maybe just maybe (fingers crossed) many other moms are just like me so I won't feel so crappy about myself! <br />
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I don't go all out for any of the holidays. I don't do it up crazy and expensive. I'm a simple gal. Not a lot of fanfare. I really hope my kids won't be sitting around as adults some day talking about how lame their mother was for every holiday. Are my insecurities showing too much tonight? They have been flaring up quite a lot today. Not my best parenting day or really my best day in general, but that's for another blog on another day. Actually that's probably a lie as I am not a woe is me kind of writer. I'm a here's how my woe's are hilarious and can entertain everyone kind of gal. It's an excellent defense mechanism. <br />
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Tonight is about Easter prep. My dear, smart, hard-working husband did the Easter basket shopping. I gave him the list and he got everything on the list for the Easter baskets. Tonight, while he is hard at work getting thrown up on by a woman who ate strawberry cake, I am here making Easter baskets. <br />
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And now I'm drinking wine. And eating a brownie. Because I didn't write on the list for my dear husband to buy candy to actually fill the plastic Easter eggs. Yup. It's 10:30 pm and I am home by myself with three sleeping children (thank you Jesus) and the only candy that he bought are dum-dum suckers and fruit snacks. Neither of which will actually fit in an egg, but do fit nicely in the baskets themselves. What I wrote on the list was for him to purchase items for the Easter BASKETS. And he did. <br />
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But I'm a resourceful woman. I went through all of the cabinets. Don't think I didn't consider putting some pretzels and grapes in those plastic eggs. Fortunately I came across this fabulous half-full bag of Christmas candy that was being utilized for the Advent Calendar treats! YES!!!! No one cares that the candy is all in red and green wrappers with the occasional holly wreath. My kids aren't that smart. <br />
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Just in case it hasn't sunk in for you, I just filled my kids Easter eggs with Christmas candy. I'm keeping it very Catholic. Christmas. Easter. Wine. Guilt. Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-77781069780978479482014-03-02T20:23:00.001-06:002014-03-02T20:25:28.844-06:00Sunday FundayI am pleased to say that when this morning started out as one of "those mornings" and I started jotting down notes and keeping my phone handy for pics for what I knew would be a blog-worthy day, I did not expect things to really calm down by lunch time. So instead of a days worth of craziness, I only ended up with a morning. Thankfully!<br />
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My overwhelming thought this morning was "why do I ever try to accomplish anything when I am here with all 3 kids." I was in such a productive mood and had grand plans for completing many tasks on the to do list, yet every time I turned my back for a few seconds something went awry. <br />
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If you don't live around me, know that today we are in ridiculously cold temps and more snow. I had no intentions of going anywhere but being stuck here with the 3 stooges wasn't going so well either. <br />
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First off, Will is a first class climber. He is on every possible piece of furniture or other climbable item instead of playing with the hundreds of dollars of toys that are strewn about the living room. That doesn't stop him from destroying the living room by dragging said toys all over the floor, but as soon as he is done doing that he finds something to climb on. The unfortunate part of his little plan at this stage is that he doesn't know how to get down from anywhere yet. Other than a face plant. <br />
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First place I found him today:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZ39AOzIouArBgaH7VWjJcE2PQKCF5vayHryX_g8gfmaxa9cAQ4-x7GMhnaeq0CsdttvZUEKDqydhitQJuQ6eaI7HImitcXFg9ctK-D_wYWbj_QSxpXSIAZfEv5de-HmpdBBbRBAhfHDg/s1600/will+chair.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjZ39AOzIouArBgaH7VWjJcE2PQKCF5vayHryX_g8gfmaxa9cAQ4-x7GMhnaeq0CsdttvZUEKDqydhitQJuQ6eaI7HImitcXFg9ctK-D_wYWbj_QSxpXSIAZfEv5de-HmpdBBbRBAhfHDg/s1600/will+chair.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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I'm just fortunate he wasn't already up on the table. He surely can't get hurt too bad falling out of a chair, but off the kitchen table is a different story (is what I tell myself). <br />
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One of my goals today was to get all of Will's clothes changed out. He is growing out of most of his clothes so I had to bring up the next bins, go through all of his drawers, keep the things that fit, pack up the things that don't fit, wash all of the clothes, etc, etc. You guys know the drill. And I knew I needed to keep the little bugger with me since he clearly can't be trusted out of my site. (foreshadowing here). So I had him locked in his bedroom with me to go through clothes. First thing he does is climb up on the wooden rocking chair we have in his room and promptly fall off face first and smash his face into the floor. <br />
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I was getting nothing accomplished. Justin offered to watch him for a few minutes in his room. (bad idea). I was working as quickly as I could to put clothes away when I hear Justin say "Leo, you were supposed to be watching him!" And down they come. At first I thought Will's mouth was bleeding from his face plant off the rocking chair. Nope. Worse. He ate a purple crayon. A quick call to Poison Control and all was well. For about 5 minutes. <br />
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Then I tried to go pee all by myself. I know it's a cliché but I really was trying to just sneak in a quick bathroom break. See, I really did have lofty goals for myself today! Just as I was wrapping it up, the oldest two boys come flying into my room. Justin is crying and before Leo can say anything he apologizes to me with "sorry I saw your buns mom. I hit Justin." But he didn't just hit Justin. He threw a metal saucepan lid at Justin and hit his ear!! So I go through my whole schpeel of telling them why they can't hit, why they need to calm down, why they need to play nice, etc, etc. I order them to the steps (their time out location) to talk nicely to each other. However on our way to the steps we all three stop cold when we realize that William is doing this at the bottom of the steps:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5_gWffvnSp1VQszIt5xsWzF_WxWQqvKeNQaVbq1Jt56ahfKS6AQDjQ1CcO9S0yuCHtUYWwuWiQu7YlS_tAVtmL-rXajsQnmfVvYS8k6oxD8RNDA8SIQIiNnEqVmXYywaXkChsMoeGcKE_/s1600/will+climbing.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5_gWffvnSp1VQszIt5xsWzF_WxWQqvKeNQaVbq1Jt56ahfKS6AQDjQ1CcO9S0yuCHtUYWwuWiQu7YlS_tAVtmL-rXajsQnmfVvYS8k6oxD8RNDA8SIQIiNnEqVmXYywaXkChsMoeGcKE_/s1600/will+climbing.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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He is standing on a plastic tub that I had just filled of clothes that don't fit him. When we first walked down he was trying to climb over the back of the couch. Lord help me! <br />
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But the boys still had to finish their time out. Our general rule is that they have to sit there and talk nicely to each other. Here's a little snippet of that fun. They are so used to this drill that they almost always just go there automatically. It's adorable!<br />
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I was losing steam. I needed a break. I plopped myself on the couch and within moments I heard a big crash in the dining room. And then not a single sound. I thought for sure Will had knocked himself unconscious this time. I knew all of the chairs were pushed in after the first fiasco this morning. Found this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_5mjTdy4W9ITsrvzWRsTS10WKrLAaaVWOtwsUnj4Z5BpX_yvHMO-0J25_HW7z2CJd7aKZv9cKuzRKHK1jJUd8t0aWDTi-ObZCIHb5LPNCU3Z1fg0FIv51tWOWLRGe6pYguzX49MhuiJO/s1600/chair.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8_5mjTdy4W9ITsrvzWRsTS10WKrLAaaVWOtwsUnj4Z5BpX_yvHMO-0J25_HW7z2CJd7aKZv9cKuzRKHK1jJUd8t0aWDTi-ObZCIHb5LPNCU3Z1fg0FIv51tWOWLRGe6pYguzX49MhuiJO/s1600/chair.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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We finally made it to lunchtime. I was defrosting some hamburger when Leo came in to find out what was for lunch. I warned him that it wasn't going to be his beloved PB&J. this was his reaction.<br />
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In case you can't understand it, Leo says "YOU ALWAYS MAKE US STUFF THAT WE NEVER LIIIIIKE!" And of course, Justin is just trying to get in on the fun and amp up Leo's response to lunch. This video pretty much sums up my morning. <br />
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Everyone was amazingly well behaved after lunch and played quietly while I tried to lose myself in Netflix during Will's nap (success!) He woke up in a great mood!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigPRP4KIXCaoF_Z_7B6F-xyuK6v50sglORF3bYzLdOuPYDXVtHNATGvxkLLaHubgIBkBUkCZ_eyU8g0EPUOPoopLL5Jfn1JBSNpuJ8waPQqnGkfrPNKdopBUjxagMv7QVWCewWhMravNzf/s1600/will+batman.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigPRP4KIXCaoF_Z_7B6F-xyuK6v50sglORF3bYzLdOuPYDXVtHNATGvxkLLaHubgIBkBUkCZ_eyU8g0EPUOPoopLL5Jfn1JBSNpuJ8waPQqnGkfrPNKdopBUjxagMv7QVWCewWhMravNzf/s1600/will+batman.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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I thought we were really going to get away with no additional trouble the rest of the night until just before putting Will to bed while I was filling his humidifier, I caught him drinking out of the dogs bowl. That's a new one for us. Sigh. <br />
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<br />Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-32390509521997333902014-02-11T17:49:00.002-06:002014-02-11T17:49:29.303-06:00Monday NightI don't get a chance to blog much anymore, but this is just a quick example of the chaos that is my life. Jeremy has the older 2 kids at the store buying valentine's so I only have one kid to take care of. Just one kid. It should be easy at least in comparison to what I'm used to. <br />
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First of all I parked too close to the garage door. My garage door is broke so I have to park in the driveway which is covered in snow. I made the poor decision of wearing flats today with thin socks. This does not work well when walking through snow. I really don't know what I was thinking. I also had about 4 loads of things to bring in from my car from a lunch we hosted at work today. I tried to squeeze between the garage door and my car. It worked. Not well. But it worked. <br />
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First load: Will on one hip, keys in my hand, paper bag full of bowls and utensils in the other hand. Got to the door. Couldn't figure out how to unlock the door with no free hands. Ice/snow from the roof is starting to melt and dripping huge drops on both of our heads. Had to shove Will against the door and hold him with my hip while I fumbled for the keys. I couldn't set the paper bag down in the snow (duh) so I also tried to prop it up with my hip. It didn't go well. Dog barking from inside. Bag slipping. Will slipping. Dog still barking. Finally got into the house. <br />
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I set Will down and headed out for load #2. Took a different route this time and went behind the car. I slipped on the ice. Didn't fall though. Came in with load #2. Oops. I forgot to shut the gate and Will was halfway up the stairs. Sadly, in my mind I thought "well at least he was still in his big winter coat so if he fell while I was outside it probably would have broke his fall." <br />
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Load #3 and #4 because like pretty much everyone I refuse to take more trips than necessary so I loaded myself up with everything I possibly could and made one more trek through the snow covered driveway and steps into the house. Got almost to the door and the paper bag with my bowls in it ripped and all of the glass bowls go crashing to the sidewalk. I can't believe none of them broke. the snow must have broken their fall. As I get inside I see that Will has now made his way up onto our couch, which he has never done before. I realize now that one of his toys is close enough to use as a stepping stool onto the couch. Once again, crisis averted as I was able to grab him before he fell/jumped off. Of course, he was still in his coat so again I'm thinking it might break the fall a bit. <br />
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After I went outside and gathered the various bowls and lids off of the front steps, I came in to this:<br />
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Now, if he could only learn how to fix me dinner we would really be in business!!!Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-937823845505061962013-12-08T10:59:00.001-06:002013-12-08T11:01:54.021-06:00Christmas cards<span style="color: red;">Today I am thankful for a few minutes to write a quick blog. Unfortunately it comes because two-thirds of my children are sick with the stomach bug and thus sound asleep on a Sunday morning. Nonetheless, I am going to take advantage of some peace and quiet to quickly write out my thoughts. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red;">I am sitting here preparing to address our family Christmas cards. I started thinking about the cards themselves. Ours, like many, are a nice collage of family photos from this year with a small square with our names and a quick message wishing our loved ones a blessed Christmas. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red;">I started thinking that sending Christmas cards used to be about genuinely sending warm wishes and Christmas blessings to our friends and family. I think it has turned into more of a way to showcase a photo of ourselves and our kids/families/pets. Like so many things in life it seems to have become a self-centered activity. I have certainly been falling into that trap the last few years. It's become a way to show people the fun vacations we have been on this year (guilty as charged, ours are beach pictures this year), or how beautiful our Christmas tree turned out this year (yeah, that was last year's photo I think), or how stinkin' adorable our kids are (that's me pretty much every year) or my face lift and new boobs (maybe next year). </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red;">Maybe showing ourselves off was a bit more necessary or at the very least excusable before Facebook enabled us to share every single moment and photo with our family and friends, but now it seems less necessary. Nearly everyone on my Christmas card list either sees my children frequently or sees pictures of them on Facebook. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red;">I used to be fairly decent at sending cards to family and loved ones on holidays or special occasions. I rarely, rarely do it anymore. Yet every Christmas I make sure to get them out to everyone. It's all seeming very self-indulgent the more and more I think about it. </span><br />
<span style="color: red;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red;">So, I'm not preaching about it, I'm just sort of doing some self-reflection. Just trying to bring myself back to the "reason for the season." So this year when you get my self-indulgent card showing off my cute little kids on our fun beach trip, please also know that I very sincerely wish each of you the merriest of Christmas's.</span><br />
<span style="color: red;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red;">I wish you this Irish Christmas Blessing:</span><br />
<em><span style="color: blue;">The light of the Christmas star to you</span></em><br />
<em><span style="color: blue;">The warmth of hearth and home to you</span></em><br />
<em><span style="color: blue;">The cheer and good will of friends to you</span></em><br />
<em><span style="color: blue;">The hope of a childlike heart to you</span></em><br />
<em><span style="color: blue;">The joy of a thousand angels to you</span></em><br />
<em><span style="color: blue;">The love of the Son and God's peace to you</span></em>Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-19532096433192991212013-11-17T21:21:00.000-06:002013-11-17T21:21:00.614-06:00PauseI always thought it was silly when the State would call a hiring freeze a hiring "pause." It was obvious word play. I'm not sure if I am doing word play or just trying to ease my own thoughts on the matter, but I've decided to officially go on a "blogging pause." I haven't paid much attention to the stats part of blogging, but I just checked and as of yesterday I have had 10,098 views on my blog since it started in 2010. Not too shabby. <br />
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I have blogged so rarely in the last year since William was born. I don't blame the little cherub, of course, it's just that life has gotten pretty busy. I can't give my posts the kind of attention that I used to. I still write them in my head in the middle of the night or while driving, but I just don't have the time to put it on paper, so to speak. I just gotta allow myself to give it up for now. It's taken me 3 weeks to get up the gumption just to convince myself I'm on this pause. By calling it a pause, I feel like I am giving myself the out that if I can get to a place of "un-pause" it will still be here waiting on me. <br />
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So I thought I would conclude this phase of my blogging life by once again plugging my life theme. <br />
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IT'S NOT WRONG, IT'S DIFFERENT. <br />
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Really, truly think about that the next time you have an opinion about someone or something. <br />
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May God continue to bless each of you.<br />
gGwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-33716375091466609062013-09-08T21:35:00.000-05:002013-09-08T21:35:47.457-05:00Oh Well, Better Luck Next YearI am constantly disappointing myself. OK that's not even true. I am mostly amused by things I do that should disappoint me. Here's just a few examples from this weekend of why my bid for Mother of the Year is slowly slipping from my grasp yet again. <br />
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1. Upon finding three different kinds of food in Will's hair this morning during church I found myself wondering when was the last time I gave him a bath. And I couldn't remember. I literally could not remember the last time I gave the kid a bath. If memory serves me correctly Jeremy gave him one on Thursday night while I was at the gym working out. Seriously I was. So Thursday night to Sunday morning. In 100 degree heat. Well, he's clean now so that's all that really matters. <em>Reason I might still be in the running for MOTY: I took them to church.</em> <br />
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2. I have consistently demonstrated to my children that procrastination is acceptable. We did Justin's homework 10 minutes before bedtime tonight. <em>Reason I'm still in the running: We actually did his homework</em><br />
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3. While doing the aforementioned homework with Justin I convinced Leo his very helpful role could be rubbing my feet. <em>Reason I'm still in the running: I'm teaching him to be attentive to the women in his life (I realize I might be stretching it a little on that one).</em><br />
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4. I let Leo wear this out of the house today. To one of Justin's friend's house. That we don't even know that well. But one of her kids has answered the door in his underwear so I think we're still cool. <br />
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yes, that is a child's three piece suit minus one of the pieces.....oh, and the shirt. <br />
<em>Reason I am still in the running: I didn't let him wear it to church like he really, really, really wanted to.</em> <br />
Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-11171748429381148602013-08-10T21:15:00.003-05:002013-08-10T21:56:53.390-05:00Plan vs. FocusA very wise man told me this week that he has never had a plan and he isn't going to start now. I was in much agreement. <br />
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This week I submitted my resignation for a job that I have known and loved for eight years. And that was not the plan. No, no, no that was not the plan. Or what I had thought was the plan. <br />
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I should have known better. All of the best things in my life have been unexpected. My life works best and moves forward smoothly when I stop trying to plan and force it into action. My life works best when I focus on what is important to me. FOCUS. Stop planning. Stop assuming. Just focus. <br />
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It's not that what I thought was my plan was a bad way to go. It was working for me. It was very solid. Very consistent. Definitely was a great option. I could have stayed in that job for another ten years and been just fine. I could have promoted and retired with a state pension. I know those are hard to come by these days. But possibly, just possibly, I was not completely satisfied. Not completely fulfilled in my ever increasing desire to challenge and extend my abilities. And I didn't even realize that until I opened my heart and mind to the fact that there might be another path for me. Opened my mind and heart to the fact that not only was change possible, but very much within my grasp. It is ok to change. <br />
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And just as soon as I became comfortable with that thought and began to really spend some time in prayer for what it could mean for me, change happened. The power of prayer will never cease to amaze me. Change dropped right in my lap. Happened fast and furious. I wasn't looking or particularly seeking it out. But it is SO right for me. I found it and it found me. There are some definite parts to it that are out of my comfort zone; out of my usual program areas. It's still social work and still focused on the safety of children in our community. I have so much to learn from my future peers and employees. I am so ready to soak up every bit of knowledge they have about forensic interviewing and management of the program. But there are also parts of this new job that are just screaming my name. Such a great fit for me. Like a hand in a glove (or jug, as Allison would say). The possibilities seem endless. I have so much to offer and so much to gain. <br />
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But oh I am so sad to leave my job. I've cried more in the last 9 days than I probably have in the last 9 years. Well, that might be a bit of an exaggeration but still I am surprised at my own emotions. Maybe a more accurate statement would be that I have cried more in front of people in the last 3 days than I have in all of my time in Platte County. No one can ever convince me there is a better working team in Missouri. For anyone that has ever studied group settings, we are in Stage 4: Performing. (if you care, we went through stages 1-3 of forming, storming, and norming....and oh, the fond memories I have of those stages!). We have been "performing" our asses off for about the last 4 years. We have made significant strides in how we serve foster youth in Platte County and move them to the best possible permanency outcome. I am SO PROUD to have been a part of it.<br />
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But I am reminded that I am only one person on that team. One spoke on the ol' wagon wheel for those of you that will get that reference ;) At one point in time I would have thought that it was so much of my own doing. How very narcissistic of me. How unfortunate to not give as much value to all of the many other team members that make Platte Co function. I previously would have never thought about leaving for fear that it would all implode without my leadership. But, I am learning that leadership is more about leading than it is doing. I was a do'er for most of my time in Platte County. Carried it on my shoulders for a long time, unnecessarily. That team is going to be successful in serving the families in Platte County with or without me. My standard motto of "it's not wrong, it's just different" will be well played out in Platte Co over the next few months and years. For my staff, the community players, the foster parents, and the families it won't be the way "Gwen did it" but it will a different way to do it. Sometimes a little bit more right, sometimes a little bit more wrong. Different. <br />
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And the same will be true in my new job. I'm stepping into a wonderfully well-oiled machine which is something that is completely foreign to me. Clean up someone's mess? Solve someone's disaster? I'm your gal. Continue to maintain and strengthen the integrity and functioning of a well managed program? Well, we'll just see how that goes. <br />
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New job. New focus. Planning, be damned. Very much looking forward to it. <br />
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<em>Proverbs 19:21 "Many are the plans in a mans heart but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails."</em> <br />
<br />Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-52153234608580454442013-07-29T15:46:00.001-05:002013-07-29T15:46:21.002-05:00Rock-a-bye-bye, my baby! Sad. So very, very sad. I feel like a fool though because I know that people have real loss in their lives and this loss is very superficial, but a loss nonetheless. I can't hardly bear to even write the words. Here goes.<br />
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I, Gwen O'Brien, no longer have a recliner in my living room.<br />
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There. I said it. I am a disgrace to my family. The Hales family will disown me for sure. How have I become such a....such a.....such an O'Brien?? I mean when I first met Jeremy and his family I thought "who ARE these people?" With their crazy couch and loveseat set-ups. No moving furniture? Wh-wh-whaaaat??? I mean I love them, but WTF??<br />
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It's ok. It's gonna be ok. I can survive this. I know it seems silly but this is a truly painful shift in my life. I was born and raised on a recliner. Well, not born on one. That would have just been awkward and quite frankly disgusting. But I would bet a lot of money it was the first place I visited upon being brought home from the hospital. Which is really why I think this is so painful. Rocking recliners are meant for rockin' babies. And I have. For 6 straight years I have rocked my babies in my living room and now I just have to sit on a stupid couch and stare at them. And they at me. BORING. And not at all relaxing. Or comforting. <br />
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It was this last little baby that is responsible. Yes, I have William to thank for this. And yes, I will hold him responsible for the rest of his life. That tiny kid has spewed so much spit up on me and that chair that it couldn't be saved. No amount of Febreze could save it. I have tried.<br />
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Oh I miss it so much. This is the first blog I have ever written while slouching on my couch. Stupid couch and ottoman. It's true that our living room looks better with the two matching pieces of furniture in it. It was overcrowded with my recliner and it didn't match. But I didn't care. Beauty isn't everything. It's what is inside that counts. I don't know how that is even relevant here but it sounds good. <br />
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I refused to let the new fancy furniture bully my sweet little 1990-esk recliner. I continued to give it all of my attention even after we bought new furniture 3 years ago. It was perfectly fit to my body. I had it for 15 long years! It has lived in 2 states, 3 cities, and 8 households. And now it is sitting sadly in the garage awaiting it's death. I wonder if it even knows. If it's out there wondering what it could have done differently. I wonder if it's silently cursing the overstuffed chair or if it's stepping aside gracefully for the newer and perkier models. I wonder if it's feeling unloved and abandoned or if it's just basking in the wonderful memories we made over the years. I wonder if I'm even still writing about the chair. Awkward.<br />
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I miss the glue stain where Louie ate a bottle of Elmer's glue on it when he was a puppy. I miss losing the remote in the sides. I miss the boys climbing up on the arms to sit and read books with me. Wayyyyyy to much room for all of us on the couch. On my chair we were crammed together. And it was a good thing. <br />
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But it had to go. I loved you dear, dear recliner, but it was time to let you go. And with your departure enters a new era in my life. One of boring, matching, adult furniture. BLAH!Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-13859250820350999602013-07-14T15:31:00.001-05:002013-07-14T15:31:26.656-05:00O'Brien Boy Stories <span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">'Cuz who doesn't like some good ol' O'Brien boy stories....I've been writing them down quickly when they occur to blog later. as I put them together today I was surprised how many were potty humor. Not sure why I am surprised though. It will be my life for the next 20+ years. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Me: We are having spaghetti for dinner.</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Leo: NOOOO! I don't want spaghetti. I get so tired. I have to twist and twist and twist and twist and twist and twist. I'm so tired!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: lime;"><span style="color: blue;">After Leo asked for his vitamin Justin said "Do I dare ask </span></span><span style="color: blue;">for one too?"</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Favorite one-liners from Daycare Bowling night:</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Leo: I took a poop. Now let's bowl!</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Justin: I really thought there would be an audience.</span><br />
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<span style="color: blue; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Watching the Billboard Music Awards and Justin Beiber was accepting an award and thanking his fans:</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Justin: THAT'S Justin Beiber? I think I'm one of his fans. Aren't I? </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: red;">Leo: (while Justin was getting in trouble) Mom, you are beautiful and wonderful and I love your toenails.</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">While watching me change Will's poopy diaper:</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Leo: Remember dad's big poop?</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Justin: Yeah. It was bigger than Will's. Because Dad is bigger. His was HUGE!</span><br />
<span style="color: blue; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Leo: I have to poop.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: blue;">Justin: If I had 100 kids our house would smell like a diaper.</span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"></span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Justin came running out of the lake with an urgent need to use the restroom (#2). </span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Me: What's with you waiting until the last minute to tell me you have to go potty?</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Justin: Wellllll, sometimes I fake it. You know like how I fake stuff sometimes?</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Me: Like what?</span><br />
<span style="color: red; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Justin: Like when you tell me to go wash my hands or something and I just go upstairs but I just fake it and don't really do it. (pause) Sorry about that, by the way</span><br />
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Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-33201077440338413642013-07-11T21:44:00.002-05:002013-07-11T21:44:24.293-05:00Life Coach. Apply WithinI need a change. Gotta change it up a bit. Neeeeeeed to change it up a bit. Perhaps this is a bit of a mid-life crisis. Although as a social worker I object to the word "crisis" because in no way is this an emergent situation that needs immediate attention or requires any kind of freak out. As if I would ever freak out. Maybe that's the change I need to make. Just start freaking out every few days? Nah. Not my style. <br />
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But this is a mid-life thing. I don't think I realized it at first but this thing.....perhaps I will call it a re-evaluation period....because that is more my speed......anyway, this thing that is upon me is appearing as I cross over into my late 30's. Coincidence? Maybe. It's now or never. Ok. Again, "never" might be overstating it a bit. But the now part is completely accurate. Why not now? So I'm reaching my late 30's and I am reevaluating. Nothing major. I'm not about to leave my husband and children, buy a Ferrari, and move to California. I'm not going to quit my job (right now) or dye my hair red. It's more about self improvement. It's about positive and healthy change. Physically, mentally, spiritually. <br />
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I want to be better. Well, let's be honest. I want to be the best as that is my competitive nature but there is no such thing as the "best" person. And in my quest to be the best I am ending up in utter failure. So I really just want to be better. Even a little bit better than I am right now. But I'm doing a horrible job at managing life these days. Sooooo.....<br />
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I'm made the executive decision that I need a life coach. I am accepting applications. I won't be listing qualifications because I am open to assessing all applicants. Hit me with your best shot and I'll see if it's a good fit.<br />
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I am overwhelmed in the areas in which I want to improve. Diet, exercise, parenting, relationship, engagement in church activities, employment, budgeting. The list goes on and on. I need guidance and structure and someone to hold me accountable. I know that "they" (whoever the heck "they" are) say to make changes one at a time. Pfooey! <br />
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I respond well to coaching. I was coached for a good bit of my life. And I would like to assume that this life coach thing will not involve anyone throwing gym equipment, screaming obscenities at me, weighing me, or making me feel worthless for poor performance. Although I have survived all of that so honestly I think I could take it. <br />
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So I need a life coach. I need change. I need improvement. Maybe there's an app for that. Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-47373793946067816562013-07-03T18:20:00.001-05:002013-07-03T18:20:28.295-05:00Backyard FunWe have high hopes for our back yard. One of these days we will tear off the deck and pour a new patio and make it super beautiful and inviting. Until then....this will have to do. <br />
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Justin, our little trapeze artist</div>
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Jeremy wondering why the heck I am taking his picture.<br />
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Jeremy can't resist mugging for the camera after he realizes I will not stop taking his picture</div>
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Check out that sweet ass!<br />
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Uh oh. Daddy no likey getting his picture taken anymore. <br />
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He's thinking "I LOVE MOWING!!!!"<br />
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and now "are you still taking my f-ing picture??"<br />
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and now our dog Sammy takes a big dump right where Jeremy is getting ready to mow. <br />
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Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-21486476731622569212013-05-27T13:40:00.001-05:002013-05-27T13:59:25.863-05:00Who says I don't look like Brooke Shields? It's been over 2 months since my last blog post. Life has been busy. I try desperately to get some time set aside to post and I have a few started but just can't seem to get them finished. For months I have been thinking of this great idea for a post and today I took the time to put it together. It was sooooooo worth it. I am certain, without a doubt, that you will enjoy this little trip down memory lane.<br />
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It will be hard not to focus on my clothing because it, in and of itself, is rather entertaining. But try your hardest to stay focused on the ever changing hairdo's. Some pictures you won't be able to help yourself from staring at it. Some pictures you won't be able to peel your eyes away from it. While others you will try to avoid looking at it straight on. I can't say I blame you. <br />
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I feel certain that God has given me boys because he knows it would be a sin for me to put girls though anything remotely similar. Mind you, I don't blame my mother. Most of the time this was my idea. <br />
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It all started back in 1977. Such a sweet little baby girl with blond hair.<br />
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Gettin' my tap dancin' on with my saddle oxfords. <br />
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And then......my hair got darker. And for some reason that required a bowl cut. And I just wanted to be like my daddy.<br />
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Who knows what my hair looked like at Pre-School. I am pretty sure it never came out of that hood. Apparently I was the only one bracing for a snow storm (that's me on the top right). <br />
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Oh, there's my hair. Perfectly curled under for 1st day of Kindergarten. <br />
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And then......brace yourselves. I found the joy of perms. Enter: the Afro stage! </div>
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Now this next picture is my absolute favorite. Let me set the stage for you. It has to have been around 1984. Someone was taking "professional" photos at Hales Market....because that is a perfectly normal place to have your photos taken. Next to the bread and cereal aisle. I had recently seen a picture of Brooke Shields smiling with her mouth open. I thought she was beautiful! I was certain that I could match it. Positive I looked just like her. If your opinion differs and you think that I am NOT her spitting image please just keep those thoughts to yourself. So here is my very best Brooke Shields look. Brace yourself. </div>
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And I rocked that fro all the way into 2nd grade. </div>
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And then something happened in 3rd grade. Perhaps we were poor that year. No money for perms. So same hairdo, minus the tight curls. </div>
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But that was too flat.....my hair needs some BODY to it! I don't know where it came from but somehow, somewhere, someone invented this little Mary Lou Retton do with a twist.....flip up all of the ends into a bell shaped NIGHTMARE!!!!</div>
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Although it worked perfect for the ring of flowers that I wore as flower girl at Karol and Peter's wedding! </div>
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And here it is....in all it's glory....year after year....(5th grade)<br />
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after year.....oh yes, add some glasses.....that makes it all better! <br />
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after year.....I am pretty sure this is my first day of 7th grade. I'm sure I fit right in moving from Covel D Searcy Elementary in Gallatin to Raytown Middle School. (nice Holly Hobby bed spread)<br />
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OHHHHH, it wasn't enough to take one school picture this year (7th grade). I had to do it twice. Once in Gallatin so they could be ordered with my sister's pictures to give to all of the grandparents aunt's and uncles....and then another one at my actual school. This stage in my life was so worth capturing twice. UGH!!!!<br />
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So this morning I pulled out the picture on the left and asked the boys "Who is this?" They pondered and pondered. They could not figure it out. I so badly wish I had the camera on when I told them it was me. They had the most horrified looks on their sweet little faces. Justin insisted it could not be me because the picture is "a boy." <br />
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BUT, when I turned the page of the photo album to this little gem of a picture Justin said "Ok, that one looks like you" <br />
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Ok, enough of the short hair. It was finally time to grow it out. Please just focus on the hair and try your hardest to ignore the Hammer pants. </div>
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9th grade. Contacts. Braces. Letting the curls go natural finally. </div>
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Longest my hair has ever been. <br />
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But then it would smack me in the face when I went upside down.....soooooo......<br />
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It was back to short hair for Senior Pictures. Pretty sure I capture all requirements in these photos. Standard blazer for formal picture. Vest and jeans for outdoor picture. And sexpot/lay on one arm/twist head in awkward position trying to look good picture. </div>
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Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8671585531269977748.post-70621128234182970322013-03-13T13:15:00.000-05:002013-03-13T13:15:14.053-05:00ME, ME, ME....PEE PEE PEE<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I took the day off today. For no particular reason other than that it is in my own best interest...and really the interest of those around me....to have a little me time. ME ME ME. I might just skip (in the socks pictured at left....which you will find amusing as you read on) around the house singing that at the top of my lungs. To further enhance the ME experience I just got a hot stone massage. BOOM SON (as my young son's would say). <br />
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The most recent experience that brought on the need for this ever-important me time came just a short 12 hours ago. When I got peed on. A lot. And as usual with these funny mommy times my first thought was "this will make a funny blog." <br />
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The house was quite. Everyone in bed but me and sweet baby Will. We are having to put some extra effort into helping him gain weight so feedings are important even late at night when he is very tired. He only nursed for a few minutes before he conked out on my lap. The kind of sleep where his mouth is open and eyes are rolled back with just tiny slits open.....family trait....sleeping with the ol' eyes open. <br />
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Anywho, he didn't eat enough to satisfy his daily requirements so I had the grand plan of doing a diaper change to rouse him enough to want to eat again. I laid him down on my lap for a quick change-a-roo. And of course as all mommy's of little boys knows sometimes it just takes that burst of fresh air to get em' going. Pee everywhere. Fountain straight up in the air and coming straight down on both of us. The only choice at that time is just to cover up and let it run it's course. I actually had one of those cartoon moments when I lift up the burp cloth that I used to cover him with to see if he was done only to have him squirt one more time at me. I'm pretty sure it was intentional on his part. <br />
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Mission accomplished. He was awake now. Laughing in fact. Very sure at this point that it was at my expense. So I gathered us both and headed up stairs. I was soaked clear through my yoga pants, underwear and nursing tank-top. Oddly enough, he hardly had any pee on himself. Coincidence? I think not. <br />
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As I laid him out on his changing table he was happy as a little lark. I, however, had pee running down my leg. Seriously. So I wanted out of my wet clothes. I decided to strip down right there and just throw it all in his laundry basket. But I was still a little chilly so I left my fuzzy warm socks on. Yes, there I was naked as a jaybird save for a pair of turquoise and brown fuzzy socks changing Will's clothes and diaper. And as soon as I got him all cleaned up and laid him in his bed I strolled my happy little naked ass down the hallway to put some clothes on. I was careful not to disturb Sleeping....not Beauty...hmmmmm.....Sleeping Gorilla? I mean the man sleeps with no shirt on and we all know by now that he has his own built in sweater...and it's winter. Doesn't fur get thicker in the winter? Perhaps Sleeping Bear might be more appropriate. He was sleeping hard enough to be hibernating anyway. I digress.<br />
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So I dressed in the dark, made it back to Will's room to scoop him up and finally finish the last feeding of the night. I got us all comfy and cozy back in my recliner and promptly realized I had my nursing tank-top on backwards. Gonna make it slightly difficult for him to eat that way. So I had to strip down one more time, turn it around, get us all settled again and start feeding him. <br />
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And God love the child. He knew he had given me enough trouble late at night that he did me the huge favor of sleeping through the night. Sweet, sweet kid. He's a keeper.<br />
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So now it's ME day. ME ME ME. Did I already say that? I might be beating that drum a little too hard. I've had my massage (don't be too jealous....it was preceded by my yearly well woman check....TMI? we're past that), had my lunch, wrote my blog. There's only one more thing to do on the Me Day To Do list. N. A. P. <br />
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nighty night, folks. Me and my fuzzy socks are gonna go snuggle in. <br />
<br />Gwenniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03509744524067217584noreply@blogger.com0