tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87433010793954228162024-02-18T20:37:22.434-05:00the Country MouseJenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.comBlogger136125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-89243554322613914122012-02-20T23:19:00.001-05:002012-02-21T09:30:30.585-05:00Break Dancing and Dreaming of SummerThe first flowers have appeared in my yard, signalling to all the elements of the universe that the unstoppable march toward spring has officially begun. I am celebrating by hiding in my house, hooked to the internet, shopping for a beach house for a late summer family reunion. I am awash in fantasies of warm salt air, bumper cars, greasy boardwalk food, and sleeping with the windows open. There are a few good things to look forward to before that time arrives, but I always love the siren call to look toward the horizon of time and see something lovely.<br />
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My crocuses aren't the only thing blooming these days (excuse the cheesy segue). Austin went swimming at the YMCA today. My son, who used to avoid people with all his might, chose the lane next to the only other people in the pool. Not only that, but they were all first name chums by the time they left the locker room together. And making small talk is not the only skill he's working on acquiring. Saturday night at a church youth dance, I have it on good authority that he was breakdancing. Now, I love my son, but he's never been exceptionally coordinated. He does love music, though, and dances with unreserved enthusiasm. What I love is that he is so unafraid in his approach to life. I wish I could say the same about myself, but I am too shy and too afraid of looking foolish to just throw myself at new experiences the way he does. The best part is the way people accept and even embrace him. Just like the first harbingers of spring, these moments remind me that there are glorious things ahead.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-61167019644956965392012-02-13T23:27:00.000-05:002012-02-13T23:27:54.274-05:00The Silver LiningWhen I was a kid and got sick, my mom would make me corn pancakes and let me lie on the couch and watch tv. Now, I know that being sick was just as miserable then as now, but I actually have good memories of those sick days. Hopefully this isn't considered overly aberrant behavior--I'm going to tell myself that some of you feel the same way.<br />
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I asked my family what their best memories were from this past sickness. After they gave me a number of strange looks, I got some answers like: "The moment I felt better" and "When I finally stopped coughing." I had to push and prod (and endure being called a Pollyanna), but they finally came around. So here is what we loved about being sick:<br />
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1. Watching movies (lots of movies)<br />
2. Sleeping in<br />
3. Soup<br />
4. Reading (lots of reading)<br />
5. Playing Air Penguin past bedtime<br />
6. Replacing school work with video games<br />
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My personal favorite was a night when my little one was suffering with a fever. We got some medicine in him, then he snuggled up in bed with me while we played Angry Birds until he fell asleep on my shoulder. Awesome.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-53643389450484931892012-02-07T15:00:00.001-05:002012-02-07T16:35:02.800-05:00Being Happy"Hi, Mom! I'm happy!"<br />
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This is my two-year-old's current catch phrase. It is often accompanied by dancing (Snoopy-style) just to emphasize the point. He is full to the brim with joy and it is contagious (just like everything else in my house at the moment).<br />
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Why is he so happy? He was up coughing last night like the rest of us. He needs his nose wiped every few minutes like the rest of us, too. And yet, he is a living, breathing ray of sunshine. It makes me wonder what I'm missing.<br />
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There is the obvious: I'm the mom and so bear responsibility for the people in my home and I'm older with a less resilient body and less abundant energy. But I'm thinking that Oliver may be on to something that I could stand to incorporate a little more of into my life. He does not expand his moments of distress or suffering. He deals with anything negative in full measure when it arises and puts it completely behind him once it passes. He does not dwell on his bad night of sleep or worry that tonight will be equally bad. He is not concerned that he has not returned to full health yet. He feels good enough to do things that make him happy, so he pursues his happiness without reservation. What he has is a winning philosophy. Neither the weight of my adult responsibilities nor the fatigue of my aging self can justifiably stop me from following such a fine example. I will not worry about future suffering or unhappiness. There will be time enough to experience it when it catches up to me. Life is not perfect today, but it is good enough.<br />
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Yes, I'm happy!Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-18485818495614765942012-02-05T21:02:00.000-05:002012-02-05T21:02:52.491-05:00Spring Fever and Stomach BugsIt all started 14 days ago with sore throats and slightly runny noses. Nothing dramatic or worrisome. It seemed fairly mild, actually, for the first few days. Then the coughing and fevers started. It was pretty miserable. Then, at the peak of that misery, Austin, who had been the only healthy one up to that point, came home with a stomach virus. He was totally down for the count for 24 hours while I ran around spraying Lysol on everything in the house. It did no good. Two days later, everyone except the baby was moaning and holding their stomachs. While coughing and feverish. (I still don't know how our youngest managed it, but he appears to have avoided the stomach thing entirely.) We are still trying to train our digestive systems to work normally again, Austin is just now coming down with the respiratory mess, I feel like the whole thing is starting over on me, and Carter and John sound like a lung is coming up any minute. So we are coming to the end of week 2 of illness, with week 3 looming ahead.<br />
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The funny thing is that in the middle of all this suffering came two glorious days that felt like spring. I am always such an easy target for spring fever. One little whiff of warm air and I'm ready to pack off to the local nursery and stick my hands in some potting soil. Instead, sick though we were, we managed a walk in air so intoxicating it gave even a dismal week some sparkle. I know the weather got cold again, the groundhog apparently saw his shadow, and my family's health outlook is not the rosiest, but that one little sneak preview of spring was so potent to my susceptible little brain that I actually feel a glimmer of optimism.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-6098851407159331792012-01-29T23:35:00.000-05:002012-01-29T23:35:14.035-05:00DO Carpe DiemThere's an article that's been circulating, called "<a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/glennon-melton/dont-carpe-diem_b_1206346.html" target="_blank">Don't Carpe Diem</a>". It's written by a mom who is concerned that parents put too much pressure on themselves to love everything about parenting and feel like failures when they don't. She makes some good points which I don't mean to undermine, but I am forced to confess I do not agree with her philosophy. Yes, parenting is hard and full of duties we'd probably rather not do if we viewed them in an emotionless vacuum. However, I would never categorize it, as the writer seems to, as a perpetual battle through each day with one or two golden moments if you're lucky. Maybe it's my age or maybe it's that I just interpret "carpe diem" a little differently. To me, seizing the day is about chasing down as many of those golden moments as possible and, when I can, transforming the harder ones into something more palatable. It means setting different expectations and priorities for this period of my life, realizing that chores can go undone in favor of playing with and enjoying my kids and that societal pressures will not make me feel guilty about it (most days, anyway).<br />
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If you look at the blogs I follow, you will see a number of women whose children have died or are dying. Closer to home, my cousin and my niece have both buried children. I do not presume to speak for any of them, but I feel safe in saying that they would all feel unfathomable joy to be given the chance to endure the toughest of hurdles or deepest of embarrassments that parenting has to offer if it meant having their precious babies back with them. The things that make the rest of us count the hours until bedtime would mean something much different to these mothers. So, when my perspective is not enough, I borrow theirs. I love the golden moments for my own sake and love the miserable ones for their sakes.<br />
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To borrow the writer's analogy, I'm not waiting until I reach the summit of Mt. Everest to enjoy the view. It's always possible I'll never make it that far. I'm going to love the climb and give thanks for all the ground I cover and every view along the way.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-25755760030481860262012-01-22T22:17:00.000-05:002012-01-22T22:17:37.112-05:00Brrr-bequeMy parents invited us to dinner last week. When they said we were having grilled chicken I'm not sure I was expecting this:<br />
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Yes, that's a hard hat he's wearing. I think he said it was to hold his knit hat in place. Or maybe the knit hat was holding the hard hat on, though that wouldn't explain why he needed the hard hat to start with. I will say, it was a little warmer right in front of the grill, but not much. <br />
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That grilled chicken was truly delicious--mesquite smoked and all. He even grilled potatoes. Not bad fare for January. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAK318TyyWoTjg0MgH0l-69hb32o2W0Fkol4SbjDxpH6OR8y2WAgII2XyULoWMDlnr4KGzYSw_f9vzZBTv3W48DI35a0yoewSRvRV_ZXz4l-2tSPpxI5bHMrBiXo9xSEmaAiWoZBi7mcxQ/s1600/DSCN6942.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAK318TyyWoTjg0MgH0l-69hb32o2W0Fkol4SbjDxpH6OR8y2WAgII2XyULoWMDlnr4KGzYSw_f9vzZBTv3W48DI35a0yoewSRvRV_ZXz4l-2tSPpxI5bHMrBiXo9xSEmaAiWoZBi7mcxQ/s320/DSCN6942.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Nature even supplied us with a flower to mark the occasion. <br />
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Thanks, Mom and Dad, for the summertime preview!Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-75032438562099333032012-01-20T17:28:00.000-05:002012-01-20T17:28:46.745-05:00Take a Bath, Take a Bath . . .Few things are more entertaining than toddler speak. I find myself stopping people from correcting Oliver's pronunciation because I love to hear him say "Numi" instead of "Snoopy" or "hagog" instead of "hotdog". Soon enough his speech will be clear to all, but this is that magic time when only I can understand what he's talking about (most of the time). Our favorite right now is Jingle Bells which (being a winter song and not really a Christmas one) is still being sung ad naseum in our house. Oliver loves to sing this at top volume, accuracy of lyrics being of little consequence to him. His take comes out sounding very much like, "Take a bath, take a bath, take it right away!" If I were a good mommy blogger I would post a video of that for you. As it is, you'll just have to take my word on the high cuteness factor. I'm hoping summer brings a return of my favorite from Carter's toddler days: "baby soup" (bathing suit, obviously).Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-12646867267879484262012-01-14T21:39:00.000-05:002012-01-14T21:39:59.008-05:00Cabin Fever<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgROiFUZAas701IHEHCYprk5Zj-cs3bSjcRzzsFKa6Htl-LnuhkgZyQewpkz8kUToEr_pafp0jib_XnZ9gvITTJKhw88ua28Pd8zzjd3RdyGUgUIOerjXj_SPXR_zj4OGcy4fOfHdH4AHrr/s1600/003+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgROiFUZAas701IHEHCYprk5Zj-cs3bSjcRzzsFKa6Htl-LnuhkgZyQewpkz8kUToEr_pafp0jib_XnZ9gvITTJKhw88ua28Pd8zzjd3RdyGUgUIOerjXj_SPXR_zj4OGcy4fOfHdH4AHrr/s320/003+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>What do you get when you close up five family members in one log cabin in the middle of nowhere for days on end? Pure happiness. My husband has been officially retired and on the home school staff for two weeks now and it has been awesome! Our daily life has a balance to it that just wasn't there before. We are still feeling our way along as far as nailing down the routine, but already the quality of schooling going on here has taken a huge step up. I wish every home schooling family could be as full time as we are right now. I think the best part is the loss of the sense of urgency that used to always be in the background as John tried to fit all of his home duties and family time into a time limit dictated by outside responsibilities. Now--though he admits he is busier than he ever was when he was going to work--he has enough time for everything and everything he's spending his time on is more meaningful to him. It's just a great time in our lives and makes for a fantastic atmosphere in our home. Let me wax briefly sentimental and say that I picked an amazing partner and truly couldn't be happier. Okay, gushing over.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-64794551254057685722012-01-07T12:05:00.000-05:002012-01-07T12:05:30.325-05:00My Secret PastI took Austin to see Rob Thomas at the Borgata in Atlantic City last night. This was his Christmas present from us this year. He is a huge fan and this was his first time going to a concert, so it was a pretty big deal for him. I wasn't sure whether he would be overwhelmed by everything, but he was just fine and loved it--singing along to every song and bouncing in his seat. We were really close to the stage, which afforded us the unexpected opportunity for Austin to meet his idol at the end of the show. Rob was so nice--he shook Austin's hand, looked right into his eyes, and thanked him for coming. It was a great moment and one of those times you live for as a mom of a special needs child, when you feel that deep down sense that you are succeeding in providing truly happy experiences for your child. Well, I'm sure every mom lives for those moments, but I think special needs moms are just a smidge more blown away by them because they are so hard-won.<br />
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As I said, we had really good seats, which put us in the midst of all the superfans. Ten years ago, I'm not sure I really knew or appreciated that these people even existed or just how organized and intense they can be. But then, through a funny little twist of odd circumstances, I found myself smack in the middle of that scene. I will admit to having a long history of obsessive adoration when it comes to my favorite musicians, but it was always primarily a solitary thing for me. And yet, there I was, part of a fully fleshed out subculture of fandom that is very hard to explain to anyone who's never been inside such a group. My life was full of cross-country concert trips, ticket buying/scalping/upgrading, secret concert videotaping, concert webcasting, backstage passes, meet-and-greets, rumor mills, behind-the-scenes catfights, and the relentless pursuit of every piece of minutiae that could be associated with one minor celebrity. But it was also full of friendship and adventure, which is what I miss, having discovered that I do not have the single-mindedness, time, or energy to keep pace with the pseudo-cult that is superfandom. Watching the women all around me last night brought back a lot of memories, though, seeing them all lined up with their zoom lens cameras and their cellphones, comparing notes with each other before and after the show. To those of you reading this who became my friends through message boards and middle-of-the-night hotel rendezvous, I just want to say thank you for the crazy madness and yes, I still have that wonderfully embarrassing quilt.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-66492307337032177562011-12-31T23:57:00.000-05:002011-12-31T23:57:59.197-05:00Please, No PicturesToday started with me mourning hard for Christmas. I'm fairly pathetic over the passing of the holiday season every year. And I'm a world champion moper--it's hard to outdo me for melancholy and melodrama. So I did what every weepy mama does when she is trying not to dwell on the ending of another chapter in the lives of her children--I went birdwatching. It's hard to beat a New Year's Eve pizza picnic at the wildlife refuge on a sunny 60 degree day.<br />
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We enjoyed the company of the usual suspects--harriers, eagles, herons, coots, pintails. The sky was amazing with dark clouds on one side and the sun on the other. Naturally we found ourselves without a usable camera (long, frustrating, and boring story). And then, what did we spot, but a red fox sitting right in the middle of the road. All of a sudden we went from being all alone to being surrounded by people with cameras that had lenses on them the size of my two-year-old. It was like the wildlife paparazzi. They were literally just a few feet away from this poor fox with their giant lenses, while it tried to get a drink of water. I can't imagine what they were trying to photograph--fleas?<br />
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Anyway, it struck me that sometimes it's better to leave the camera at home and just enjoy the moment. Perhaps that will be my mantra for the new year.<br />
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Happy New Year!Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-81813947677029515262011-12-24T22:21:00.000-05:002011-12-24T22:21:20.176-05:00Merry Christmas!It's been a wild month for me. Two birthdays, seven doctor visits (five of them for me), three Percocet, and one retirement. I'm hoping tonight marks the end of the madness for awhile and that Christmas week is peaceful. Twelve years ago today I brought my second child home from the hospital. He was born on the 23rd and they offered to let me stay an extra day, but there was no way I was going to be in the hospital for Christmas. Because he was just over a week early, I was caught unawares and unprepared. The birth I was ready for, but Christmas day--not so much. Being a serial procrastinator, I had counted on those last couple days as being my get-it-done time. As a result, I was still trying to wrap presents moments before they were opened. Austin, then 5, was sick with a fever, cough, and stomach upset, I was an emotional wreck with postpartum hormone collapse, and I still was determined to cook Christmas dinner for my parents (which they permitted--at that point it was probably wise to not challenge me--though they did help a good deal). By comparison, this Christmas feels calm. At least I managed to wrap everything with a day to spare this year. Just a few last minute gifts to set up and I'll be on my way to dreamland.<br />
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Wishing all of you a very Merry Christmas!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUBjY391FSmVy3jz8D0mmjVxMCd2a1q2nHMsQvZmaLAtOcqKD3AauFOKK5JL3buOKu4Fnoswzwnh53EIwjDHrMr7LzifH-8a1Gs6O5TnY9OjjfyK_t1UJ8IwgIrMc5ckYF92XKR6mrnEVC/s1600/star-of-bethlehem.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUBjY391FSmVy3jz8D0mmjVxMCd2a1q2nHMsQvZmaLAtOcqKD3AauFOKK5JL3buOKu4Fnoswzwnh53EIwjDHrMr7LzifH-8a1Gs6O5TnY9OjjfyK_t1UJ8IwgIrMc5ckYF92XKR6mrnEVC/s320/star-of-bethlehem.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-51517590302533623572011-12-17T19:19:00.000-05:002011-12-17T19:19:55.456-05:00Happiness Is . . .. . . warm sugar cookies.<br />
. . . a two-year-old playing the piano and singing while greeting any attention one pays to this activity with, "Mom, stop!"<br />
. . . leftover Chinese food.<br />
. . . bird watching in the freezing cold and seeing two swans fly over.<br />
. . . seeing an 11-year-old get emotional with joy over picking out a gift he wants for the sole purpose of giving it away to an unknown boy in need.<br />
. . . a fire in the woodstove.<br />
. . . watching my 17-year-old grow in his social skills and reach out with real interest to others (preferably those outside his family--he is 17, after all).<br />
. . . playing Christmas music.<br />
. . . having my shopping done and nothing left to focus on except feeling the Christmas spirit.<br />
. . . my husband coming home from work for the last time and feeling like a newlywed after 20 years of marriage because I get to keep him.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-60405413357832170182011-12-11T22:35:00.000-05:002011-12-11T22:35:09.543-05:00Santa's Mixed BagChristmas shopping for my youngest has been unexpectedly complicated for me this year. This is my third time shopping for a 2-year-old boy, so you'd think I'd be up to the task. This is supposed to be the easy age--interests are simple, expectations are low. But I forgot to account for the big-brother factor. The day-to-day reality is that my little one is continually exposed to toys outside the preschool realm. He loves to play Angry Birds (and is quite capable of scoring 3 stars, I might add), watch Dinosaur Planet (we were trying to watch a nice Christmas movie and every commercial break had him exclaiming, "Now dinosaur video!"), race hotwheels cars, and play with our vast collection of wild animals figures. All of which leaves me standing completely befuddled in the toy store trying to choose between toys that seem too babyish and toys that are clearly too sophisticated. I'm seriously considering wrapping up some big brother hand-me-downs and sticking them under the tree. If that doesn't work, there's always Play-doh.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-69707405139690157742011-12-05T19:09:00.000-05:002011-12-05T19:09:53.289-05:00Where's My . . . What?When children are very young, it is fun to play with them because they are just so adorable about everything. Their pure delight in the smallest discovery is addictively enchanting. The older they become, the less there is of that innocent wonder and the more they become, well, like us. This can be a sad transition, as any mother knows. The magic of babyhood is unmatched.<br />
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The good news, though, is that there is an up side to the move from toddler to teen. The games they like to play get, well, cooler. I know, I know, it is hard to beat Duck, Duck, Goose. But when your preteen gets you hooked on Where's My Water?, you'll know what I mean. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjluI6WsjEf8DjICh7hSemCRv5vQ80xI1sraxa33lFREqdC7NHToui8frZvtCt5FsQEK5Fx-8NCFO6wCmR0zaG47maN-wNZLEqw-i3Gmz0IzB5FsOqi-Gg78NDEZj6SKa89yj-141QFvOU/s1600/wheres-my-water-level.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjluI6WsjEf8DjICh7hSemCRv5vQ80xI1sraxa33lFREqdC7NHToui8frZvtCt5FsQEK5Fx-8NCFO6wCmR0zaG47maN-wNZLEqw-i3Gmz0IzB5FsOqi-Gg78NDEZj6SKa89yj-141QFvOU/s400/wheres-my-water-level.png" width="240" /></a></div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-53646875936003816932011-12-03T22:27:00.000-05:002011-12-03T22:27:41.052-05:00A Very eBay ChristmasAh, the magic of the season! There is nothing to match the joy of finding just the right gift for that special someone only to discover that it's just the right gift for many other special someones out there. What to do when that perfect gift is sold out everywhere? Why, head to eBay, of course, where--after the adrenaline rush that can only be found as you watch the final seconds tick by at the end of an auction, setting your bid to that strategic number, timing the entry of that bid that allows the page to load but no one to outbid you--you can pay twice as much for the item as you would have paid for it in the store had you made the decision to buy it just a week sooner. But even after all that, you're going to feel so happy that you will actually feel grateful to the opportunist who bought the item from the store even though they didn't want it (!) for the sole purpose of selling it back to you at an exorbitant profit.<br />
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By the way, if anyone sees a green Leappad Explorer in a store somewhere, call me. Ho ho ho!Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-66752587293064700972011-12-02T22:50:00.000-05:002011-12-02T22:50:02.936-05:00Learn From Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAtT4PsmBd_48smjjyx3BPRKCMG77OHNw9ubCprNE8pmwUev4uCSvI0bx8PkHc7FKv9HAYWdJhH1hJFaOG8-r9Q45HrfTg1-biEK9RIxLjm_-Po2RjVq8d3xeD7VrEPSRArRVzwRXtqBWZ/s1600/awakenings3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="206" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAtT4PsmBd_48smjjyx3BPRKCMG77OHNw9ubCprNE8pmwUev4uCSvI0bx8PkHc7FKv9HAYWdJhH1hJFaOG8-r9Q45HrfTg1-biEK9RIxLjm_-Po2RjVq8d3xeD7VrEPSRArRVzwRXtqBWZ/s400/awakenings3.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Awakenings. It's a compelling and inspiring, though somewhat disturbing, film. To watch these characters whose lives have been stolen by illness miraculously emerge from vegetative states, only to slip away again as the experimental treatment ultimately fails, is a harrowing experience. As Leonard, played by Robert DeNiro, begins regressing, he begs Dr. Sayer, played by Robin Williams, to "Learn from me!" When Dr. Sayer sinks into despair and can't bear to watch the suffering of the man who has become his friend, Leonard insists that he watch him, study him, and film him, in the hope that a solution can be found that will be able to help not just him, but others like him. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This scene jumped to my mind as I read Ashley Sullenger's blog today. I don't know her, but I've followed her blog since her daughter died from an accidental drowning a year and a half ago. There are many women out there who, like Ashley, are bravely opening up about their private struggles to navigate the unthinkable, allowing others to learn from them. I am a better mother and a better person because of these women. I want to thank them and encourage you to check out the blogs in the list to the right. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-10012792725314142942011-11-29T23:06:00.000-05:002011-11-29T23:06:26.034-05:00Mind the GapIf you've looked to the side of my blog lately, you know that I am currently counting down the days until I have a full-time house husband at my disposal. For all those who made funny faces or scathing remarks when I married above my age bracket, this is my big chance to have the last laugh. Here I am with a house full of kids, still a relatively young woman with what I hope is at least half of my life before me, and I get to enter the retiree phase of life. You are welcome to envy me.<br />
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While I never set out to marry someone much older, it can hardly have been a surprise to anyone who knew me. When I was 15, I had a crush on a 52-year-old friend of my parents. When I was 17, I took a 22-year-old to my junior prom. The truth is, I never really felt at ease with many people of my own age. So, when I found myself falling for the wonderful man who became my husband, discovering the 20-year gap in our ages only gave me the briefest pause. Why, I asked myself, does that need to matter?<br />
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My husband, bless him, worried that it would matter. He wasted a portion of our courtship in trying to convince me of this, to no avail. It is true that there are some generational differences. My children's cousins were mostly grown up by the time they were just entering the scene. And I have been mistaken for my husband's daughter a handful of times--though I might just attribute that to my deceptively youthful appearance and count it as a compliment to me.<br />
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The thing is, it has never mattered. The age issue has never been a part of our relationship. We have grown up together just as surely as any same-age couple. When I look at him, I see nothing more or less than the sweet companion of my life. It is only through others' eyes that I am reminded that there is anything out of the common way in our situation. Which makes me realize that they are right--I am uncommonly blessed.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-65154757354697583662011-11-28T23:15:00.000-05:002011-11-28T23:15:20.407-05:00Thanksgiving Wrap-UpThere's not much to say about Thanksgiving except that it was glorious. It was an easy, breezy day full of yummy food, courtesy of Cracker Barrel and the lovely Petya--waitress extraordinaire. Seriously, if you're going to eat away from home on a major holiday, why not make it someplace where you can rock on the porch and play checkers.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mFv_MfY-xvmN4nsU0F4qLUsiDDDjjvncqdCU-_0croDixXgkN-T8T7I8a9wT9AZPgpJsQW8RoDJtODxEGDOWd5Rixb5Dpc0w7BjN2LWTkyDfr4pzPqPits4E01PHgipvnWbKTR1pqA3B/s1600/Thanksgiving+006+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3mFv_MfY-xvmN4nsU0F4qLUsiDDDjjvncqdCU-_0croDixXgkN-T8T7I8a9wT9AZPgpJsQW8RoDJtODxEGDOWd5Rixb5Dpc0w7BjN2LWTkyDfr4pzPqPits4E01PHgipvnWbKTR1pqA3B/s400/Thanksgiving+006+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So then it was over the boardwalk to bask in the sunshine and salt air. I fell in love with a little white goldendoodle puppy, but managed to keep from running off with the little nipping furball. What a lovely day it was!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXMbBh5i-_1YWF2v58Nqj9PmCG5r5HduPCc9ag_WJCNgQF0mphsUkAgZTb0FKSv-kGc3yerXGAJNW7ryi19_GbBgBPTY2a79g6qa57YzC8k57bvJd-qyTvwdBeQqStH5s1gLiW0dEYqGo/s1600/Thanksgiving+016+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisXMbBh5i-_1YWF2v58Nqj9PmCG5r5HduPCc9ag_WJCNgQF0mphsUkAgZTb0FKSv-kGc3yerXGAJNW7ryi19_GbBgBPTY2a79g6qa57YzC8k57bvJd-qyTvwdBeQqStH5s1gLiW0dEYqGo/s400/Thanksgiving+016+%25282%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> <br />
After a literal kicking and screaming departure from the scene, we had a peaceful drive home. Traditional football watching was replaced by a stirring episode of Dinosaur Planet followed by a Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. Cookies and pie were eaten, a Christmas tree was hauled up from the basement and decorated, and a happy, tired family snuggled in front of the fire.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Next stop . . . Christmas!</div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-63316172773221843832011-11-23T23:28:00.000-05:002011-11-23T23:28:36.612-05:00Fear<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8MaJW8fc0koHC3nXGjmv12QuSH7jAaa-f-9_1dXd9l8ccSjTGZ-SsruH3f3rfUN-wDHl4ZeD4_jRT7-orN9ZsEak8HzABC0dsTgRS_XtqavMR_XFuwD6esGMtE37Y3DVS1pQJ6jx4rz7S/s1600/BigBrownBat-Craig+Stihler+WV.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="177" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8MaJW8fc0koHC3nXGjmv12QuSH7jAaa-f-9_1dXd9l8ccSjTGZ-SsruH3f3rfUN-wDHl4ZeD4_jRT7-orN9ZsEak8HzABC0dsTgRS_XtqavMR_XFuwD6esGMtE37Y3DVS1pQJ6jx4rz7S/s200/BigBrownBat-Craig+Stihler+WV.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>While my husband was off helping a friend assemble a table and chairs this evening, a bat made its way into my house. This happens sometimes. It's one of the occupational hazards of living in the woods. We have developed a number of strategies that we use for removing such intruders, all of which involve my husband, welding gloves, and a broom. Tonight, being in possession of only the gloves and broom, I had to contemplate new strategies, like the huddle-in-the-corner-with-a-large-stick-until-my-husband-came-home strategy or the pack-the-kids-into-the-car-and-leave-home strategy. But I am proud to say I faced my fear and grabbed that tiny flying mammal (wearing the welding gloves, of course) and so saved my entire family.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNW_x1opHYrTkYE-U-g8CV7dZfB1_fuNkP5Z2MijTsLLAqMlZGkKJFb2pQE2tb7EzgZRUqwmmMfAAmeiJsLhHMD1L1ONcKm85IbPjOjKkksSqDLYWo6TgVkuK0SkGkiyeGNzDokSL_eWGp/s1600/paper_towel_roll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNW_x1opHYrTkYE-U-g8CV7dZfB1_fuNkP5Z2MijTsLLAqMlZGkKJFb2pQE2tb7EzgZRUqwmmMfAAmeiJsLhHMD1L1ONcKm85IbPjOjKkksSqDLYWo6TgVkuK0SkGkiyeGNzDokSL_eWGp/s200/paper_towel_roll.jpg" width="161" /></a>I was reminded today of the fear component that goes along with autism. When my oldest was 5, he saw a commercial in which a woman grabs a paper towel and her arm becomes huge and muscled and yanks her around the room, cleaning everything in her path. I didn't realize at the time how frightening this was to him. He's still not hugely communicative when it comes to his anxieties, but back then he was a completely closed book. It wasn't until we were grocery shopping with his baby brother in the cart and I made an attempt to go down the paper goods aisle that the problem revealed itself. Austin bolted like he was being charged down by a pack of ravenous wolves and I, being a loving and protective parent unwilling to leave an infant to go off in pursuit, grabbed him and wrestled him right to the floor. Such a proud moment in my history as a mother. I have this image of the store security camera footage of the event being kept on file in some dark warehouse somewhere. <br />
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While we were able to get to the bottom of that one, and eventually move past it, irrational fears like this have plagued Austin all his life. His fears are inconsistent, rarely based on anything in reality, entirely random, and almost completely paralyzing to him. He faced one fear today, venturing into the basement while the dryer was on, trembling in mortal terror that the buzzer would go off while he was down there. The buzzer remained silent, he emerged intact, and he was very proud of himself that he bested his emotions.<br />
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All of which puts me in mind of the motto for HANDLE, one of the therapies we utilize for Austin--"Helping extraordinary people do ordinary things." That's really what it all comes down to. Autism makes it so difficult to do the ordinary things. And it always feels that as soon as one obstacle is removed, another springs up to take its place. But I am thankful (gratuitous Thanksgiving tie-in) at how far we have come and at how long it's been since I've had to tackle my son (especially since he's now bigger than me). And so pleased that he's doing some of his own tackling these days.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-27370306269562393742011-11-22T22:04:00.000-05:002011-11-22T22:04:58.593-05:00More GratitudeFirst, I would like to thank all the people who invited my family to Thanksgiving dinner after my last post. You are all too kind!<br />
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And now, because--as everyone who's ever stuffed themselves silly on this fine holiday knows--there is a gluttonous side to Thanksgiving, I would like to give thanks for my most valuable material indulgences. Those things I could live without, but can't--you know what I mean.<br />
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1. My DVR. How life changing it was when I could suddenly pause and/or rewind my television! Once I'd experienced it, I could never go back. *sigh*<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv160gGL79Y_ldZVI9CkLGKira4CY_OEz0M1fVwnjjmOrvZKI49KMXbxwdLNaJ-LcczWdfH4vN7doRIvoAa2KMaZ6rp5d9_ASqtp-iaHLDmYMypuUE77W5GvqCbU9xeR6VeFREg7NxqEYg/s1600/toshiba-a665-S5177-hero-lg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv160gGL79Y_ldZVI9CkLGKira4CY_OEz0M1fVwnjjmOrvZKI49KMXbxwdLNaJ-LcczWdfH4vN7doRIvoAa2KMaZ6rp5d9_ASqtp-iaHLDmYMypuUE77W5GvqCbU9xeR6VeFREg7NxqEYg/s320/toshiba-a665-S5177-hero-lg.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
2. My computer. My life is on this sleek little machine (Toshiba, not Apple, thank-you-very-much). Anything I can get done by using it is always the first thing completed on my to-do list. If I could ever figure out a way to clean my house via software it would be a perfect world.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdDwNcE1_Q2BtcHyXBI3GVV9qznbptG8Hfiep9-7vO_AeSXBZBbU9Oe2X5qCeHqZLJOY0dMJQ7cqwm7Lki5qrOghlEdli7w0lyLwR6PgW27FctvH7AZEH07P3rVzeT0XvhY-WqQnDO7TVZ/s1600/ToshibaThrive_04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdDwNcE1_Q2BtcHyXBI3GVV9qznbptG8Hfiep9-7vO_AeSXBZBbU9Oe2X5qCeHqZLJOY0dMJQ7cqwm7Lki5qrOghlEdli7w0lyLwR6PgW27FctvH7AZEH07P3rVzeT0XvhY-WqQnDO7TVZ/s320/ToshibaThrive_04.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
3. My tablet. We actually have three in our family--and iPad, a Galaxy Tab, and a Toshiba Thrive. They are flashy, fun, practical, and frivolous. But the best part is how any one of them will thoroughly occupy a restless toddler in a pinch. I never leave home without one.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM1mRdcs1Rx9w6qpEarvvy0EGVxtQgCBKDp17gxlVeaam4abHNUICvUeBh5mt57wUJL2eyc8YEhqRqVIgEEnjsFuB8wOEyd6JMMojVMRPovWNBPKVPfhYiQ_LfKmL-1TcGIgd4or4QbeF_/s1600/JA503S.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM1mRdcs1Rx9w6qpEarvvy0EGVxtQgCBKDp17gxlVeaam4abHNUICvUeBh5mt57wUJL2eyc8YEhqRqVIgEEnjsFuB8wOEyd6JMMojVMRPovWNBPKVPfhYiQ_LfKmL-1TcGIgd4or4QbeF_/s1600/JA503S.jpg" /></a></div>4. My PurePro Water Ionizer. Because I'm not all about the tech gadgets, here's one toy that's about being healthier. If you want to get in on the hexagonal water craze, this is about as cheap as you can do it and still have top quality. My favorite thing about this machine is the way it acidified the water I put in my fish tank, clearing up a long-fought algae problem in one day.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsCfv-gkM8O3TO9NraVBs7bzlmBhe_PFiJOuioM2kbQJ5lW8I4ETGON5smKIvYNtZDpYMpcob0O7ut16q2j6VBUYsSd88olm4chDAO7SlAsRIUKwahyphenhyphenQhzxBHJKtKmOb63lCb1n8CgUHAo/s1600/Chevy-Traverse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsCfv-gkM8O3TO9NraVBs7bzlmBhe_PFiJOuioM2kbQJ5lW8I4ETGON5smKIvYNtZDpYMpcob0O7ut16q2j6VBUYsSd88olm4chDAO7SlAsRIUKwahyphenhyphenQhzxBHJKtKmOb63lCb1n8CgUHAo/s320/Chevy-Traverse.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
5. My Chevy Traverse. We saved, we scrimped, we shopped, and 3 months ago we brought this beauty home. I love everything about this car. Someday it will be towing a camper, but for now it's just toting my family around town in fine style.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-35465697085892390242011-11-20T22:32:00.000-05:002011-11-20T22:32:13.354-05:00Non-Traditional TraditionsEver since I met my husband twenty years ago, we have spent Thanksgiving with his family. It was already a long-standing tradition with them that I stepped into--hesitantly at first, but then with anticipation as it became my tradition, too. But time has a way of evolving old traditions into new ones and, as my niece and nephews grew up and moved away to start families of their own, the old custom began to lose its shape a bit. Last year, it came to a final end, with each of my husband's siblings moving on to new traditions.<br />
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And so it was that we found ourselves unexpectedly on our own for the holiday. After the requisite moping over the situation, it struck us that we were free for the first time to shape our own new tradition. What we ended up with was something I never thought I'd do. It may shock you to hear, but there will be no turkey in my oven this Thursday, nor will I be slaving away in any part of my kitchen.<br />
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The cold, hard truth is that we are eating our Thanksgiving meal in a restaurant. So fun! We will be in front of a roaring fire at Cracker Barrel where my kids can have burgers and fries or pancakes and bacon or anything else they desire for Thanksgiving. I won't have to clean, cook, or clean up from cooking. When the meal is over, there is nothing to do but leave a big tip. And remember to pay. That's right, last year we left without paying. Well, we didn't fully leave. My husband thought I had grabbed the check and I thought he had. We were at the car when I asked him how much he tipped our server. At this point the restaurant was very crowded. I went charging through the mob to find our waitress standing by our table with the check crumpled in her hand. What a proud moment that was. How much should you tip someone who is working on Thanksgiving so that you can be decadent and self-indulgent after you leave her to think you were a thieving ingrate? And that's not even going into the piece of pie we left on the roof of our car as we drove away . . .<br />
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Clearly our new tradition needs some refining.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-65276998320494395862011-11-19T21:01:00.001-05:002011-11-19T21:05:26.254-05:00Turkey Trot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIZBpCN0D58Oebpf3rjQrlPNV7f8O9iuHZIq40pHurrTkIoQFQBPQelgyi8D11kOE4ssPDaSAU_olotOBym73T0F0ub3fdpOjstIawl0zn0csAOXFVrwdiB6F860r4U1xGfxliU6Rv3qob/s1600/Austin%2527s+first+race+008+%25283%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIZBpCN0D58Oebpf3rjQrlPNV7f8O9iuHZIq40pHurrTkIoQFQBPQelgyi8D11kOE4ssPDaSAU_olotOBym73T0F0ub3fdpOjstIawl0zn0csAOXFVrwdiB6F860r4U1xGfxliU6Rv3qob/s400/Austin%2527s+first+race+008+%25283%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Carter leading the cheering section</i></span></div><br />
Austin has been running for P.E. this year. He's always loved to run, but getting him to do it in a straight line and with a purpose has been a little challenging. He's still inclined to give in to the sensory delight of the wind rushing by him, but he's gotten better at putting those long legs to good use. Today was his first venture into racing. He was very nervous, which, of course, manifested itself in a little less control of his breathing and stride. In the end, though, he did quite well for his first time. Our good friend Donna, an experienced runner, partnered with Austin to help show him the ropes. Thanks goodness for her, because none of us can run to save our lives. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB_vl-HopbVOfdwJ-l_XfTZyDQzn6gaJktNwDaXiRpSPJux_P-BB5gIK2z4km8aQvrXmvQfD7M4S-YOw7vx-gF70wfkD5mJ3Q1ttVEYkisSIYe44riWRtq1KHU5FXDtgvkoC4XgFynQsw2/s1600/Austin%2527s+first+race+004+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB_vl-HopbVOfdwJ-l_XfTZyDQzn6gaJktNwDaXiRpSPJux_P-BB5gIK2z4km8aQvrXmvQfD7M4S-YOw7vx-gF70wfkD5mJ3Q1ttVEYkisSIYe44riWRtq1KHU5FXDtgvkoC4XgFynQsw2/s320/Austin%2527s+first+race+004+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i><span style="font-size: small;">Waiting for the race to start</span></i></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHFJT_41mfkWZWAhhlpuMA16E2iKUJgp7hjlJYu458d-9vk2H_u2ggehR_eL4fxDgyAS89KsBGq99aQLj8DfvUg9krfYd7kOanQV5ADQr1PkmaSIvZY1piYpl-Ua-56v14ACWitY7UKFZG/s1600/Austin%2527s+first+race+010+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHFJT_41mfkWZWAhhlpuMA16E2iKUJgp7hjlJYu458d-9vk2H_u2ggehR_eL4fxDgyAS89KsBGq99aQLj8DfvUg9krfYd7kOanQV5ADQr1PkmaSIvZY1piYpl-Ua-56v14ACWitY7UKFZG/s320/Austin%2527s+first+race+010+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Coming to the finish line</i></span> </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDMxfejbXzBRok1XeZRLVGvzyjuJvOQKdGuaRBRcQaTIQIqqjeWa35dPXsqJLV5QWBFte6zR7d_QyhyphenhypheneLKLTCIcxfyajcLZR2Lcbu4om6Dbx7eFGyPxKXZdZmQPf-SDSmDRRygn8oor0cG/s1600/Austin%2527s+first+race+011+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDMxfejbXzBRok1XeZRLVGvzyjuJvOQKdGuaRBRcQaTIQIqqjeWa35dPXsqJLV5QWBFte6zR7d_QyhyphenhypheneLKLTCIcxfyajcLZR2Lcbu4om6Dbx7eFGyPxKXZdZmQPf-SDSmDRRygn8oor0cG/s320/Austin%2527s+first+race+011+%25282%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Victorious!</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Austin didn't place in his age group this time around, but he showed plenty of great potential. We're betting he does great in the spring races. He did, however, win the drawing for a free turkey--the perfect prize for a boy driven by his stomach.</span></div>Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-19120995102269313862011-11-18T20:04:00.000-05:002011-11-18T20:04:41.404-05:00Giving Thanks<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ydeQAymYzHGBkjU6gADjNvDIo9D2iDPpXYzYli3naNDC48WMlse6XT2J0V0pOFn9UcQM1I0QcqAcXva6uK2wAhQ3mgAnSp7ALB3jv58wkjQkDDJDKhq3iGk9Z7puNdUyEe58-7bMBu_H/s1600/Gratitude.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3ydeQAymYzHGBkjU6gADjNvDIo9D2iDPpXYzYli3naNDC48WMlse6XT2J0V0pOFn9UcQM1I0QcqAcXva6uK2wAhQ3mgAnSp7ALB3jv58wkjQkDDJDKhq3iGk9Z7puNdUyEe58-7bMBu_H/s200/Gratitude.jpg" width="176" /></a></div>In honor of Thanksgiving next week, I thought I would share some of the things I am most thankful for in my life. From the sublime to the ridiculous, it's a diverse list, so I'll tackle it in sections. Today I present five challenges for which I am (at least in part) grateful. <br />
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1. Autism tops this list. When my oldest was diagnosed almost 14 years ago, I crumbled into a million dysfunctional pieces. I had to say goodbye to nearly all the plans I had laid for my adult life. I had to mourn the loss of the life I dreamed my child would have. But the person that arose from that rubble is living a happier life today than she ever thought possible. I was forced to rebuild and reshape everything and while I hate autism dearly, I am sincerely thankful for the new path I was compelled to find for myself. The rebuilding process was not pretty, however, which brings me to . . .<br />
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2. The fallout from the first post-diagnosis year. I went from denial to self-destruct mode, withdrawing from my family and careening around like an adolescent with no boundaries or responsibilities. I have been to the brink of wrecking my life and I still remember the view from the precipice. What I learned from that experience was the single most powerful and sacred lesson of my life. Not only did I return to God and family, I found myself in a very fundamental way.<br />
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3. Not having a daughter was a crushing blow that now seems laughable to me. The bitterness I felt when I discovered our last child would be a third son instead of the wished for girl is, well, embarrassing. I can't even remember why I wished for such a thing. I am grateful for the lesson of humility that came from this spell of childishness and call upon it regularly to remind myself to not question why I have received some blessings and not others.<br />
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4. While I'm on the topic of that third cherubic now 2-year-old, I have to give thanks for the many, many sleepless nights and napless days he has put me through. For all the times I had to endure other moms gushing over babies who napped for 3 hours and slept for 12 every night; for all the nights I woke up for the 5th time; for all the times I got him settled in his crib only to have him wake 10 minutes later, I have struggled, but never despaired. Even at 3 am I have given thanks for this child who makes my life difficult all while batting those big blue eyes at me. There are so many mothers in the world in real pain--mothers whose children are severely impaired, mothers whose children are sick or suffering, mothers whose children have died. I give thanks to those mothers for sharing that perspective with me.<br />
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5. Last, but not least, I must express my gratitude for the unending piles of laundry, dirty dishes, and clutter that I battle on a daily basis. Perhaps I will one day conquer them, but for now they are constant reminders of a home full of life and a life of plenty.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-7833266297348832482011-11-17T16:14:00.000-05:002011-11-17T16:14:47.589-05:00One More Try<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_uzpDSDZvasFpQj5TFsBws9SU1WZRQv2tf1aAUUo2QhBxwIylT1-RWa-idtgopxR5brvKmDlRVzjXAIv2pVbkDyynZjjQC9dFNUj1yJ-3_WBFtuHqAc8JpsaemqI8JeCNCEGT8qm6Ew26/s1600/just-one-more-thing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="190" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_uzpDSDZvasFpQj5TFsBws9SU1WZRQv2tf1aAUUo2QhBxwIylT1-RWa-idtgopxR5brvKmDlRVzjXAIv2pVbkDyynZjjQC9dFNUj1yJ-3_WBFtuHqAc8JpsaemqI8JeCNCEGT8qm6Ew26/s320/just-one-more-thing.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>So, I had pretty much decided to give up on the whole blogging venture. I got seriously derailed back in May when I stumbled across the blog of a young woman who lost her 4-month-old baby to a horrible disease. After reading her story and those of others like her, talking about my ordinary little life seemed trite. I just couldn't think there was anything meaningful I could say when there were people out there struggling through such horrific experiences.<br />
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However, trite though it may sometimes be, my life is my life. I am struggling through my own issues to be sure and, just as my perspective is altered by reading the accounts of others, perhaps someone may benefit from peeking into my corner of earth. If not, at least it can serve as my little venture in self-indulgence.<br />
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Today's lesson: the tyrannosaurus rex was actually a scavenger not a hunter. This is life-altering information. The sub-text to this lesson is that we've decided we would run from one anyway.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8743301079395422816.post-63500118423304615562011-05-19T09:26:00.000-04:002011-05-19T09:26:15.844-04:00No Words<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/m2sqOEkjnOg?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br />
I cannot begin to fathom the sorrow. Please consider supporting this organization. To read one family's account of their experience with this disease, visit <a href="http://kendraandryanwebster.blogspot.com/">Living Our Love Song</a>.Jenniferhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17978824563535846688noreply@blogger.com0