tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-157666622024-03-19T01:34:37.614-07:00across the gypsy flat roadIt's the meeting grounds for the emotions of gratitude, longing, celebration, and grace. - Sandra McCrackenStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.comBlogger1319125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-17949202384871542522013-05-17T13:29:00.001-07:002013-08-31T13:16:37.570-07:00I'm unexpectedly nostalgic as I say this, but I am moving my blog.<br />
<br />
I began this blog in 2005, at the start of an important journey in my life. It has logged a lot of miles - through Kansas City and the prayer room, back to my hometown, and through my early years as a mother.<br />
<br />
But my life is changing, I am changing, and it's time for a fresh start. I will not take this blog down, not until I have made a hard copy of it, at least. But I am continuing my story in a new place. <br />
<br />
See you on the flip side.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-77316095734355663192013-05-03T14:26:00.001-07:002013-05-03T14:26:29.602-07:00Friday is our day to explore with Mikkee. Today we went to Red Rocks. <br />
<br />
(The last picture was taken a few minutes after Mikkee rescued Silas from a certain death. There was a stone wall that had very cheerful shaped tunnels every ten feet or so. But the tunnel led them off a cliff. Literally. Am I the only one with children who naturally climb through a tunnel without knowing where they lead?)<br />
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<br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixksOLHfRrFOrQt3iQMQr070c9T_WSlOU0eusj7_YJkdJbhAtdhBwowQVjM09HExxRgO3nd8NEvKNNW2s3jroKlWrbhhxbqj0WJfYNNcFxsjdLfhcNfn5f2EQM_4oquFGDr7wV/s640/blogger-image--66282185.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixksOLHfRrFOrQt3iQMQr070c9T_WSlOU0eusj7_YJkdJbhAtdhBwowQVjM09HExxRgO3nd8NEvKNNW2s3jroKlWrbhhxbqj0WJfYNNcFxsjdLfhcNfn5f2EQM_4oquFGDr7wV/s640/blogger-image--66282185.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7nHBvLzmYgwt23-cjH9TNjl_Xw2BGTFily-eDPmqmTE6RQZWXRfAJNfphUZ3H70IIQOa4XV2ENix4XnZ9IMVlhDFUW2_aynPFtQZC0q8Cx5mFrMjYEgnPUfhXh7NBxQ_m2QoA/s640/blogger-image--216882026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7nHBvLzmYgwt23-cjH9TNjl_Xw2BGTFily-eDPmqmTE6RQZWXRfAJNfphUZ3H70IIQOa4XV2ENix4XnZ9IMVlhDFUW2_aynPFtQZC0q8Cx5mFrMjYEgnPUfhXh7NBxQ_m2QoA/s640/blogger-image--216882026.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5fB9vUGWlJFuRhoaRn2LPQS1SyHqGhsRxL0_BsK8jW4Z96XKTCMvKcvT3Qx668gKpEPZysrqk-37xa1cMXpj9JlMETs1qVopGeIDvgp5_hdg0DmoDGVvfd3T4pIRHgD0_aZ92/s640/blogger-image-1269603981.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5fB9vUGWlJFuRhoaRn2LPQS1SyHqGhsRxL0_BsK8jW4Z96XKTCMvKcvT3Qx668gKpEPZysrqk-37xa1cMXpj9JlMETs1qVopGeIDvgp5_hdg0DmoDGVvfd3T4pIRHgD0_aZ92/s640/blogger-image-1269603981.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbq3yP5_wuU6rl-TJuHjLP4832wYx_2nnhrLxDjDCkh1vEJRFD3JB-bJFH4sOyoXWjVL_6AJ1biPUbwpFewdd4Keid8UV7fggNZDCsfAMaTzqmddnKaqOfGfZmHQ1Twwy6GrcW/s640/blogger-image-1018909012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbq3yP5_wuU6rl-TJuHjLP4832wYx_2nnhrLxDjDCkh1vEJRFD3JB-bJFH4sOyoXWjVL_6AJ1biPUbwpFewdd4Keid8UV7fggNZDCsfAMaTzqmddnKaqOfGfZmHQ1Twwy6GrcW/s640/blogger-image-1018909012.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Z40qArqizX05Gt8SmiE5NYEzzwUi0t7wG72nU4z3L2dFfCfIpqLsCYoditbv_09xrxTPWV_pPcctLsEFfBLZSuFWEFnRCkkkXx8HiJslX60S-6GPzWpEXyQGWb9H8U9PsMFW/s640/blogger-image--259152599.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Z40qArqizX05Gt8SmiE5NYEzzwUi0t7wG72nU4z3L2dFfCfIpqLsCYoditbv_09xrxTPWV_pPcctLsEFfBLZSuFWEFnRCkkkXx8HiJslX60S-6GPzWpEXyQGWb9H8U9PsMFW/s640/blogger-image--259152599.jpg" /></a></div>Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-64710898336024726802013-05-01T05:51:00.000-07:002013-05-01T05:51:18.450-07:00It is happening incrementally. I feel it in degrees - a slackening in my shoulders, an ability to catch my breath. A slower gait, a renewed interest in books. A desire for new recipes, fresh foods. Screens feel two-dimensional and obsolete. Even daily parenting feels different, deeper and less Sisyphean. <br />
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I am waking up. I am remembering who I am.<br />
<br />
Some people are born into their home land. They grow into adulthood, live wholly awake, and die satiated, all within a few hundred square miles. And some, like me, must migrate. For us, familiarity and comfort are not synonymous, and to live fully we must find our own territory. (There are other groups, of course - people for whom no land holds comfort, and their home is within their deepest relationships. And others who never wake fully, nor desire to do so. But that's a post for another time). <br />
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And what a territory it is. Miles and miles of neighborhoods, restaurants, shopping centers, interstates. Thousands of people, back and forth to work each day in the shadow of the mountains. But we are all squatters here. This is Aslan's Country, and our only claim is that we have the great privilege of observing it. <br />
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This is where I will grow old. I see the old women, their gray bangs and weathered faces and gentle walk, and I know I could be an old woman like that. I still need a map to get home most days, but I feel it. This will be my home.<br />
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Thanks be to God.Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-22061298779355144142013-04-28T20:01:00.001-07:002013-04-28T20:01:02.662-07:00You know you live in a house full of little kids when your six-month-old burps and you reflexively tell him to say, "Excuse me." Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-20659164482815408512013-04-26T12:45:00.001-07:002013-04-26T12:45:18.182-07:00A few more <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwLFW62ydQQkalDdFB3OYk_POCaO6GMUfmkBErUQe6oPqyGlYaTRxOWb1cnlFyKjozuilT2NOeXCdG3-3YFDFLC0inIoJ6Tph-tp7z4_D4K5gh7JItjO2xgfDLXIIVgAI2kYoO/s640/blogger-image-1650950131.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwLFW62ydQQkalDdFB3OYk_POCaO6GMUfmkBErUQe6oPqyGlYaTRxOWb1cnlFyKjozuilT2NOeXCdG3-3YFDFLC0inIoJ6Tph-tp7z4_D4K5gh7JItjO2xgfDLXIIVgAI2kYoO/s640/blogger-image-1650950131.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiKBHU6aKzUZUtdLmJ6XMJ_G9Oy6aRWeCtXBMiZ-hXyylo4J-U8xYl9VGrQaQvp67GAQa3QB7MIX-Y03bg28UbivU3YVz1ZvZ4lfH4vm4ciIWKOf3OhP44lZzqiQuM6hm3yTPm/s640/blogger-image--290188229.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiKBHU6aKzUZUtdLmJ6XMJ_G9Oy6aRWeCtXBMiZ-hXyylo4J-U8xYl9VGrQaQvp67GAQa3QB7MIX-Y03bg28UbivU3YVz1ZvZ4lfH4vm4ciIWKOf3OhP44lZzqiQuM6hm3yTPm/s640/blogger-image--290188229.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyFv3v2CLX_B09XUwGqqJRLvak2o-YbpQyLB7m9vzduCHYM_IPPvOoBj-daamlSm7U1GwbMb7X_ltxfOTaTHwg6S507_wQjqVylvj40aOwmpgTRhAlPR-JO9ycuNbbWW5zdof-/s640/blogger-image-289176468.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyFv3v2CLX_B09XUwGqqJRLvak2o-YbpQyLB7m9vzduCHYM_IPPvOoBj-daamlSm7U1GwbMb7X_ltxfOTaTHwg6S507_wQjqVylvj40aOwmpgTRhAlPR-JO9ycuNbbWW5zdof-/s640/blogger-image-289176468.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOR8-FZHAXoGhVB2P2zQv0iXt_zdrQIS5dmb0-RAWG4q_FokQ1SJpym15cXaxG2LWoVBchsT_CvhikKwi4f4r0FTckjNCznyJMsKR9tSdqc6sDZSDUdmr5CIHzYpj6QNlnID7X/s640/blogger-image-1370535377.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOR8-FZHAXoGhVB2P2zQv0iXt_zdrQIS5dmb0-RAWG4q_FokQ1SJpym15cXaxG2LWoVBchsT_CvhikKwi4f4r0FTckjNCznyJMsKR9tSdqc6sDZSDUdmr5CIHzYpj6QNlnID7X/s640/blogger-image-1370535377.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMILcEtiwb1pZnsK0r40JULwfJTI_w6PFlNrriH5_bZbmUkB1tOBOFXM3LYtFphpoBDfYnjpuVUpVJK5bYsPHzfskskx8FrBtrJN9aL_PdzCJ3n6sJG5eSGvl5sz3JWXpmIuCp/s640/blogger-image--1064318794.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMILcEtiwb1pZnsK0r40JULwfJTI_w6PFlNrriH5_bZbmUkB1tOBOFXM3LYtFphpoBDfYnjpuVUpVJK5bYsPHzfskskx8FrBtrJN9aL_PdzCJ3n6sJG5eSGvl5sz3JWXpmIuCp/s640/blogger-image--1064318794.jpg" /></a></div>Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-44024413316456644992013-04-24T13:02:00.001-07:002013-04-24T13:02:15.530-07:00I love it here. <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNZdUEpqeWPNXGfY9pHmqNmFAEg4rNrjmPWx3TU4d-WhyVHpwZmZUkAmUx5Xf5Z-pm6JfxUJie5kw7d0p5jBPUkyW-TJKOPT_M8Kw_sCvN8TBXhI3UyuaRF1lhIika54klpBIm/s640/blogger-image--575246677.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNZdUEpqeWPNXGfY9pHmqNmFAEg4rNrjmPWx3TU4d-WhyVHpwZmZUkAmUx5Xf5Z-pm6JfxUJie5kw7d0p5jBPUkyW-TJKOPT_M8Kw_sCvN8TBXhI3UyuaRF1lhIika54klpBIm/s640/blogger-image--575246677.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlhik59qm5ZTaw86mCRf0MoW_eUEA6PFHEOfAUgoPiMJhnbaGzQr0CiGXtsi19ufEQJdnxwIicY3I0JPDr8W3O-7AEw-KMw_ySczZnXkb7OmXVo7dWET5z81qSlf0r24IcclJ/s640/blogger-image--914519903.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlhik59qm5ZTaw86mCRf0MoW_eUEA6PFHEOfAUgoPiMJhnbaGzQr0CiGXtsi19ufEQJdnxwIicY3I0JPDr8W3O-7AEw-KMw_ySczZnXkb7OmXVo7dWET5z81qSlf0r24IcclJ/s640/blogger-image--914519903.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEtvlyy-VdAhQSR6WjFta67dTY-71rhEaR2OG_p5Ej7aACmfLRmc4q7kfW1edURNBh99sTy0qR7nSLEgHGU1729efgH1OnZMytAzs5GppCzD_tUb9k1bvKCYEZCjRa3wQFmgyJ/s640/blogger-image--750146670.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEtvlyy-VdAhQSR6WjFta67dTY-71rhEaR2OG_p5Ej7aACmfLRmc4q7kfW1edURNBh99sTy0qR7nSLEgHGU1729efgH1OnZMytAzs5GppCzD_tUb9k1bvKCYEZCjRa3wQFmgyJ/s640/blogger-image--750146670.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdX6Hts71igBBKYN2sIRfp1n58C74yTtksNFuVwgCOVVEL64hfhKdTCKAyLdAy5x6voYm4MabrYiHEp1gn1qXheLt98ZWPkdeURC_28tBccVfpCYXt2b1vYqtqHqo4OP1a-6Ld/s640/blogger-image-1443089568.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdX6Hts71igBBKYN2sIRfp1n58C74yTtksNFuVwgCOVVEL64hfhKdTCKAyLdAy5x6voYm4MabrYiHEp1gn1qXheLt98ZWPkdeURC_28tBccVfpCYXt2b1vYqtqHqo4OP1a-6Ld/s640/blogger-image-1443089568.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS2eMhCZesM9pk8TvS0eRubZAxey8F5ZaGqCgsr8Xp2RmSlj8cZEN4zymKprHVh_9RKgVvn1J4H1JRCO5qikbZQexaA-7sBDphX4k627lS4lBv0H53nUYc6QmRy9oZgip0tIPI/s640/blogger-image-1524902838.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS2eMhCZesM9pk8TvS0eRubZAxey8F5ZaGqCgsr8Xp2RmSlj8cZEN4zymKprHVh_9RKgVvn1J4H1JRCO5qikbZQexaA-7sBDphX4k627lS4lBv0H53nUYc6QmRy9oZgip0tIPI/s640/blogger-image-1524902838.jpg" /></a></div>Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-59124140160469314202013-04-22T14:27:00.001-07:002013-04-22T14:28:21.981-07:00See this? This was the day that I realized my kids are too young for museums. It doesn't matter how many free tickets I am offered, how cool the dinosaur exhibit is, or how much I want to be a part of a play group - it is still a bad idea. <br />
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On the up side, as I scooped Emmy out of the inside of the exhibit (because strollers WERE NOT ALLOWED) just as she reached for a T-Rex jaw, a very kind museum volunteer pointed to a chicken-sized skeleton and said, "See that one? It's been sat on three times since I have been here." <br />
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It could have been worse, right? <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHBRafKwPL1h4mmLhkIZHkw0uKT_H2ulqsW4Lwq5FX-uhF8C_d3zz7CNnBnP1xHNSRAeugjH3-164NCp7dtsS24m7r6tTSUjd8ua3oKmg6SQFipNHkZaaBaq86H_Mvv7dbYJZw/s640/blogger-image--473495540.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHBRafKwPL1h4mmLhkIZHkw0uKT_H2ulqsW4Lwq5FX-uhF8C_d3zz7CNnBnP1xHNSRAeugjH3-164NCp7dtsS24m7r6tTSUjd8ua3oKmg6SQFipNHkZaaBaq86H_Mvv7dbYJZw/s640/blogger-image--473495540.jpg" /></a></div>Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-39970532128312389972013-04-20T15:41:00.001-07:002013-04-20T15:41:36.560-07:00I am reading The Book Thief this weekend, and I feel as though I am peeking from behind my hands to watch the story unfold. A foster child of questionable heritage living in Nazi Germany. What could possibly go wrong?<br />
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(Don't spoil it for me. I will know the answer to that question soon enough.)Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-88750917513403617662013-04-18T15:23:00.001-07:002013-04-18T15:23:00.322-07:00Exhibit A is our newest desperate attempt to get the baby to sleep at night. He will be six months old next week and today he got his own bed. It goes without saying that he is in the master closet - we are a big family with small bedrooms, and you do what you have to do. Maybe this will help?<br />
<br />
Exhibit B is my sweet Silas. He is almost 5 and still naps most days. <br />
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Exhibit C: the backyard on Tuesday. We aren't in the Deep South anymore, Toto. <br />
<br />
Happy Thursday. <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzKR66I3Id9azW7Z5CvfyQPb544sfxyk6WJdGtUJm-EDcP1F2G2-YvwzqtZDQ_nQN5FXi9tbpVcq8dmLblgR-oQqT4K82MSER1vLHzKtEBHkJ38wlCIh9GbogwEeO4Ns-0SpHz/s640/blogger-image-1637416716.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzKR66I3Id9azW7Z5CvfyQPb544sfxyk6WJdGtUJm-EDcP1F2G2-YvwzqtZDQ_nQN5FXi9tbpVcq8dmLblgR-oQqT4K82MSER1vLHzKtEBHkJ38wlCIh9GbogwEeO4Ns-0SpHz/s640/blogger-image-1637416716.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Nc5ZuxeGgXvdgHB1ot0EjzySqgF80J8BnEyVsP2-MUcOUxwezhZfidHtoYBFq14acJsXhOQNoDARcT3DbGd4dY58ZzPN83Q2ieHusYNgdJemniwzNvE_pmiIrftaev6Rdork/s640/blogger-image--884563515.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Nc5ZuxeGgXvdgHB1ot0EjzySqgF80J8BnEyVsP2-MUcOUxwezhZfidHtoYBFq14acJsXhOQNoDARcT3DbGd4dY58ZzPN83Q2ieHusYNgdJemniwzNvE_pmiIrftaev6Rdork/s640/blogger-image--884563515.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimSO8quZ_mkq2pbfNh6dRv3977iT_U2chCdP7NAEarosSl4hKORXu3QCXEWfM4kjdM3m8QU7BdtPGnLozYTwFTe222rW5Vih1IRlvAu7CEvcT3ZGrYYK2TfRVkYZprWc2a-4yq/s640/blogger-image-1147963931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimSO8quZ_mkq2pbfNh6dRv3977iT_U2chCdP7NAEarosSl4hKORXu3QCXEWfM4kjdM3m8QU7BdtPGnLozYTwFTe222rW5Vih1IRlvAu7CEvcT3ZGrYYK2TfRVkYZprWc2a-4yq/s640/blogger-image-1147963931.jpg" /></a></div>Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-64750880316722857262013-04-15T16:07:00.001-07:002013-04-15T16:08:04.071-07:00mid-point burnoutSometime in the predawn darkness, my two-year-old climbed out of her crib, shimmied up her shelf, climbed onto her windowsill, took off her diaper, and <i>pooped. </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Mercy.<br />
<br />
I was not the one to discover her, or it. No, I was still asleep, because I had been up until 2 a.m. with the baby, who, regardless of philosophy, approach, food intake, or my pleas, is <i>still </i>waking up every two hours. Every single night.<br />
<br />
There was a time when I used to say that two years old was my favorite age. Now, for the life of me, I can't remember why I felt that way.<br />
<br />
I love being a mom, friends. Yesterday I whispered to Brian, "I can't believe we did it. I can't believe we have four kids." I said it in the spirit of one who has just climbed a mountain, or finished a race. There was a time when I didn't know if I would be a mother at all, or if Asher would be my only child. Now I have four. Four! I love them each and them together - seeing how gentle Silas is with his baby brother, or how Asher naturally holds Emmy's sleeve in a parking lot. I love discovering, for instance, that Silas really loves poetry, and has a natural aptitude for drama and literature. Or that Asher is like a little train - if you give him the right "track," such as swimming lessons or a bike park, he will take off on his own. I love my kids, and I love seeing their little personalities and relationships unfold.<br />
<br />
But I am utterly burned out on the infant and toddler stage of life.<br />
<br />
Climbing out of high chairs, screaming in car seats, climbing out of cribs, insisting on a certain food then screeching "NO WANT THIS!" three minutes later, waking up every two hours, refusing bottles, not allowing anyone else to rock or comfort them, and pooping on windowsills, for crying out loud. I'm done. DONE. <br />
<br />
Except I'm not. In fact, I'm exactly halfway there. Two down, two to go.<br />
<br />
I'm so glad God has given me four children. I can't wait to see who we will be, individually and together. But I have no idea how I'm going to get through the next four years. All I can do is take it one windowsill at a time. Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-65235657743222891002013-04-13T12:35:00.001-07:002013-04-13T12:35:23.087-07:00on brennan manning<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Brennan Manning passed away yesterday.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">As usual, the closer something is to my heart, the harder it is for me to articulate my emotion.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Brennan Manning, whom I have met only once, smoking a cigarette in the courtyard of my home church almost twenty years ago, is among the most significant influences of my spiritual life. I remember clearly finishing <i>The Ragamuffin Gospel</i> as a sophomore in college, and saying to myself, what if this is really true? What if I am as free, and as loved, as Brennan Manning says I am?</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">His words have shaped both my understanding of God and my response to Him. In the moments when I have been most uncertain of myself, or God, or how to proceed forward, I have returned to Brennan Manning's books over and over again.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And last year, as Brian and I held on to the truth that God loves us as one clawing at the edge of a cliff, the only conceivable name for the baby brought into our lives at that time was Brennan. It was a declaration, a reminder, a plea. May our little Brennan always know he is as free, and as loved, as Manning's books assure us we are.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">“Because salvation is by grace through faith, I believe that among the countless number of people standing in front of the throne and in front of the Lamb, dressed in white robes and holding palms in their hands, I shall see the prostitute from the Kit-Kat Ranch in Carson City, Nevada, who tearfully told me that she could find no other employment to support her two-year-old son. I shall see the woman who had an abortion and is haunted by guilt and remorse but did the best she could faced with grueling alternatives; the businessman besieged with debt who sold his integrity in a series of desperate transactions; the insecure clergyman addicted to being liked, who never challenged his people from the pulpit and longed for unconditional love; the sexually abused teen molested by his father and now selling his body on the street, who, as he falls asleep each night after his last ‘trick’, whispers the name of the unknown God he learned about in Sunday school.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">‘But how?’ we ask.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>Then the voice says, ‘They have washed their robes and have made them white in the blood of the Lamb.’</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>There they are. There <i>we</i> are – the multitude who so wanted to be faithful, who at times got defeated, soiled by life, and bested by trials, wearing the bloodied garments of life’s tribulations, but through it all clung to faith.</div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>My friends, if this is not good news to you, you have never understood the gospel of grace.”</div>
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Amen.</div>
Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-78305379962899697382013-04-11T06:52:00.001-07:002013-04-11T06:52:50.147-07:00Love seeks one thing only: the good of the one loved. It leaves all the other secondary effects to take care of themselves. Love, therefore, is it's own reward.<br />
<br />
- Thomas MertonStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-42747024993092762852013-04-08T11:36:00.001-07:002013-04-08T11:37:57.998-07:00This morning Brian sent me this link:<br />
<br />
http://deeperstory.com/unequally-yoked/<br />
<br />
I stood in the kitchen, reading the article on my phone, tears streaming down my face. You know that feeling when you hear a song, or read something, and it is like someone else put words to your own emotion? I cried from recognition, and from relief that someone else had experienced it too. These are the things no sweet lady ever says with a smile at the church bridal shower. Nobody tells you the things you most need to know about marriage. <br />
<br />
After I had composed myself, I tried to respond to Brian's link. But every time I typed "made me cry," my phone autocorrected it to "mercy." Because sometimes God shows up in autocorrect, too.<br />
<br />
The article above - it is all true. But God's mercy on us, to us, around us - that is true too. The best thing about marriage, and faith, is that as long as you are here the story is never over. We continue to grow, slowly, slowly, one step in front of the other. No matter where I am right now, God's mercy is new every morning.<br />
<br />
Thanks be to God. <br />
<br />
Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-59335896362243566342013-04-07T05:36:00.001-07:002013-04-07T05:36:20.839-07:00"A life is either all spiritual or not spiritual at all. No man can serve two masters. Your life is shaped by the end you live for. You are made in the image of what you desire."<br />
<br />
- Thomas MertonStephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-72310507801801673622013-04-04T14:42:00.001-07:002013-04-04T14:42:10.621-07:00Remember the days when I had one toddler and one baby, and I lamented being trapped by naps and taking turns with each child, entertaining the toddler in the morning and the baby in the afternoon? I remember being utterly exhausted at the end of each of those days.<br />
<br />
I am reliving it today, as the boys went up into the mountains with Brian for the day and I am home with the two littlest ones. It has been glorious. Emmy and I read books and swept the floor and sat out back and made cupcakes. I was able to just talk to her. I could watch her play and even respond to misbehavior without once being interrupted or sidetracked. <br />
<br />
There were even forty minutes when both babies were asleep and I had time, glorious whole minutes when nobody needed a drink or asked me for anything.<br />
Now the baby is keeping me company in his bumbo seat while I work in the kitchen. My house is unimaginably quiet and the sunlight is streaming through the windows. And for today, this life is perfect.<br />
<br />
But I miss the boys.<br />
<br />
And it makes me appreciate my life now more. Back then I honestly thought there had been some mistake. There was no way I could adequately love and nurture two babies at the same time. Now I know better. I can do this, and I do, every single day. And some day - probably when they are 14, 13, 11, and 9 - I will stop and think, remember when they were all little? Remember when my biggest concerns for them were how to keep Emmy out of the dog food and how to tear the boys away from Legos long enough to do a few minutes of school? Remember when all I had to do was read to them and nurse the baby?<br />
<br />
Some day, this moment will feel simple too. <br />
<br />
Happy Thursday. Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-29509227963222681512013-03-30T14:48:00.004-07:002013-03-30T14:48:40.358-07:00one month inA month ago today, we began our journey west.<br />
<br />
We survived the trip (and really kind of enjoyed it), and the boxes are unpacked, but our journey into a new life has barely begun. <br />
<br />
I wanted to jot down some of my observations about our transition, but before I do, it feels important to say that I mostly keep a blog because I need a place to clear my head. Blogging has become a business, a ministry, a platform, a soapbox. But this one is mostly just a journal, albeit a public one. As I'm talking about family/baby/schooling decisions, please do not read in that any attempt to persuade you to make similar decisions. More often than not, I can make a good argument for making the exact opposite decision, too. But at some point, you have to jump off the fence and DO something, right? So I have. Time will tell if I did the right something or not.<br />
<br />
Let's start with school.<br />
<br />
I didn't enroll the boys in school here. We're trying our hand at homeschooling instead. Which means that, in addition to moving, the boys have been adjusting to a very different schedule since we've been in Colorado.<br />
<br />
Honestly? I kind of love it. They seem pretty happy with it, too.<br />
<br />
My friend Jessica (whose children are the same age, but who has been homeschooling all along) gave me some great advice a few weeks ago. She said that homeschooling is just like having your first baby. You create astronomical expectations of yourself and your day, you completely stress out about doing everything just right, and at the end of the day your kids are going to be fine either way. They're little. Enjoy the freedom of that. Read every day, and work in the rest as you get to it. They're going to be fine.<br />
<br />
That advice has helped me RELAX and enjoy having them home so much more. And I love what I'm seeing emerge in my kids. We are all more connected to each other. They are less cranky, less emotionally tired (but more physically tired, because we have more time to spend playing outside). They sleep later, are playing better on their own, and both boys are enjoying learning. Asher is a great reader but can easily give up or lose interest in it. It is so much fun to see him challenged and engaged in a story again. Silas had developed a reputation at school for being disinterested in book work, but honestly that has not been my experience at all. He has strengths and weaknesses like anyone else, but he enjoys what he is doing, and will often go on to act out his lessons with toys or snacks throughout the day. <br />
<br />
School is great. Low key, organic, interesting. It is exactly what we need at this stage in life.<br />
<br />
The other big change in the past month has been in Brennan. In Alabama, Brennan's schedule took a back seat to school/toddler schedules. I know I did this with Emmy as well, and Emmy's little personality seemed to handle it well. Brennan's has not. Throw in to the mix the fact that we moved when he was four months old (which is a critical age in forming routines), as well as the altitude/ curiosity challenges with nursing I've already mentioned here, and, well - Brennan just hasn't been a very happy baby recently.<br />
<br />
If you've been reading here for very long you know that sleep training, or cry-it-out techniques, are just not my style. But for Brennan it became clear to me that what he needed most in the world was his own quiet place to go to sleep at a predictable time (and without nursing). He tends to get overstimulated, and in the middle of the day especially, peace and quiet is not readily available. One day after rocking and singing and singing and rocking (while he is wailing and Emmy is climbing on my head) I finally realized there was nothing else I could do for him, and the only way to give him any opportunity to rest was to put him down and close the door. <br />
<br />
And it worked.<br />
<br />
It took him a little while to settle down, but he went to sleep (I went in periodically to soothe him, though he tends to do better if I pat his back rather than pick him up). Not only that, but he woke up happy, and slept better that night. After a week of putting him down awake, he only cries for a few minutes, and has quickly fallen into a nap routine that has made our evenings so much better. Plus, he is just a happier baby. Now that he is more rested and has a better sense of what to expect during the day he is crying much less, and is happy to play and watch his siblings.<br />
<br />
It always amazes me to see how different each child's needs are. The very thing that was so disastrous when Asher was a baby turned out to be exactly what Brennan needs. It is another reminder to me to stay open-minded, and to look at what each child specifically needs, rather than how to make them fit into my existing ideas about babies and children.<br />
<br />
The boys are great, school is great, Brennan is great. Emmy? Is not.<br />
<br />
Little Emmy is cutting molars. She also learned how to climb out of her crib a few weeks ago, and in general just seems to be out of sorts. So many tears, all day, every day. It is equal parts exhausting and comical. In some ways I think she has had the hardest time adjusting to the move. Maybe it was because she didn't understand what was happening ahead of time? Or maybe it has to do with toddler development? I'm not sure. Either way, my little Emmy hasn't quite found her footing in Colorado yet.<br />
<br />
But three out of four isn't bad, right?<br />
<br />Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-91115113744769544102013-03-27T00:04:00.001-07:002013-03-27T00:15:25.165-07:00three picturesMy sweet little non-sleeper is five months old. I just love his smile. <br />
<br />
For those who are interested, I am still nursing. I have decided to try breaking the nursing-for-comfort habit and see where it gets us. After all, if I weaned him and he still woke up at night I would be really sad about it.<br />
<br />
And this is my little girl in her new (from a thrift store) spring skirt. In Alabama she would wear it with a t-shirt and sandals. Here, she has on a long-sleeved shirt, sweater, leggings, and snow boots. But she still has on her new spring skirt.<br />
<br />
Finally, this picture was taken in the parking lot of a place called Majestic View Park. Don't you think it was well named? <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy1sCpNKkrIxhG1t0kQhC4WlQwjsfV3MTZ8pHxNUBe8UIiSQc-GeJkwWwVl_D2L5v22rJttWymMBxaFXCev6UiITHa6fhJLYCxW0Y3AKzWprRGL5OxmhHmFEL3PBp4X82dEWM5/s640/blogger-image--1369743906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy1sCpNKkrIxhG1t0kQhC4WlQwjsfV3MTZ8pHxNUBe8UIiSQc-GeJkwWwVl_D2L5v22rJttWymMBxaFXCev6UiITHa6fhJLYCxW0Y3AKzWprRGL5OxmhHmFEL3PBp4X82dEWM5/s640/blogger-image--1369743906.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEANqPLBAtNG2EFwFBUYAmTG-mgKCJpd9KcQtEnj59QCXwChok9zzp5bJOjxRvwAFRmUs3G-E5SfDE3wbyLwgUSwAM_hCE9wgVzSfGmvkdbzjm4C3vx3b2TZKVwdBdUxYa1-lN/s640/blogger-image--1248548825.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEANqPLBAtNG2EFwFBUYAmTG-mgKCJpd9KcQtEnj59QCXwChok9zzp5bJOjxRvwAFRmUs3G-E5SfDE3wbyLwgUSwAM_hCE9wgVzSfGmvkdbzjm4C3vx3b2TZKVwdBdUxYa1-lN/s640/blogger-image--1248548825.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTfLKhPtMnsnd_1U_MTcSjruBW4N9uSG6IaqlEO7fAviDLQb-jqh_nMX5Giq08gom8QL868jtmmtqWnWZxzxziYYIIXPk4HGbw7oQ0Diz6hVYSOrhY_JQHF4wavtOpOOBRau5F/s640/blogger-image-736441423.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTfLKhPtMnsnd_1U_MTcSjruBW4N9uSG6IaqlEO7fAviDLQb-jqh_nMX5Giq08gom8QL868jtmmtqWnWZxzxziYYIIXPk4HGbw7oQ0Diz6hVYSOrhY_JQHF4wavtOpOOBRau5F/s640/blogger-image-736441423.jpg" /></a></div>Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-35738575777619767652013-03-22T18:41:00.001-07:002013-03-22T18:49:18.042-07:00There is a moment in every breast feeding relationship where you have to decide just how badly you want it. <br />
<br />
Tonight, I am there. <br />
<br />
It turns out a baby adjusting to a higher altitude needs to nurse a lot. It also turns out that Brennan is one of those babies who is too curious to eat in a noisy environment (Emmy never cared). The result is that my baby boy is snacking during the day, distracted by his boisterous siblings, and then eating ALL night long. He has been up every two hours for weeks now. All of the night time nursing is taking a toll on my body, which is also adjusting to a higher altitude and needs more water as well.<br />
<br />
Also? He is teething.<br />
<br />
All of this to say, friends, I am exhausted and perpetually dehydrated. <br />
<br />
This is my crossroads. If I am going to give up on nursing, it is going to be now. Nursing is not the emotionally fraught, guilt-ridden topic for me that it is for many moms. I have two healthy, attached, secure little boys who were bottle fed from birth. At the same time, nursing is a sweet experience, and the truth is that with a fourth child most days the only times I really look at him are when he is eating. Also, with so many little ones in and out of his house, the immunity boost matters. And frankly, it is cheap. I don't really want to buy formula for the next seven months. <br />
<br />
Still - every two hours, every single night ... <br />
<br />
I'll keep you posted.<br />
<br />
Good night friends. Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-22559900492552504572013-03-19T05:32:00.002-07:002013-03-19T05:32:51.520-07:00True facts:<br />
<br />
1. Yesterday Emmy took a measuring spoon to nap. A new tablespoon, bright red, which she insisted belonged to her and needed to go night-night. In the moment this seemed like a perfectly reasonable request, and that fact alone proves that I spend most of my time with little kids.<br />
<br />
2. In my house, bread pudding totally counts as breakfast. Pioneer Woman's recipe is in the oven now, and should be ready by the time everyone else wakes up. I keep hearing Bill Cosby in my head: "It's got eggs! And milk!"<br />
<br />
3. Last night I made it home without the GPS! I drove in circles, to be sure, and a ten minute drive took twenty five instead, but still. It's progress.<br />
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4. I have been looking online for local mom's groups and play groups for the past few days. So far I have been unsuccessful at finding anything specifically in our area (I found plenty of groups north and south of here, but none in our area). Then today I met a mom at a park who hosts a larger playgroup (that is also an online mom's group), and invited us to join. I am not sure if this confirms that the Internet is no substitute for face-to-face interaction, or just how inept I am with Google.<br />
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5. Logically one would assume that the more children you have, and the more your day is already ordered by the needs of young children, the easier it would be to create and maintain a routine for a baby. But the opposite is true - the more kids you have (rather, the more kids I have), the harder it is for me to maintain a predictable schedule for the baby. A rhythm to his day, yes. But not a schedule. Anyone else find this to be true?<br />
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6. On a related note, Brennan hasn't slept well since we moved. I keep tinkering with possible issues (does he need a humidifier? A later nap? An earlier nap? Cereal? Is he teething? Is he uncomfortable?) but so far nothing has worked. Last night he was up every two hours. All I can really say is this - anyone who says they know anything about infants and sleep probably has one child. I know a lot of things about parenting - but getting little babies to sleep consistently is clearly not one of them. <br />
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It's a good thing he's so cute.<br />
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<br />Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-24779688712881301782013-03-17T14:53:00.001-07:002013-03-17T19:56:47.410-07:00Hi! How are you guys?<br />
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I know we took off on an adventure I kind of left you out of the loop. I'm sorry about that. There was the predictable chaos of leaving our old house, followed by the predictable chaos of traveling, followed by the predictable chaos of moving into a new house, which was THEN followed by the predictable chaos of a time change (a week after changing time zones, no less) .... and then it's now. <br />
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I do have so much I want to tell you guys.<br />
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Starting with this. This is the backdrop of my life here.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSxqKJ1S5_nOjnT34MPAVejo62IpabqRscZVIec4IRBimEzzs3r_fgNtXZ_yC-kimTyrBPK2xU02uZqKrNTVj03m8H7uSO6PWhztFX-13iZ1ggp2KFQJGRopfcwo38delnlYDM/s640/blogger-image-1783311281.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSxqKJ1S5_nOjnT34MPAVejo62IpabqRscZVIec4IRBimEzzs3r_fgNtXZ_yC-kimTyrBPK2xU02uZqKrNTVj03m8H7uSO6PWhztFX-13iZ1ggp2KFQJGRopfcwo38delnlYDM/s640/blogger-image-1783311281.jpg" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The mountains bring a spiritual undertone to my day that I haven't had in a long time. It's like normal life is going on all around me - going to Target, driving in circles looking for the DMV, realizing I forgot my cash (and my check card is in a fast food dumpster 150 miles east of here, but that's a story for another time), then getting lost on my way home from the DMV - it's all just normal life, but all around me there is a constant visual reminder that daily life is trivial. God is bigger, and sturdier and more constant, than whatever is happening in my day. It is reassuring and beautiful. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Also? A coyote was trotting down the middle of our street this morning. Hand to God.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I guess the obvious question is, how are we settling in? Slowly, slowly, friends. Do you remember the very last scene from <i>Finding Nemo</i>? The aquarium animals all manage to roll across the road ("That was the fastest red light I've EVER seen!") and bounce into the ocean. And then there's a moment when they realize they made it! They're in the ocean! But ... they are still in their little plastic baggies, and now what? I can relate to those fish. Somehow we made it across the country with our kids and dog and twelve (yes, really) boxes of toys. We bounced dangerously along the highway until we landed in the perfect little house in a perfect little corner of Denver. We made it! We're here! And ... now we have to figure out how to actually interact with our new world. It's a little daunting, a little exciting, and absolutely worth every effort to break through.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And so, in the spirit of<i> Finding Nemo</i>, we went to a new kind of church this morning. Brian and I both have been to a similar type of service before, but never together, and never with our children. We fumbled with prayer books and hymnals and quickly coached our children on the etiquette of being blessed at the altar. I listened as the priest sang the liturgy and wondered, is this the place? Could I be here, could my constricted heart reconnect with a constant God in this place? Would these people hear my doubt and hesitation, and still welcome me? I think I could. I think they will. <br />
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There's only one way to find out.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Happy Sunday, friends. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-54701248204269892002013-03-13T06:33:00.001-07:002013-03-13T06:33:34.012-07:00I love this picture. Brennan looks slightly concerned at his blur of a sister beside him. Sounds about right. <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRtjeN0qX35DHHtsGdB_FRT5kzUnL10-xPU1hdcaae_laDvDnE_AH7MACHto_UhT0_0NRSCeYMGbEIX1kLDV7THYHkbaoWeUlKPS1ZTOB1sbecoK6f75rx5pC2pFVbc8R38DTq/s640/blogger-image--1367393764.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRtjeN0qX35DHHtsGdB_FRT5kzUnL10-xPU1hdcaae_laDvDnE_AH7MACHto_UhT0_0NRSCeYMGbEIX1kLDV7THYHkbaoWeUlKPS1ZTOB1sbecoK6f75rx5pC2pFVbc8R38DTq/s640/blogger-image--1367393764.jpg" /></a></div>Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-36352292188057625872013-03-09T15:29:00.001-08:002013-03-09T15:29:06.180-08:00Our first morning in our new house <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKkTBgze6UxK-J2NdIhwMK3ortVDq7T9GUUtvXUkUyiABh7npO7gFvBf2TBMRDPFAC-d5yRzPCpplpAp0CR9bsZc4AWrVDvwE4oPpz6t0HK2CN1VuOSrCa0eIkdOEI8QEluac8/s640/blogger-image-1074158911.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKkTBgze6UxK-J2NdIhwMK3ortVDq7T9GUUtvXUkUyiABh7npO7gFvBf2TBMRDPFAC-d5yRzPCpplpAp0CR9bsZc4AWrVDvwE4oPpz6t0HK2CN1VuOSrCa0eIkdOEI8QEluac8/s640/blogger-image-1074158911.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl6gcRa4GmItb0q2FNXjn1eOLuXwuru23ynYZIxXuhQCQpr39Fxq7PUi__Kn1349f2-URROc5d0hBfGIgk-kV1vg0gKjZ-IKrZOXKRCZPRhjIvvxFG1SqXrEFgudgTLg1Bv4yK/s640/blogger-image--833735474.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjl6gcRa4GmItb0q2FNXjn1eOLuXwuru23ynYZIxXuhQCQpr39Fxq7PUi__Kn1349f2-URROc5d0hBfGIgk-kV1vg0gKjZ-IKrZOXKRCZPRhjIvvxFG1SqXrEFgudgTLg1Bv4yK/s640/blogger-image--833735474.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ0O3uSMvhDVfmC1otumqpkZYSpBZeG_mbRw1FpWPRzGHKbbfZAkq_gVf3FHngVi12NzJdlRmCSaPbnrfEH-RdNjWTqqgib-DU2NrMWk8pXz6GuY0Jnp1bTGQnNLmjaY36m9ka/s640/blogger-image--373941634.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ0O3uSMvhDVfmC1otumqpkZYSpBZeG_mbRw1FpWPRzGHKbbfZAkq_gVf3FHngVi12NzJdlRmCSaPbnrfEH-RdNjWTqqgib-DU2NrMWk8pXz6GuY0Jnp1bTGQnNLmjaY36m9ka/s640/blogger-image--373941634.jpg" /></a></div> <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg09jXNVWTfxJk_-G5KYg0yLbRY6eVU_IDBCOfGFcmrcPHxur4WfmoEYPbfaraXdwgwtVK4lo9qo_rYxXv3mG87xEtOHVaxOSxsSzsh3cEkNX4vrt_1fnHE24Zu-M_BVGo0_DT5/s640/blogger-image--963434468.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg09jXNVWTfxJk_-G5KYg0yLbRY6eVU_IDBCOfGFcmrcPHxur4WfmoEYPbfaraXdwgwtVK4lo9qo_rYxXv3mG87xEtOHVaxOSxsSzsh3cEkNX4vrt_1fnHE24Zu-M_BVGo0_DT5/s640/blogger-image--963434468.jpg" /></a></div>Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-59104254778417137382013-03-08T06:08:00.001-08:002013-03-08T06:09:38.744-08:00http://youtu.be/SswMKsFaHWE<br />
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Lately I have been blogging from my phone, and the technology often befuddles me. So please forgive me for not properly embedding the video and follow the link above. You'll be glad you did. <br />
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We are here in Denver, and signed a lease on a house yesterday, that we will move in to today. I will be back soon to tell you all about driving across Kansas with four small children (that place is like the dark side of the moon), and show you pictures of my sweet little exhausted Emmy with her unruly hair and runny nose, coated I chocolate and asleep in the van as we rolled into town. But for now I offer only the link above. It sounds like hope and energy and has been on repeat in my car for the past two weeks.<br />
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Happy Friday. Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-20709034260320926032013-02-27T20:04:00.001-08:002013-02-27T20:05:51.777-08:00my week in pictures<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
First things first. Here we have the view from my dining room table.</div>
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Whatever chaos I have accepted as part of life with lots of little kids has been compounded. In addition to the regular craziness of life, I am stepping over the contents of the attic, bathing with hand soap, and eating the heels of the bread. Because it's finally here.<br />
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This is is the week we move.<br />
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I took the picture above to show you guys what it's like to move with lots of little kids. The thing is, they don't pause their lives the same way adults do in the middle of upheaval. Boxes or no, there are still lego cars to be built, and lego dinosaurs to chase them. <br />
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When we're not packing, we are buying snow gear<br />
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seeing sweet friends (please pardon me wearing a sling while holding a baby. It happens.)</div>
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finishing up thank you notes and treats for the doctors, teachers, and neighbors who have made our lives much easier for the past seven years<br />
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and dressing up like pirates.<br />
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In addition to all of the moving chaos, Brennan has had several appointments this past week. It turns out that he has torticollis, which means some of the muscles in his neck are shorter/ tighter than they should be. It is treatable, usually mild, and not neurological. In other words, it's not that big of a deal. Except that the therapists and pediatrician all thought his torticollis looked a little ... funny, and wanted to make sure it wasn't anything more significant. So Brennan and I have spent a lot of time doing this<br />
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on x-ray and ultrasound tables. After several days of running around and waiting for the phone to ring, it was determined that he is a perfectly healthy baby boy, with a perfectly normal brain and spine. And I exhaled for the first time all week. <br />
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T minus five days, friends. <br />
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I'll keep you posted. <br />
<br />Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-15766662.post-19166246773456116702013-02-25T04:57:00.001-08:002013-02-25T04:57:31.786-08:00Four months old today. <br/><br/><div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge85Zr0AxC_GIYAscIDv15pqfu6OCP8ipUNm1E-mPjU-NucFbgSwy17BNAN6V_KiKJJj5uzb3FGJtyEAds3J_IWuDhOTCVBZREitvjXEBrESIp_cuM1A8oGeYHmJjN_AmPmEWm/s640/blogger-image--1027016192.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge85Zr0AxC_GIYAscIDv15pqfu6OCP8ipUNm1E-mPjU-NucFbgSwy17BNAN6V_KiKJJj5uzb3FGJtyEAds3J_IWuDhOTCVBZREitvjXEBrESIp_cuM1A8oGeYHmJjN_AmPmEWm/s640/blogger-image--1027016192.jpg" /></a></div>Stephaniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16175187905212028267noreply@blogger.com1