tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56695424808862089542024-02-18T22:29:09.381-06:00Learning As I GoCarinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.comBlogger266125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-28145995552252289682012-12-31T16:14:00.003-06:002012-12-31T16:14:39.901-06:00Catching Up on Birthday Celebrations<div style="text-align: left;">
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As 2012 wraps up, I realize that I didn't post anything about the kids' birthdays this year! And while I know that the interest level others have for your kids' birthdays dwindles as time passes, I still wanted to capture some pictures here! (I finally went back and printed my blog from each year since I began -- go ahead and call it one of my "Nesting Projects of 2012" -- so now I really don't want to miss capturing a birthday on my blog!)</div>
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Okay, and upon discovery that I didn't post birthdays from 2012, I realized that <i>last</i> year, I gave you a <a href="http://caringriffith.blogspot.com/2011/11/preparation.html">little teaser</a> for Rylee's 8th Birthday Party (in November 2011), but never posted pictures from the party! So, we're going to flashback to Rylee's 8th Birthday <u>Fresh Beat Band</u>/music theme Party! (and I am going to resist the urge to re-print my 2011 blog book because it doesn't include this birthday and try to embrace the perfectly-imperfect life I lead!)</div>
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Every
"waiting-to-blow-out-the-candles-and-listening-to-everyone-sing-Happy-Birthday-to-me"
picture we have of Rylee includes this
"I'm-sort-of-embarassed-but-still-think-it's-cool-everyone-is-singing-to-me"
smile!</div>
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I can't think back to a birthday that hasn't included a baby doll, either!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVtKdeF9kdkuwEPOJczexrrV2_M68XbePt7ML_LTaPcuQhN_5D77gWTA-l5kAOKVpMYkZL8ER-SFuDGwGetN3nzQE2MMEhM-bLWC_2iu6QpT1C_TgIrEZxp-1CtfNLc90-vKxhRBdt9wc/s1600/Rylee+with+Baby.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVtKdeF9kdkuwEPOJczexrrV2_M68XbePt7ML_LTaPcuQhN_5D77gWTA-l5kAOKVpMYkZL8ER-SFuDGwGetN3nzQE2MMEhM-bLWC_2iu6QpT1C_TgIrEZxp-1CtfNLc90-vKxhRBdt9wc/s640/Rylee+with+Baby.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkt29V8kC-f1gz7jRCTl9AL6pJ2Q8FFy31BBHYtmmaCMt-Zyy8bq6JzQULTvW22hjqg5iE2bLvYGbWa-0ibIHi5eiFbuNCb6D5_dOb1FR2USUYvDgyxeTkmV7BZ83qmCeh4l9p2ufqK8M/s1600/Opening+Presents.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>Brother just as excited about the presents as Sister!</div>
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Rylee's friend (and brother! :) party included some hotel pool swimming and tasty little cupcake drums!</div>
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And now for 2012! We combined Barbie and Butterflies to make this year's theme! (Thanks to the inspiration of a very talented, cake-makin' friend of mine, Sara Crane...<a href="https://www.facebook.com/saracranecakes?ref=ts&fref=ts"> find her on Facebook </a>to see her awesome cakes!)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXeZ6dfIcsMGzN1E9FF0y88l16ZtyO67xLZcsXA60Cynl8KR6WluNy6vB9ME7xOhpBc9D6ZVKcN293RGhv3ya-aJS3O1VfQbIM7GZSu59jBx0Byn05mvqFyWReJISoaYa_fuKSC6cMKUc/s1600/Rylee+Birthday+Invite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXeZ6dfIcsMGzN1E9FF0y88l16ZtyO67xLZcsXA60Cynl8KR6WluNy6vB9ME7xOhpBc9D6ZVKcN293RGhv3ya-aJS3O1VfQbIM7GZSu59jBx0Byn05mvqFyWReJISoaYa_fuKSC6cMKUc/s640/Rylee+Birthday+Invite.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Rylee wanted a picture with baby sister! </div>
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Love seeing the little things she picks up from her friends at school! A hand heart!</div>
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Apparently I didn't capture "the look" as everyone was singing to her, but I can promise you it was there!</div>
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Posing with some of her fav gifts!</div>
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For her friend party, Rylee had some friends over in the new addition
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absolutely hilarious 9-year-old movin' and groovin' to her new Just
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Easy <strike>and not even remotely creative</strike> butterfly cupcakes for the friend party... (energy level very much starting to deteriorate at this point in pregnancy!) The girls didn't care... give them 2 cupcakes each and they'll think you're the best birthday party host ever anyway!</div>
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Here is the thank you card I made for her friends.... typical young girls making faces and having fun!</div>
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Between these 2 parties for Rylee, Carter turned 5, and celebrated with Chuggington! Once again, <a href="http://caringriffith.blogspot.com/2012/04/somehow.html">I blogged about how grown up he was, and even posted his invitation</a>, but never got back to the fun of the day!<div style="text-align: left;">
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After looking at lots of Chuggington cakes online, Carter was completely sold on the idea of having REAL TOYS on his cake... toys that he could HAVE and PLAY WITH after the party! (He didn't realize that because of that, it was actually one of the easiest cakes I've made!)</div>
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And a few moments from the day! (I shouldn't have scheduled his haircut so close to party day... it makes him look so grown up!)</div>
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So, now we're caught up! Rylee is 9, Carter is 5, and we're <strike>sort of</strike> prepared to celebrate Jordyn's 18th Birthday and the arrival of Baby Girl in January! 2013 is going to be a big year for our family! Happy New Year, everyone!</div>
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(And once again, Blogger is reminding me that I'm not always in control... after struggling with text positioning and spacing issues for 20 minutes, I'm hitting "Publish" and not looking back!... <strike>well, maybe I'll try to fix it later before I print my 2012 blog</strike>.)</div>
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Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-32544453506440078292012-12-01T08:05:00.001-06:002012-12-01T08:05:25.406-06:00Happy Holidays 2012!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-19266318138765396722012-11-22T21:46:00.000-06:002012-11-22T21:53:34.231-06:00Being Okay With That<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;">This time of year, I think a lot about traditions. Traditions are right up my alley... Consistent. Predictable. Orderly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I try to create traditions for our kids. And I love doing so, especially with photos. A photo of Rylee in front of her classroom in Kindergarten, 1st Grade, 2nd Grade. A photo of Carter wrapping presents when he was 3 years old, 4 years old.... it's so neat to see how the kids have grown and changed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">But these "traditions"? It's awesome when I can keep them up, but I'll be honest... they are a bit pressure-filled at times.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Ever since Rylee's first 4th of July, we started taking a family picture. (Okay, I'll admit... the first few years they were actually taken ON the 4th of July. Another kid later and my goal was simply to take the picture in the month of July. <strike>One month we actually took them at the beginning of August, but I still filed the photos in with my July photos. I'm just a rebel like that.</strike>)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This summer, we didn't take one. Even as I type that, I have to fight the feeling of disappointment. I want to cut myself some slack by reminding me that I felt miserable all summer with this pregnancy. And though I think now it really wouldn't have been that big a deal to take 30 minutes one Sunday to take some pictures, at the time I remember it being an overwhelming task... one that was overshadowed by the daily must-dos. (And believe me, I was feeling so rotten that the "must-dos" were all that made the "to-do" list!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Though I believe the kids will value some of our traditions one day, the reality is that I am probably the only one who will notice if we don't always do things like we did before. (And even then, as I get older and my brain is challenged to recall whether I brushed my teeth or not, even <u>I</u> may not notice in 2012 we didn't take a 4th of July picture.)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I know the disappointment is soley mine. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And honestly, I know that it isn't even all about the actual photos. It's about the loss of control. The inability to have things consistent, predictable, and orderly. All the time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">But, I am reminded time and
time again that life isn't consistent, predictable, or orderly.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And I'm working, very hard, on being okay with that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> * * * * *</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Another family photo tradition is Thanksgiving... four years ago, just shortly before Thanksgiving, we got our dog Zoe, so we began a "tradition" of taking our pictures with her on the couch. Nothing creative... no beautiful, natural light -- just simply the camera on auto with <strike>an unflattering harsh</strike> flash to capture those who would sit and smile...<strike> or just sit.</strike></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Thanksgiving 2008</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Thanksgiving 2010</span></span></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Thanksgiving 2011</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Thanksgiving 2012</span></span></span></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"><span style="font-size: small;">I<span style="font-size: small;">'m not going to po<span style="font-size: small;">int out that, aside from the <span style="font-size: small;">fact that we have no <span style="font-size: small;">4th of July famil<span style="font-size: small;">y photo for 2012, we also do not have <span style="font-size: small;">family<span style="font-size: small;">+<span style="font-size: small;">Zoe </span></span>Thanksgivin<span style="font-size: small;">g photos from 2009<span style="font-size: small;">. (And I have no pregnancy-indu<span style="font-size: small;">ced nausea to <span style="font-size: small;">blame for that one.)</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Life isn't consisten<span style="font-size: small;">t<span style="font-size: small;">. <span style="font-size: small;">Or orderly. Or pre<span style="font-size: small;">dictable.</span></span></span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And I'm working, very hard, on being okay with that.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">*<span style="font-size: small;"> A<span style="font-size: small;">fter I <span style="font-size: small;">posted this, I noticed <span style="font-size: small;">one of <span style="font-size: small;">the photos doesn't line up with the rest<span style="font-size: small;"> (though <span style="font-size: small;">it shows that it does in my draft.)</span></span> </span></span></span></span></span></span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">It's also showing a m<span style="font-size: small;">uch <span style="font-size: small;">smaller font size tha<span style="font-size: small;">n it's supposed to.<span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span></span></span>After 20<span style="font-size: small;"> <span style="font-size: small;">minutes of trying to fix <span style="font-size: small;">things, the font is still too small, the photo is still not lining up.</span></span></span></span></span></span></span></span> <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></span></span>Thanks Blogger. I neede<span style="font-size: small;">d just one <span style="font-size: small;">more reminder that life isn't orderly.</span></span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 16px;"></span></span>Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-27327168474438070822012-10-31T09:01:00.000-05:002012-10-31T09:02:04.697-05:00Happy Halloween!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-6852615693318042992012-10-24T10:43:00.001-05:002012-10-24T10:44:58.006-05:00Letter to 3rd Grade Classmates' Parents<div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">When Rylee was in Kindergarten and 1st Grade, I wrote a "Letter
from Rylee" to send home with her classmates, written to their parents
(you can read that letter <a href="http://caringriffith.blogspot.com/2010/08/letter-from-rylee-new-friends.html">here</a>.)<br /><br />Last year, Rylee began 2nd Grade, and I knew it had to be different. I am
often approached by other parents as to how they can appropriately and
positively talk to their children about disabilities. We all want to
raise children who are very accepting and appreciative of differences in
others, but it can sometimes be difficult to know exactly what to say
or how to say it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So, last year's letter wasn't
written from Rylee's perspective, but instead Jeremy's and mine. It
went home with all of her 2nd grade classmates (for their parents) the
first week of school, and we got really kind feedback!</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Before deciding what to do this year, wanted to stand back and re-evaluate. I know there are differing opinions among parents of children with various abilities... some believe that sending a letter is not a good idea, because it points out to parents/kids that there are differences and it's counterproductive to the whole idea of "everyone has differences and we should just accept each other." There are others who feel that the kids will inevitably notice differences and it's important for us as parents of the child to promote understanding and acceptance by bringing it up. Honestly, I think there is some validity to both thoughts! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">So, this summer, I reached out to some parents of Rylee's classmates -- parents who have become friends of mine and whose opinions I value. I wanted to get their thoughts on the letter in general, as well as specific thoughts they may have about what the letter could include to be most helpful. Finding out what questions their children have asked them about Rylee would help give me a perspective I don't have. The responses were heart-warming... all of them supported and appreciated the letter, and some shared their thoughts. (These parents have given me permission to share their thoughts!)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"As a parent, it gave me better insight into what to expect and gave me the verbiage to help explain this to (my child.) It's always good review. It also made me very comfortable with (my son) having a child with a disABILITY in his class because I knew the parents were very involved. Your letter has helped us build a community for their class."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"(My son) hasn't really said much. He enjoys having Rylee in his class. When in Kindergarten, I explained about genes and how some kids are born with an extra set. This just means you need to be patient, stand up for her if kids are not being nice, help her in school when possible, etc... which is exactly what I would hope you would do for anyone in your school. Since that conversation in Kindergarten, (my son) has accepted it at face value."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;">"I love that your daughter is part of the canvas of the class of 2023... it makes every difference, normal."</span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
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"I love your letters. I have always found them informative and useful. Especially the first one in Kindergarten, I was SO thankful for that letter. Now that (my daughter) and Rylee are such good friends, she doesn't have any questions. I understand the dilemma about the letters... but in my opinion I think it would be great if every child sent home a letter outlining some of their differences. . . don't you feel like as humans we are more accepting and understanding of others differences if we understand where they come from? Rylee is a wonderful child and I'm glad she is (my daughter's) friend."<br />
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<br />
"I think that a letter is a great idea. I feel that kids are very eager to learn and will take whatever information you give them. I think it is better for them to be informed about what they can expect rather than have something come up that they don't know how to deal with."<br />
<br />
"I strongly believe that information is key, and kids will react much better to anything that comes their way if they have the proper information."<br />
<br />
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* * * * *</div>
</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">If you are a parent of a child with different abilities trying to decide if a letter (or something similar) is right for your situation, hopefully these comments will give you some insight into the benefits of a letter!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This year when Rylee began 3rd grade, I just tweaked last year's letter... Rylee
is very lucky to have wonderful friends with amazingly supportive
parents! Rylee continues to grow up with a tremendous support system around her at
school! </span><br />
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Dear Parents,<br />
<br />
Can you believe we have kids in 3rd
grade?! Many of your children have been here at our Elementary School
since Kindergarten, so we already know you! But there are others who may
be new to the school. We thought it might be helpful to write to you.
As our kids grow and change, they notice more, inquire more, and
understand more.<br />
<br />
Our daughter, Rylee, is a fun little
girl with a dynamic personality. She has an infectious giggle, and loves
playing with her baby dolls and reading books. Besides being very “typical”, she
also has Down syndrome. Your child might come home with questions for
you, wanting to know more about Rylee. As parents of a child with Down
syndrome, we are often asked how to address some of these questions.
Below are some common questions and answers that we hope are helpful.<br />
<br />
Research
has shown that children with Down syndrome benefit from being placed in
a regular education class, receiving their education alongside
typically developing children of their own age. Typically developing
peers give children with Down syndrome the role models they need to
acquire new skills, encourage age-appropriate behavior, develop
independence and friendships.<br />
<br />
It’s also important to <u>
your</u> child! Studies have shown that inclusion is beneficial to the other
children in the class. Inclusion facilitates greater understanding,
patience and compassion as well as learning to be supportive of one
another. Children also learn to value diversity and to appreciate that
everyone has something beneficial to bring to the life of the school and
the community.<br />
<br />
We are grateful for the support that
Rylee has had here at our Elementary School! We appreciate being in a
school that teaches understanding and embraces and values differences!<br />
<br />
We
look forward to a great year in (Mrs. Smith’s) classroom and can’t wait
to share this school year with you all! If you have any questions,
please feel free to ask!<br />
<br />
Sincerely , Carin & Jeremy Griffith<br />
(phone number and email address)<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
* * * * *</div>
<br />
<u>Thoughts on Talking to Your Children About Down Syndrome:</u><br />
<br />
<u>What Is Down Syndrome?</u><br />
<br />
“Our
bodies are made up of cells, which are so tiny that we would need a
special microscope to see them! Inside these cells are even tinier
things called chromosomes. These carry the directions that tell our
bodies how to grow. People with Down syndrome have an extra chromosome.
This means that the growing plan works differently than other people. If
someone has Down syndrome, they have that extra chromosome before they
are even born. It’s not a disease or sickness, so you can’t “catch” Down
syndrome from someone who has it. If someone is born with Down
syndrome, they will always have it. Often people with Down syndrome look
a little bit like each other, but they also look a lot like their
parents and brothers and sisters.”<br />
<br />
<u>What Does Down Syndrome Mean to Someone Who Has It?</u><br />
<br />
•
“Kids with Down syndrome will be able to do nearly all the things that
other kids do. They just may take a little longer to learn them. They
may also have to work harder to learn them. Some kids may have to work
harder to speak clearly; others may need to work harder to learn to skip
or jump rope.”<br />
<br />
• “Having Down syndrome also means that
there may be muscles in the body that don’t work like other kids; for
example, being able to control going to the bathroom may take a little
longer.”<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">(At this point, it’s
helpful to discuss with children the things that are easy for them to
do, and things they needed to practice more to do them... such as,
“Remember when you found it hard to _______? It helped you to have extra
time, lots of practice, and some help when you needed it.”)</span><br />
<br />
•
“Kids with Down syndrome have some extra teachers who will help them,
in addition to your classroom teacher. These teachers have different
classrooms where the kids will go during the school day for a while, and
they help the kids work on things that may be more difficult for them.
Kids with Down syndrome may also have an aide who will help them if they
need it.”<br />
<br />
<u>What Can You Do to Be a Friend to Someone with Down Syndrome?</u><br />
<br />
•
“The most important thing you can do is remember that kids with Down
syndrome are KIDS FIRST! They feel, love, play, laugh, learn and have
fun just like you! They would like to be treated as you would treat any
of your friends. They may not do all the things that you do, but they
are not babies and would be hurt if you treated them that way.”<br />
<br />
•
“It’s important that you not do things for them... it’s better if you
can show them how to do something so they can learn to do it themselves.
If they do not understand the rules, help them!”<br />
<br />
•
“You can be a good friend to them by being patient and kind. Even though
kids with Down syndrome may not be as quick or as good at something
than you, give them a turn! Give them a chance to show you something
they are good at!<br />
<br />
• “If they do something silly, don’t laugh at them... instead just show them a different way to do it.”<br />
<br />
•
“If you don’t understand what someone with Down syndrome said, politely
ask them to say it again or ask an adult to help you understand.”<br />
<br />
<u>Different and Same</u><br />
<br />
•
“Look around your classroom... you will see that all of your classmates
look different. Here are some things that you might notice: Kids have
differently colored hair & eyes, and have different shapes to
our faces and bodies. Some kids learn quickly, while some take longer to
learn. Some kids like to run, while others would prefer to read a book.
Some kids are very friendly, while some feel shy. Everyone is unique!
You don’t have to be exactly the same to like being together, to be
friends or just to be classmates.”<br />
<br />
• “There are also
ways that make all kids the same! Kids with Down syndrome actually are
more ALIKE you than they are DIFFERENT. You laugh at funny things and
cry when you are sad. Kids with Down syndrome do, too. You get upset
sometimes and make mistakes. Kids with Down syndrome do, too. You like
it when kids are kind to you and you cry if people make fun of you. Kids
with Down syndrome do, too. You like to have fun with your friends,
learn new things, and feel good about yourself. Kids with Down syndrome
do, too.”<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">We hope this is helpful to you! Thanks for spreading awareness about Down syndrome!</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">If you would like to read other "Letters from Rylee",</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">please click on "Letters from Rylee" at the top.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">(You may then click on each letter to download a pdf file.)</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Thanks for passing along and helping to raise awareness!</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">© 201<span style="font-size: small;">2</span> Carin Griffith • Disability Awareness Alliance™</span></div>
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Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-24510106843796042842012-08-20T22:20:00.000-05:002012-10-23T08:50:28.192-05:00Back to School<div style="text-align: left;">
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The house sounded very different this morning. Zoe stretched out beside
my office chair, already sensing the change that's taken place. (No
more days filled with play forts and constant cuddles.)</div>
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<img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhop0_y1kRoKhiGqCQhvTYbmOIMZIkUDyS_a_Rb1WFU6W9lXkxm6CibkIfSxq3tTPxsxYE_Dc_haTIHGJV79kd9u7YOOgrmO1YUhiXuUOPI1uWyckH0KQ129zqG_vav8mH9PuQz-U-NZ5LG/s400/Zoe+Cuddles.jpg" width="400" /> </div>
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I knew this morning would bring on a mixture of emotions, and I was right. Today, I was by myself, though the sounds of my rumbling tummy that needs to eat every hour and the fact that I sat a few inches further away from my desk reminded me that being alone with not last very long. Part of me wanted to dive right in to tackle my to-do list that's been growing for years, but there was part of me that wanted to lie on the couch and watch <u>The View</u>.</div>
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Another school year. This is the first year Jordyn's been living with us on the first day, so we got to capture all three kiddos... everyone experiencing "firsts" and "lasts," depending on how you look at it. </div>
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Senior. 3rd Grader. Kindergartner. (pre-hair comb for Rylee, so please ignore the fly-aways) </div>
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<img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEii6okL_Gnj4dVDSJKgEYCW6MXJdimThfRwOmJtShnY6MzZdUV7xJ3BX3MT0XSOUD6ja6mzH0uJ8gLE4haFfsU6zCVUzGw2HQnZFT-2YgyBzkeojPHelnIug89fHubLMti376bQ5E1us532/s640/3+Kids.jpg" width="640" /></div>
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Last year, Carter got to tag along to Back-to-School Open House. No backpack. No classroom to visit. No school supplies to drop off.</div>
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This year, it was different.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlDlv-pJZJBu9MN3gzGt3-E9SINC5JMhEHI92UnstFkZQyFMiEcNeo4L4d6V2_8vwt9UesfxQVAUZka5CV4oN5W6s80nYtcuMxyu2lJjFE2-vQ7A7axG8YZnbWtH2OjLvbR3ShoA_s56jE/s1600/Walking+to+Open+House.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlDlv-pJZJBu9MN3gzGt3-E9SINC5JMhEHI92UnstFkZQyFMiEcNeo4L4d6V2_8vwt9UesfxQVAUZka5CV4oN5W6s80nYtcuMxyu2lJjFE2-vQ7A7axG8YZnbWtH2OjLvbR3ShoA_s56jE/s640/Walking+to+Open+House.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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When Rylee started Kindergarten, he was barely able to see above the bar across the window to the classroom. </div>
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He peeked in, though, wondering what Rylee would do in there.</div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgouQwFl78EYCZ3_Phuj7K4YS-4zjMoSs5pih3vUO_t953aRljKNPDgs9zN5xnb2yL8aOiyMFbQxXFceqC_o-iWaf8DdqV1xkKcVgPckZDMxbtkYC0xU1FWVVCXdw8fmHWc3ZCgr424VxwT/s1600/Rylee+Kindergarten+Door.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="449" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgouQwFl78EYCZ3_Phuj7K4YS-4zjMoSs5pih3vUO_t953aRljKNPDgs9zN5xnb2yL8aOiyMFbQxXFceqC_o-iWaf8DdqV1xkKcVgPckZDMxbtkYC0xU1FWVVCXdw8fmHWc3ZCgr424VxwT/s640/Rylee+Kindergarten+Door.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rylee's Kindergarten Open House 2009</td></tr>
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This year, it was Rylee peeking in, remembering her year of Kindergarten in that very same classroom with the very same teacher, while Carter stood proudly, holding up his new Spiderman backpack and feeling every right to be there. (And <i>definitely</i> tall enough to see above the bar across the window.)</div>
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With big sister there to help if she was needed, Carter found his mailbox...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE1nHveo-fichMNYxmDCTbomaoMg27r1f6ykc2J49G787s7195kXkKDBYD8U4MVZdR7yZ1ga7hlea2TsH0dDL8B424OmLqYjXtUnqj2HLEAXKufky5qMj_pz9SMg0m4tvTZ00jr6zx22Wg/s1600/Carter+Mailbox.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE1nHveo-fichMNYxmDCTbomaoMg27r1f6ykc2J49G787s7195kXkKDBYD8U4MVZdR7yZ1ga7hlea2TsH0dDL8B424OmLqYjXtUnqj2HLEAXKufky5qMj_pz9SMg0m4tvTZ00jr6zx22Wg/s640/Carter+Mailbox.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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and took a little sneak-peek at all of the fun toys there would be to play with. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnB3MP_DBvaEmIhcWJmw41ltUUrZZd9G3cIQWYOIgMmzNipshTyE5NzJaOKhWpWt2LxVrTfYhHnc1ja0zmPFS3PWXdfZ2xWoVWdqzj-ANGWTUJNtQjblA-Upy33dD_HGNVDN0v_d_btFkN/s1600/Carter+Toys.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnB3MP_DBvaEmIhcWJmw41ltUUrZZd9G3cIQWYOIgMmzNipshTyE5NzJaOKhWpWt2LxVrTfYhHnc1ja0zmPFS3PWXdfZ2xWoVWdqzj-ANGWTUJNtQjblA-Upy33dD_HGNVDN0v_d_btFkN/s640/Carter+Toys.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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I didn't capture too much of Rylee's visit to her classroom.... we spent most of the time in Rylee's classroom with Carter begging for pizza and Rylee wanting to put her school supplies where <i>she</i> wanted them and not where her teacher's "direction sheet" said they needed to go. Jeremy somehow got caught up in the hallway talking to someone, and I was desperately trying to get tissue boxes with tissue boxes and hand sanitizer with hand sanitizer while reassuring Carter we'd eat when we got home. We ended the Open House with me shoving all of Rylee's school supplies back in her backpack to take home to re-mark with a "G." after "Rylee." Apparently another sweet little Rylee (spelled the same) made her way to Rylee's classroom this year. </div>
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The night before school started, we did just what should be done...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNtpt-jGHEBkkvicOuKYQfCh3SyUwEx78_N9leiX_QwQmNE753inIZTZmU-XIRag16EASEsm5ZITBG3EgLz_ce7r6Ud6WLUJYssU_GQ40YK50yYid_cUOL_o7gRPjx9HI6roC9ymq7-_w5/s1600/Carter+Kind.+Book.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNtpt-jGHEBkkvicOuKYQfCh3SyUwEx78_N9leiX_QwQmNE753inIZTZmU-XIRag16EASEsm5ZITBG3EgLz_ce7r6Ud6WLUJYssU_GQ40YK50yYid_cUOL_o7gRPjx9HI6roC9ymq7-_w5/s640/Carter+Kind.+Book.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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just like we did when Rylee started Kindergarten.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNtpt-jGHEBkkvicOuKYQfCh3SyUwEx78_N9leiX_QwQmNE753inIZTZmU-XIRag16EASEsm5ZITBG3EgLz_ce7r6Ud6WLUJYssU_GQ40YK50yYid_cUOL_o7gRPjx9HI6roC9ymq7-_w5/s1600/Carter+Kind.+Book.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_568EeI6jKzE8bDpzujz2ssHkguTfQyxDPOKSTdNEttRxMGFux_05itJStrRcstjvyuE_S62lMfMMfaQMoF0hC20PCd6yJjzN2Azk-6xLmEj5-YbPBJPBn9ginE4yZJjOAAscS2k53N7q/s1600/Kindergarten+Door.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPYUELqNRHZ2pBXl7pmcmUWUPGwqqtwmK6Re8EOwYdWLQ4wcfB1C-y4zor8G25PyhxARxiNCE6gQ91JCEZiFOGLOIDA7PYgsD3eUgXwNprC1p6AjP-Cfl5URUbRz3smVWPGuwX0aNmGR7/s640/Rylee+Kindergarten+Book.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Night Before Kindergarten for Rylee 2009</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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(And to Natasha Wing, who authors the cutest <u>The Night Before...</u> books -- I'd like to make a request. </div>
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<u>The Night Before Kindergarten</u> and <u>The Night Before First Grade</u> are adorable, but neither Rylee nor Carter were thrilled that I was changing words to say <u>The Night Before Third Grade</u> for Rylee. If you could continue up from First Grade, the kids and I would appreciate it!)</div>
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This morning, before school, we did our traditional "with Mom" and "with Dad" photos... </div>
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After pictures, we were off to school (and during the car ride, I tried to talk to the kids about what awesome days at school they would have, but honestly I was mentally planning how I was going to capture <i>both</i> kids playing on the playground, standing in line with their backpacks, walking into school, etc. at the same time. I was preparing myself for one kid to get a few less pictures of "first-day-of-school-on-the-playground.")</div>
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It didn't take but a few minutes on the playground, and Rylee had found her friends. (Actually, her friends found her!) A few more joined the group, and suddenly, arms were around each other and first-day-of-school smiles covered their faces. Apparently, they know this Mom likes to take pictures. I love her friends.</div>
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And <i>this</i>, my friend, is inclusion at it's best.</div>
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Rylee ran off with her friends to play, and when it was time for Dad to head to work, she willingly gave a quick hug and she was back at the monkey bars. (She really wanted the hug from Dad, despite the fact that her face doesn't look quite as interested!)</div>
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(This is where my earlier preparation paid off... no pictures of Rylee lining up when the bell rang, or heading in with her class. I'm telling myself I'm okay with this, but I'm not promising that I won't take pictures of her lining up and going into school with her class <i>tomorrow</i>.)</div>
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And now for Carter... finding his Kindergarten line took a little time, but once located, Carter carefully placed his backpack so he could run off to play.</div>
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He played for a few minutes, even saying "hi" to some kids he knew from preschool and baseball, but chose to follow Dad and me over to Rylee for a few pictures.</div>
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When the bell rang, he couldn't run to his line fast enough. He was excited and confident, and it was then that I realized I'd forgotten something... tissues. My sunglasses hid the tears forming in my eyes, but did nothing to hide my runny nose. The sound of that bell made me feel a twinge of sadness... and though I tried to quickly turn my feelings of "he's leaving me" to "he's growing up and so ready for this," the tears didn't stop.</div>
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While standing in line, his Dad and I watched him... he glanced around at all the kids while shielding his eyes from the bright sun. Every now and then, he'd look over at us and smile... sometimes wave. I saw what he was feeling. Excitement. Anxiety. Anticipation. Uneasiness. All of those feelings were there.</div>
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And I just wanted to run over to him and say, "I have those feelings, too, buddy."</div>
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But instead, I smiled a big smile (and turned away to wipe my nose on my sleeve, swearing next year I'd remember tissues.)</div>
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Jeremy and I went over for one more hug...</div>
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And stood back to let him go.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk8g1o3zLzAkEWqGOgLZJ-c9hC1u8pUzyx4giZM1kU3x98VffyeR5rZFfsBK9XGSJt2FXg0j45EQ3306gc8PibemjpY4vxBj9qnDjEaCAd884sYrQB_rkOzkDM6NzHy5T71xWH3L7bCiss/s1600/Carter+Runs+to+Door.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTX29GEoUxLYDNW8Sq3P8Z54O1opj2nsKjLndP_ih3LQO202_-PysSvJrql1PuqN3Cz9ElZI3kmXO0ELNw8lFSuB_2nj2zo8HEz3UpfC0s_cAGF2H2Dm2hwrXTbelynnmPsmRG66Oa4jQR/s1600/Carter+Goes+In.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTX29GEoUxLYDNW8Sq3P8Z54O1opj2nsKjLndP_ih3LQO202_-PysSvJrql1PuqN3Cz9ElZI3kmXO0ELNw8lFSuB_2nj2zo8HEz3UpfC0s_cAGF2H2Dm2hwrXTbelynnmPsmRG66Oa4jQR/s640/Carter+Goes+In.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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Now, you'd think that the photos would end there. But I was back at the school at lunchtime to help out... the school's lunch program changed and the Principal was short a few lunchroom helpers. We'll just pretend that I wanted to help out simply because I had the time to help and thought it was a generous thing to do. The fact that I'd get to see Carter eat his first-ever school lunch, and see Rylee try out school lunch for one of the first times (she's always brought cold lunch) didn't influence me at all. *wink*</div>
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Can't go wrong with pizza.</div>
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After helping at lunch, I ran a few errands, and before I knew it, I was back at the school, waiting outside for this big kid, who came running out with a big hug and a story about how the Gingerbread Man left clues all over the school, and that I needed to learn how to make Gingerbread Cookies. <br />
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We headed to the 3rd Grade door to wait for Rylee.</div>
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We waited and waited and finally decided to head inside to get her.</div>
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Rylee also had a big hug for me, and told us about her day of PE and pizza. (I was just happy she wasn't requesting I learn to bake anything.)</div>
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Ahhh... two happy, tired big kiddos after their first day of school!</div>
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It was a day filled with emotions. I know I will get used to being by myself during the day... and I will balance my days with relaxation and errands, time for myself and to-do lists, knowing that in 5 months, my life will change again.</div>
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However, I did find myself offering to help with lunch again tomorrow... </div>
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you know, just for one more day.</div>
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Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-76720996428750716762012-06-08T20:27:00.001-05:002012-06-08T20:28:23.836-05:00News from the Kids<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-12412350619435691322012-05-23T09:44:00.001-05:002012-05-23T09:44:07.125-05:00Wordless Wednesday (Kisses in the Wind)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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August 2006 - 2 years 9 months old<br />Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-85250805328057939132012-05-20T22:19:00.000-05:002012-05-20T22:19:23.662-05:00Change... and MusclesChange is so bittersweet.<br />
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I had tears the last day of school for both kids, wishing we could stay with the wonderful teachers they'd had all year, but knowing that the kids had learned so much and were ready to move on. And I know that more wonderful teachers are waiting for them. Bittersweet.<br />
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Then you have the less momentous change, but change none-the-less. <br />
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I open Blogger to find that revisions have been made. "Posting in Blogger is more wonderful than before!" they claim. Well, that's just great, and boy am I ever excited to find out about the "wonderful" changes they have made, but really, I'd just like to find where I click to post a new entry. See... bittersweet.<br />
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Summer is here for our family, and we've already had some fun adventures! My "Blog About..." list continues to grow, and (sadly) includes "Rylee's 8th Birthday" (from November), as well as all the fun events and holidays since then. I hope to recap some of the highlights in more blog posts in the near future...<br />
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for now, I'll leave you with this strong, handsome little boy who is very into showing everyone (and anyone) his muscles! (And please don't tell him I called him "little"... it doesn't go over well with this FIVE year old!)<br />
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<br />Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-31761712000688636922012-04-13T09:00:00.003-05:002012-04-13T09:06:48.860-05:00Somehow<div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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Because somehow, he went from this...</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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He also started t-ball... and though he definitely doesn't catch every ball or hit every time, he tries hard, keeps at it, and smiles -- and really, what else matters? <br />
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He loves riding 4-wheeler with his Dad, and somehow, he's now old enough to learn to drive his own. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgJkvWS4lmb7usRQJXuf3QOrFFLPVRQLqisHbMXdwh4cUuD3g5SQYiawnrKSsOYNH0pJYuEIwcoMCCC2_Xww64qDfIUtxvfT0_rlL1poXXhkus-X8wqzfE8DZEJ9lY8lFeygq-8NovdnSf/s1600/Carter+Countdown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">One day he showed me one of his front bottom teeth was loose, </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsI-ede2IzNo-20jIaZKHw_lnKEZLJX3pqU99ydlxACUHvsCQ8vOTJksPfFhddiiJbNjj6dUGFJ18NbMGVOthLjjUXjFHlFqWvfox51qjajfAUToAXp8Riqmw_XCKhgQHDaWUt-se_XK4y/s1600/Carter+Lost+Tooth.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsI-ede2IzNo-20jIaZKHw_lnKEZLJX3pqU99ydlxACUHvsCQ8vOTJksPfFhddiiJbNjj6dUGFJ18NbMGVOthLjjUXjFHlFqWvfox51qjajfAUToAXp8Riqmw_XCKhgQHDaWUt-se_XK4y/s400/Carter+Lost+Tooth.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0HZ1_zv-mHQmAMb0tmLGTgYFDChyphenhyphenE-D0YVR0NrR3d48XDWd1K28eTREawQysb-Ke6NfcDnQg8WKzFnWKglNVdq_9kv5mG-da1e0BN72fMMUVy45aWCo_y7CXuKKD6t3Q1NCbu2onot2wm/s1600/Loose+Tooth.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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and then, somehow, before I knew it, he was handing me his tooth at the park, making Tooth Fairy gift requests before I could even get the tooth wrapped in a tissue for safe-keeping.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Top left: Carter wasn't too impressed with me waking him up after falling asleep on the couch to get a picture of him holding his tooth in his Tooth Fairy pouch.! The Tooth Fairy gives quite a stash of gifts for the <i>very first</i> lost tooth... especially this time, when Mrs. Tooth Fairy bought a gift, and then Mr. Tooth Fairy stopped one day and got a gift also! So, this first tooth of Carter's scored him a lot of stuff!)</span><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"> He used to dislike having any water in his face... washing hair in the bathtub was often upsetting and putting his head under water at swimming lessons was simply out of the question.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH2poCIG7uytJOe1UKsEhg7UoSn3b6oiWeGKzyPktJMQksUSrkcjxQrf795YzAoersom9RJ9pPLXGjJvVkpJdWgXkzfnR-3oaWwd_ILgpdHJ7NAqjF2RSt4f4RSxm_gwzD2BqiPn4TVJLk/s1600/Carter+Swimming.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH2poCIG7uytJOe1UKsEhg7UoSn3b6oiWeGKzyPktJMQksUSrkcjxQrf795YzAoersom9RJ9pPLXGjJvVkpJdWgXkzfnR-3oaWwd_ILgpdHJ7NAqjF2RSt4f4RSxm_gwzD2BqiPn4TVJLk/s640/Carter+Swimming.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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And now, during swimming lessons, his teacher sometimes has a hard time getting him to listen because he'd rather be under the water. <br />
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</a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_2jIFNFtO1X9XBbZAxAQmdvwtVXbdYlD1-EhvhrhrdVzPX4cINEAuTMIrRbMFErdPaNiTjNROKJkbSQwnIPwMNOqOxtHu-Bcn2PeKJs3ZppitHD5vNAAbWjoSU5AabAzDdcN2J2OHJHW/s1600/Carter+Swimming+2.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="456" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA_2jIFNFtO1X9XBbZAxAQmdvwtVXbdYlD1-EhvhrhrdVzPX4cINEAuTMIrRbMFErdPaNiTjNROKJkbSQwnIPwMNOqOxtHu-Bcn2PeKJs3ZppitHD5vNAAbWjoSU5AabAzDdcN2J2OHJHW/s640/Carter+Swimming+2.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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Last year, Rylee mastered the monkey bars, and Carter did his best to keep up. <br />
But, after one bar, he was asking for help.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This spring, on one of our first park visits of the year, he climbed up there to give it another shot. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And somehow, he managed to get across all of the bars without once asking for help.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpf4E0WpbWd5w-I6Zg0vUt9mGgQBah97du4LOm6vwSKdYDdDzUY453EX4h31Di7eRDyGxfdYrQQya6u0XqWyBS1yMnoxB6B_y6hyphenhyphenlDCHFMR7q7akd5hhTpaHTp0M0pjcpWNhAzP3rML3pD/s1600/Monkey+Bars.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">On Sunday, we will celebrate Carter's birthday with a Chuggington party,</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">because, <i>somehow</i>, Carter is already FIVE!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcrlwKbptXEeUXyiyiY_iclA4ecZ9Pe42VYprX4fFIvsSc0joUeOH4doh7j4p8lAyTM4X8MRGwOJi1X-GZHBDCfhs_Gbu8fkRmfsRt97ul0DEyLFrpxybqVdqux65FrjhR1NybT8Ai_tfS/s1600/Carter's+5th+B-day+Invite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Happy Birthday Carter! WE LOVE YOU!<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcrlwKbptXEeUXyiyiY_iclA4ecZ9Pe42VYprX4fFIvsSc0joUeOH4doh7j4p8lAyTM4X8MRGwOJi1X-GZHBDCfhs_Gbu8fkRmfsRt97ul0DEyLFrpxybqVdqux65FrjhR1NybT8Ai_tfS/s1600/Carter's+5th+B-day+Invite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"> </a></div>Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-50980901767550201812012-03-21T23:29:00.000-05:002012-03-21T23:29:06.655-05:003/21/12: World Down Syndrome Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3KmTsgQBO2r8m68z6hqfn6ABIT89r8QHrBMojLiUZjemVLHj7-35KtghIu4r0pR47_p1AmImVOaj5VB60Yj8CyILZBT45Xfy3qZc2BPlGtV5pEfj0wCQx7SaSQNNaa8ZNS_T9RVA2N9UU/s1600/WDSD+Logo" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="147" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3KmTsgQBO2r8m68z6hqfn6ABIT89r8QHrBMojLiUZjemVLHj7-35KtghIu4r0pR47_p1AmImVOaj5VB60Yj8CyILZBT45Xfy3qZc2BPlGtV5pEfj0wCQx7SaSQNNaa8ZNS_T9RVA2N9UU/s400/WDSD+Logo" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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Happy World Down Syndrome Day!<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(hey, I still have 32 minutes left of it anyway!) </span><br />
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In September, when we have our local Buddy Walk, and in October, during Down Syndrome Awareness Month, I share a lot about Down syndrome... Down syndrome facts on Facebook and presentations at Rylee's school.<br />
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So when this day rolls around, (3/21 chosen because individuals with Down syndrome have 3 of the 21st chromosome) I feel like I want to share something a little different.<br />
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I want to share that even though special days or months throughout the year are great for stirring up awareness about Down syndrome, a lot of days I don't even think about Down syndrome.<br />
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Life with a child with Down syndrome is, often times, simply... <i>life with a child</i>.<br />
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So many moments in our lives are similar to moments in the lives of others... <br />
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Our kids argue in the back seat of the car.<br />
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Rylee complains when she has to put away her iPod at bedtime.<br />
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Rylee and Carter love playing on the swingset, and they help each other flip their legs up over the bar to hang upside down like monkeys <strike>and make their Mom incredibly nervous</strike>. <br />
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Our kids complain when we make asparagus, and ask for macaroni and cheese or hot dogs for nearly every meal. <br />
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Rylee loves watching Jordyn do her hair and make-up in the morning, and she tries to put clips and bands in her hair like Jordyn.<br />
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And then there are the moments that others may look at in our life and think, "Well, that's because Rylee has Down syndrome...."<br />
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We take Rylee to Speech Therapy on Mondays after school.<br />
<br />
I go through Rylee's backpack after school each day and look in her communication notebook with her teachers to see how her day went (though Rylee shares a lot about her day herself!)<br />
<br />
We go to Music Therapy on Wednesdays after school and Carter and I play games while Rylee has therapy and sometimes, Carter's called in to join them during the last few minutes of therapy.<br />
<br />
I change the visual schedule on the table each evening at supper and we talk about who Rylee will be seeing the following day at school (therapists, etc.) and what other activities we have going on because Rylee is a very visual learner and she likes to know ahead of time what to expect.<br />
<br />
Those moments are <u>still</u> <i>life with a child</i>. <br />
<br />
They are life with <i>our</i> child.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQcbRKRgdD78_kh71g6xmxA3E7ezxoGraNcg1rFitVAXY33ZZFA1SCcfr9LTwLoj2IxsupURKCypbQQmGosJmakaZRMfupnvrkbEd6zMso16Y7Q-NqXEozfUSEsutfrrsryu1FTKXXBMBb/s1600/Rylee+Swinging.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQcbRKRgdD78_kh71g6xmxA3E7ezxoGraNcg1rFitVAXY33ZZFA1SCcfr9LTwLoj2IxsupURKCypbQQmGosJmakaZRMfupnvrkbEd6zMso16Y7Q-NqXEozfUSEsutfrrsryu1FTKXXBMBb/s640/Rylee+Swinging.jpg" width="457" /></a></div><br />
And life with <i>this</i> child... well, it's pretty darn good.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-35976360068308094412012-03-18T22:04:00.000-05:002012-03-18T22:04:05.515-05:00Different and Same<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Different year. Different day. Different clothes.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkYmirjzBkXu-dqQWlpK9I_RJP3eb3YKmyCch3QpsPYkF_QlwhNcCS9sOo0bbpOj7KUcxb-0zG2fWwgtWoeR01QIhq5_bIiUBZBoHVjNxl4N0dd5ZsGiMyxZYeJeEZraMIc3M6_edcMI6U/s1600/Climbing+Comparison+3-12.jpg" /></div><br />
<br />
Same slide. Same swing. Same boy.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><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/AVvXsEiLndMbHSN6mvVRQsR74ZI3USf4zaomysZ48Mk6qfKhCbKdlxTSQ1DHtne2KALBE1XifJ_lLHdvO3hNrZ6gqwsMY3grqo6jnGcLstT_HjPFCX6zx3r-NeNBMp_86tU4a6B2h15M_fq3_WQ9/s1600/Swinging+Comparison+3-12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLndMbHSN6mvVRQsR74ZI3USf4zaomysZ48Mk6qfKhCbKdlxTSQ1DHtne2KALBE1XifJ_lLHdvO3hNrZ6gqwsMY3grqo6jnGcLstT_HjPFCX6zx3r-NeNBMp_86tU4a6B2h15M_fq3_WQ9/s1600/Swinging+Comparison+3-12.jpg" /></a></div><br />
A few moments today took me back to a younger boy...<br />
<br />
a different age...<br />
<br />
the same love.Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-64089914180816341492012-03-07T13:41:00.004-06:002012-03-07T13:45:39.004-06:00Spread the Word to End the Word: The Next Generation<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYtVjQaETHl1dOYtRbKA3gLiIbDvxALalhk7g3SvIWdNXnPtaUpmfFmH3X7PIO4eQslsgOleIpMAe-0gVO7x5HmNHK6PactceUjVZm_uOR_oVJWd8h3s1j27eB3qXb6RP-q7Szqlh97hAi/s1600/426989_10150526919081157_60375161156_9195290_85173951_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYtVjQaETHl1dOYtRbKA3gLiIbDvxALalhk7g3SvIWdNXnPtaUpmfFmH3X7PIO4eQslsgOleIpMAe-0gVO7x5HmNHK6PactceUjVZm_uOR_oVJWd8h3s1j27eB3qXb6RP-q7Szqlh97hAi/s400/426989_10150526919081157_60375161156_9195290_85173951_n.jpg" width="362" /></a></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Last week Jordyn's basketball team (Brandon Valley) played at a high school nearby, and because of the close proximity of the game, many of our high school's students came to cheer on their team. After the game, Jordyn asked if we had heard one of the chants the opposing team's student section had yelled during the game. Apparently, after a questionable call made by the officials (in favor of our team), the student section of the opposing team began chanting "That's Retarded!" Jeremy and I looked at each other -- and after wondering how in the heck neither of us had heard it, my heart ached. </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">As a parent, I think about the next generation. I feel like if we can bring awareness and create change in <i>our</i> kids, it can only get better each generation. So, when Jordyn told me about this -- about kids in <i>her</i> generation -- still using this word, it felt like such a let-down. </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">(Note: This is definitely not meant to be a slam at Jordyn's generation... I realize that many people in <i>my</i> generation still use this word, and people in generations <i>before</i> me still use this word... but that's for another post. :)</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The following day Jordyn came home from school and told us we had to read something. A friend of hers named Spencer had been at the game (also the Junior Class President), and had written a letter to the opposing team's high school...</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">and as I read it, I got tears in my eyes. </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"... after a questionable call made by officials, the Washington High School Student Section disagreed with the call and made it very apparent with the use of the chant, 'That's retarded!' This was done repeatedly.... (the behavior) was unacceptable, uncalled for, and extremely offensive.... the use of the "R Word" was taken very offensively, not only by our student body, but our parents, administrators, and coaches."</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"...as the Brandon Valley administration has informed us, no matter how this word is used, it is not tolerated under any circumstances and can easily offend people with disabilities that we have in our district and were present at those games. The only "R Word" that should be used in any high school activity is RESPECT."</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This letter is so incredible on so many levels... </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">... Spencer (Jordyn's friend) apparently was raised in a home environment where this word was not acceptable (way to go Spencer's parents!)</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">... Spencer not only <i>believed</i> this was unacceptable, but actually took the <i>initiative</i> to write a letter </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">... after being posted on the Brandon Valley Student Body Facebook Page, it has received hundreds of "likes" from students in our high school</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">... Jordyn has surrounded herself with friends like Spencer!</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">* * * * *</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">So today, on <u>Spread The Word to End The Word</u>, I think about the next generation. </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I think about Spencer's letter. </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I think about all the support the letter has received by the other high school students.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I think about Jordyn, who so willingly talks with a man who comes up to her after every basketball game... a man from our town with <strike> a disability</strike> different abilities who attends every single basketball game to show his support.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I think about Jordyn's friends, who used to use the R-word, but because of Jordyn's influence, have since stopped... and are now correcting <i>other</i> teenagers when <i>they</i> say it. </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I think about Carter, who will grow up only knowing acceptance and appreciation for everyone. </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Yes, I think about the </span><span style="font-size: small;">next generation.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">They </span><span style="font-size: small;"><u>are</u> creating awareness and change.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And so, it will only get </span><span style="font-size: small;">better.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">* * * * *</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Please click <a href="http://r-word.org/">here</a> to take the "Spread the Word to End the Word" pledge.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">You can read <a href="http://caringriffith.blogspot.com/2011/03/spread-word-to-end-word.html">my post from last year's "Spread The Word" Day</a>.</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">You can also read <a href="http://caringriffith.blogspot.com/2009/08/letter-from-rylee.html">Rylee's Letter "A Little Bit About the 'R' Word"</a> (written August 2008.) You can also click <a href="http://caringriffith.blogspot.com/p/letters-from-rylee.html">here</a> to download her letter.</span></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE-BYpfIctN7y6cnkEXWTr8MX9cAHupE6g1oeGIWGJbQihOvd-VYRwBt81qokgLNAVE_7vgY55YumD5edZ5uiJb4HHPm2TDePt51VtLIlHEpueZ1H8Fc7AVV9lgXyGm9JRypTKmuYsuVNc/s1600/Kids.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE-BYpfIctN7y6cnkEXWTr8MX9cAHupE6g1oeGIWGJbQihOvd-VYRwBt81qokgLNAVE_7vgY55YumD5edZ5uiJb4HHPm2TDePt51VtLIlHEpueZ1H8Fc7AVV9lgXyGm9JRypTKmuYsuVNc/s1600/Kids.jpg" /></a></div>Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-24732604518868448362012-02-17T21:32:00.001-06:002012-02-18T00:28:59.448-06:00Simple Love<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I remember being very unsure about having another child after Rylee. And it had <i>nothing</i> to do with Down syndrome and our increased chances for having another child with Ds. My feelings had to do with time and love and balancing life. And I'm sure every single thought I had was one that had run through the mind of every other Mom on the planet who had one child and was contemplating a second. (Or at least the Moms that tend to over-think things like I do.)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">When we found out Carter was a boy, I knew I was embarking on very unfamiliar territory (and I'm not just talking about which way to point it when you change a diaper.) My mom has only one sister, and I only have one sister, and Rylee only has one sister... no brothers in the mix. I didn't know what a relationship between a brother and sister would be like... I couldn't picture it, and I definitely knew I couldn't relate to it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What I've discovered over the last 4 years is that I didn't have to know. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Rylee and Carter have shown me.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">A relationship between a brother and sister -- between <i>this</i> brother and sister -- is simple.</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: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Rylee is packing a bag with some toys to take to a friend's house. Carter, Jeremy and I are going to Jordyn's basketball game, and Rylee isn't a fan of the loud buzzer there. Carter is helping her gather some of her favorite baby dolls...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Wy-lee?" (translation -- Rylee -- R's are still W's in Carter language) "Are you going to be okay without me there? You know I'm not going to be there, right?"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">(Since I'm focusing on the positive of this moment, I'll leave out Rylee's response of "Um, yeah..." in a tone that implies, "Of course I'll be fine without you... why the heck wouldn't I be?!")</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: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Rylee earns coins at school all week for good choices, and on Fridays, gets to visit the "school store" to purchase a little trinket or toy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">(getting into the car after school on Friday)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Wy-lee! Did you go to the store? Did you get me anything?!"</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">"Yes!" And just like that, she pulls out whatever it was she bought that day, and hands it over.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The first few times she did that, I assumed that she had gotten the toy for herself, played with it a bit at school, got bored with it, and in the very moment Carter asked her, realized she was done with the toy and claimed thoughtfulness of him the whole time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Then, one Friday, Carter asks her if she has something for him... and she pulls out a little Toy Story toy.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yup. You go right ahead and claim thoughtfulness the whole time. Because that's exactly what that 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: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I guess a brother/sister relationship is a lot like relationships between sisters. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwGUo009l7XpZmyjWeO-M7-yo_izZTJavj3txlAL9XT50l-yaGeV5NGioaHgYEMch2sYuuNUJLOXwLkkSQTLtReFVsVqAF4XwrON47CtIUrB_zsxISa5JlCpfbhFfMOX-RyVIBzX4_DIkD/s640/Valentine+Collage.jpg" width="360" /></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">It's simple.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>You love each other in a way that is indescribable.<br />
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<br />
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(And, again, in order to focus on the positive love between these two, I'm leaving out the previous 24 pictures of Rylee kissing Carter in which Carter's facial expression is one of complete annoyance that his sister is kissing him, even though it's at Mom's request. Ahhh... I can't wait to watch this relationship grow!)Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-38925429381134597292012-01-31T21:27:00.000-06:002012-01-31T21:27:28.076-06:00InspiredThe other day, I ran across <a href="http://phoebeholmes.com/2012/01/25/dear-pinterest/">a blog post about Pinterest</a>. H.I.L.A.R.I.O.U.S. I don't know this woman, but I related to nearly every word she said... and I admired the blunt and brutally honest way she said them!<br />
<br />
I love Pinterest. I often find myself lying in bed at night browsing the fun ideas while watching the <u>Friends</u> marathon on Nick at Nite (which, by the way, still makes me giggle out loud -- I miss that show!) It's inspiring. (Pinterest... not <u>Friends</u>.) Or at least it is supposed to be. <br />
<br />
There are moments when I find myself slipping from "being inspired" mode to "feeling inadequate" mode. You know, like when I saw the incredibly awesome monthly shots of a pregnant mom (who, of course, only looked pregnant in her tummy, and not in her face, hands, legs and feet) and had her adorable 2-year-old daughter peek in and touch her perfectly round tummy on the 9th month... that's when the "inadequate" mode set in. <br />
<br />
I try to recognize the mode switch. Sometimes when it happens, I think of an excuse of why that isn't "mine"... (like the fact that when I was pregnant, I was miserable and felt like throwing up nearly every second of the day, and taking a picture of myself was on my list of to-do's, just under "smack my head against the bathroom wall.") <br />
<br />
Then I remind myself that excuses aren't the way to go... (not quite the positive spin I was searching for) so I feel happy for the person who's "pin" it is... "Wow, I bet that Mom is so incredibly happy she has those amazing pics of her pregnant days!"<br />
<br />
Yeah, that's better.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, a pin is easy to pass by.... either the style of it just isn't me (I don't think a lamp made out of plastic spoons says 'Carin.') or the usefulness escapes me (I just don't know that I would use a pot-holder-cleverly-and-cutely-turned-cell-phone-case.)<br />
<br />
But then comes the fun stuff... the easy stuff... the <i>do</i>-able stuff.<br />
<br />
Something I can print and stick in a frame I already have in my storage room and put up for Valentine's Day and look all festive? I'm IN! <br />
<br />
And when I saw <a href="http://andersonfamilycrew.blogspot.com/2011/02/emily-did-something-crafty-holla.html">these</a>, I knew I could pull it off.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3wVz0g81w6e1pRxR-wQ5wYakROc9f8ijbbJ08q9F0wQZrYaAW55wvPMKJYtId4TdX3u4HIRLN02HI_mVVomcrcL1NUOF7gmgEQP-82KwG5IpvLWQJ7QR0CQRzW3b1-kPRd9_-Ja-zJXqa/s1600/Mailboxes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3wVz0g81w6e1pRxR-wQ5wYakROc9f8ijbbJ08q9F0wQZrYaAW55wvPMKJYtId4TdX3u4HIRLN02HI_mVVomcrcL1NUOF7gmgEQP-82KwG5IpvLWQJ7QR0CQRzW3b1-kPRd9_-Ja-zJXqa/s400/Mailboxes.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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There it is. Inspiration.<br />
<br />
That's the mode I want.<br />
<br />
So, tomorrow morning, the kiddos will wake up to mail in their mailboxes.... a note about something we love about them.<br />
<br />
Mail every day until Valentine's Day <strike>unless I forget a day in which I will make up an excuse that my head had so many ideas of what I loved about them that I couldn't choose and that they would have <span style="font-size: small;"><i>two</i></span> notes in their mailbox the next day.</strike><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBsjuDSfUyqakSenB1PfVNq1HvmGB9SiQvREqkyMCniHvUN6EBxWw6eLIWU9-ICMNm3ZDLQS4W8a9zWNAcNCo92bEwRmJOttihAivgh8-UWoT40UQyJ8Ijtc2s4kMPrtK-oR4L6tKfTcl_/s1600/Valentine+Mailboxes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBsjuDSfUyqakSenB1PfVNq1HvmGB9SiQvREqkyMCniHvUN6EBxWw6eLIWU9-ICMNm3ZDLQS4W8a9zWNAcNCo92bEwRmJOttihAivgh8-UWoT40UQyJ8Ijtc2s4kMPrtK-oR4L6tKfTcl_/s640/Valentine+Mailboxes.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><br />
So, thank you Pinterest. <br />
<br />
I'll pass by the photos of the elaborate backyard patio draped with gorgeous fabrics and decorated in hand-made flowers, and the blanket sewn from clothing from someone's first-born's first year of life...<br />
<br />
and head right for the photos of Valentine Mailboxes.<br />
<br />
And I will feel inspired. <br />
<br />
* * * * * <br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Mailboxes from Hobby Lobby... covered with scrapbook paper and decorated with stickers and ribbon. (Carter opted for no ribbon.) Candle holders from The Dollar Store (and be sure you search through all 400 of them to find ones that stand up straight, because 395 of them don't, and they are not such high quality that you can bend them gently to straighten them out. <strike>Not that I broke 2 of them trying and had to go back to the store to buy more</strike>.)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Oh, and grab a black frame while you're at the Dollar Store... go <a href="http://eighteen25.blogspot.com/2011/01/valentine-subway-art.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=feed&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+Eighteen25+%28eighteen25%29">here</a> for the cute printable, and you're all set!</span>Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-60992039050299545292012-01-28T22:00:00.000-06:002012-01-28T22:22:58.601-06:00Carter Flashbacks... and a Flash ForwardHere is my perfectly imperfect.... I had these photos in a folder to blog about -- in 2010.<br /><br />So instead of feeling inadequate and remorseful about not blogging then... (okay, so I felt that way for a few minutes) I flipped the switch. Now, I'm celebrating the flashback -- remembering with such warmth and love the memories of Carter as a 2-and-a-half (ish) year old!<br /><br />* * * * *<br /><br />Oh, there's just nothing like Daddy's tickles!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXoVN55Lxv5rb0kp3Xh2rTiTI0bfc47_E1j812lpp3wCcdOadUhqR_YG8o1d-pqPegps5YF1PtcpY6bEd00itsf07M7GgAQI23W34GdZ4zZ6d0oJS8lHMUQxJzo89ocSwkw1tFKDSkXpKQ/s1600/Tickles+from+Dad.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXoVN55Lxv5rb0kp3Xh2rTiTI0bfc47_E1j812lpp3wCcdOadUhqR_YG8o1d-pqPegps5YF1PtcpY6bEd00itsf07M7GgAQI23W34GdZ4zZ6d0oJS8lHMUQxJzo89ocSwkw1tFKDSkXpKQ/s800/Tickles+from+Dad.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702786825674332578" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I loved it when Carter started giving the "thumbs up!" He still does it from time to time, like when we're out at a restaurant (okay, McDonalds) and he goes up all by himself to get more napkins (still in eyesight of me, of course) and he turns to me and gives me a thumbs-up, as if to say, "Look, Mom, I made it to the napkins all by myself. Everything is OK." Big kid, I tell ya.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9tafGKhp3S-aAo10Xu9DTgnAhs80oBJJENT8dtsoCO7F2301iLI1RDfCLzeUs8iMOcZeJfgyUvyRa5PBCyN5jcjFMFCFKg8AXRkEHHbyM_YkBlZurDy74z_dh9jPL46YSJPKMlFCYfez1/s1600/Thumbs+Up.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9tafGKhp3S-aAo10Xu9DTgnAhs80oBJJENT8dtsoCO7F2301iLI1RDfCLzeUs8iMOcZeJfgyUvyRa5PBCyN5jcjFMFCFKg8AXRkEHHbyM_YkBlZurDy74z_dh9jPL46YSJPKMlFCYfez1/s400/Thumbs+Up.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702786828225670258" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Everything works better... feels better.... IS better... when you stick your tongue out just a little bit.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkkIYretZ2Sss_eIGnsjZZ8moyp4shoAl2P_c76csoYAjjdEOMp5rnxb-jjLYTyFQRqYa4dNHPLW8DjlW9v6BCZcTm0ARbNGnjtkQdJidf9FIlS5jAj3g4hNnbWEflhF5O-wtFvZsWwQzy/s1600/Snow.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkkIYretZ2Sss_eIGnsjZZ8moyp4shoAl2P_c76csoYAjjdEOMp5rnxb-jjLYTyFQRqYa4dNHPLW8DjlW9v6BCZcTm0ARbNGnjtkQdJidf9FIlS5jAj3g4hNnbWEflhF5O-wtFvZsWwQzy/s400/Snow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702786821329604786" border="0" /></a><br /><br />"Watch my airplane soar through the sky like this <s> and ignore the food all over my face!" </s><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl5vgfYD2rkmXm1i3UQLHzkm26LxKQfxL0gOvwpNPjByvdI-_tCZRdJte2Ri7xr08LfJccsrNDjZbF5pMTM_gkWZCyWithgMblbN1wpCtrWLc3j9VTQrrBntR6rRWMrHCJB_scByFMgMSB/s1600/Silly+face.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl5vgfYD2rkmXm1i3UQLHzkm26LxKQfxL0gOvwpNPjByvdI-_tCZRdJte2Ri7xr08LfJccsrNDjZbF5pMTM_gkWZCyWithgMblbN1wpCtrWLc3j9VTQrrBntR6rRWMrHCJB_scByFMgMSB/s400/Silly+face.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702786821308736450" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Carter was (and still is) such a patient kiddo -- watching big sister at dance class through the glass...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHPKYZmFsc4KLhZJ-0Erh8E3FiJznoHSw3fjlJ9dwBoZsx2CcpuK5GXC25IKlPNBF9tUgakNfCUbYm2Id8t9prw9wXbc0TqDkFXA9-cF6RLs_12FnB7rFzvLDbBZKP-6jIBbLbLq0kGaVp/s1600/Watching+Dance.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHPKYZmFsc4KLhZJ-0Erh8E3FiJznoHSw3fjlJ9dwBoZsx2CcpuK5GXC25IKlPNBF9tUgakNfCUbYm2Id8t9prw9wXbc0TqDkFXA9-cF6RLs_12FnB7rFzvLDbBZKP-6jIBbLbLq0kGaVp/s400/Watching+Dance.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702786836304665618" border="0" /></a><br /><br />and when he got bored, and the coloring books and toys we brought weren't enough, hanging upside down like a monkey got us through 'til the end of class!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvtbPRZzy-OZggcZIKo7ZkL6iVjNH70pZew-MZvmL8rZTOcCGVM_xKkxqtvVjcFW-txK9xx8nJ2DdSo8LfDy0a-xGHtgEj9U_WL9wMCZ2aIEUBEmStX-_rwfE62K-lymPbXkDM27ByHaoV/s1600/Hanging+at+Dance.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvtbPRZzy-OZggcZIKo7ZkL6iVjNH70pZew-MZvmL8rZTOcCGVM_xKkxqtvVjcFW-txK9xx8nJ2DdSo8LfDy0a-xGHtgEj9U_WL9wMCZ2aIEUBEmStX-_rwfE62K-lymPbXkDM27ByHaoV/s400/Hanging+at+Dance.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702786678528959122" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Managing 2 kids in swimming lessons at the same time wasn't an option for me a few years ago... because, Rylee was a "flight risk" (those of you who have children like this need no further explanation) and Carter wasn't happy in the water unless I was just inches from him. So, here is Carter, watching Rylee swim... yearning to go in the water himself but never complaining. (Now, the kids do private lessons together because there is less risk for "flight" with Rylee and Carter loves the water... life is good!)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAO01pICrwgCVv6QlpA6KWL1aoUPViqVa8M2Vu8y5UlT2tXgDx9ChEYY-9QPWXolfld2HVtR5B5eZB10D_CRbI_aD4X7IKj70cIQ_PnwELtAtFEPhv6viR16Tq1c7ZIoZuJserTdPN121k/s1600/Looking+at+Pool.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAO01pICrwgCVv6QlpA6KWL1aoUPViqVa8M2Vu8y5UlT2tXgDx9ChEYY-9QPWXolfld2HVtR5B5eZB10D_CRbI_aD4X7IKj70cIQ_PnwELtAtFEPhv6viR16Tq1c7ZIoZuJserTdPN121k/s400/Looking+at+Pool.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702786680148168466" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And <u> Toy Story </u>... oh the <u> Toy Story </u> gang! He loved them then... and he still loves them now!<br /><br />"See how silly Mr. Potato Head looks with his arm sticking out of his head!"<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg08m5Ldz642zNWUpzc9p28fVy828iS065w-h1tiRYz3XLL6hnK8TxPkzJBfpuH4QlB907msC_e4TyMQCPNoz26ohQJorFHZtRp-hmlOQn7NkJiVbNbvjV6PoGxvK-cTi77w8stTLIlMEOa/s1600/Mr+Potato+Head.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg08m5Ldz642zNWUpzc9p28fVy828iS065w-h1tiRYz3XLL6hnK8TxPkzJBfpuH4QlB907msC_e4TyMQCPNoz26ohQJorFHZtRp-hmlOQn7NkJiVbNbvjV6PoGxvK-cTi77w8stTLIlMEOa/s400/Mr+Potato+Head.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702786686351893474" border="0" /></a><br /><br />"Buzz Lightyear, to the rescue!" (This was the very first Buzz Lightyear we got him for Christmas 2009. Since then, he's gotten 3 more, because of course you need the one that doesn't talk but his wings pop out, the one that literally has a conversation with Woody when you put them face to face, and the one that has a really cool belt. Seriously, no <u> Toy Story </u> toy fanatic can be without!)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh529D7htNyygFNE1VAZi1DhLYSPyyX3iZEHJCq1MQ8ZxexHR_UO-cUcF_u4Fu8Rx3N_rtTeAIxtfa4SKG9_xQBNPu2QzU0gs34hFbKRQzN3u-u1WChF8FN04InEbnJPAeyB2mMGQFRfNaM/s1600/Holding+Buzz.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh529D7htNyygFNE1VAZi1DhLYSPyyX3iZEHJCq1MQ8ZxexHR_UO-cUcF_u4Fu8Rx3N_rtTeAIxtfa4SKG9_xQBNPu2QzU0gs34hFbKRQzN3u-u1WChF8FN04InEbnJPAeyB2mMGQFRfNaM/s400/Holding+Buzz.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702786677386211570" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Oh, and thank goodness for pictures, because I <span style="font-style: italic;">forgot</span> about this smaller Buzz Lightyear... so make that 4 more Buzzes since Christmas 2009! Oh, but wait... what about the miniature Buzz that is on a keychain? Or the little Buzz that came with the <u> Toy Story </u> book? I give up. We've obviously lost count.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcR6KGllacJdX47rj19mV4uWis82EG1eGvhcSsfCtTxAVssAJ_p8zQq2UREuBjwqsApwjKQ32b7O8UIC9CWeIyU-yiapaP7f-hn8mneu1w_ckwWcHR_wrePwFvlTZ54sJq_hOPJ61PvMMO/s1600/Carter+with+Buzz.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcR6KGllacJdX47rj19mV4uWis82EG1eGvhcSsfCtTxAVssAJ_p8zQq2UREuBjwqsApwjKQ32b7O8UIC9CWeIyU-yiapaP7f-hn8mneu1w_ckwWcHR_wrePwFvlTZ54sJq_hOPJ61PvMMO/s400/Carter+with+Buzz.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702786502720112530" border="0" /></a><br /><br />"Don't think that just because I'm in the tub that I can't still get you with my Buzz Lightyear lazer!"<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRm4eKT-dnmzWvUl5XsRuVj8Trt4LTfZHkzAIJFJxdl6C2MbkVVoHPdzrCPODB0NFVbUy2yCtY4OgMpwob3hFNhM6lnQLbVAlShhl-L-Ezr1XiXufAb1mE9MDfO5nZn2IFVUZMdAtTqqUB/s1600/Buzz+Lazer.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRm4eKT-dnmzWvUl5XsRuVj8Trt4LTfZHkzAIJFJxdl6C2MbkVVoHPdzrCPODB0NFVbUy2yCtY4OgMpwob3hFNhM6lnQLbVAlShhl-L-Ezr1XiXufAb1mE9MDfO5nZn2IFVUZMdAtTqqUB/s400/Buzz+Lazer.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702786504662437154" border="0" /></a><br /><br />"And here are my MUSCLES!" (Again, muscles look bigger and are definitely stronger if he twists his tongue and sticks it out a bit.)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVB_1f78fJWJTOse2QsKN5kzactnu23eA65mJX7lCeupVMNsUb3pDlS08JEs_1p-__cPgdpsGrKBHkQEFpk_oS3hN7zD4uGKLLE5sJG4oppu8VbLqHnodA6cxN0jsmzVsNYkITzvjU3fYd/s1600/Muscles%253F.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVB_1f78fJWJTOse2QsKN5kzactnu23eA65mJX7lCeupVMNsUb3pDlS08JEs_1p-__cPgdpsGrKBHkQEFpk_oS3hN7zD4uGKLLE5sJG4oppu8VbLqHnodA6cxN0jsmzVsNYkITzvjU3fYd/s400/Muscles%253F.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702786688260927154" border="0" /></a><br /><br />"Mom, I'll smile for you... but don't expect me to take my eyes off the TV show I'm watching."<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHaZtdqG5sIESbTQ7sNZhDKGEL_nGEkM42o-schSXVTWVTm4VwnqPObfDQVT8wJGSqNrW4Yjcm_uTTWRLrPOJVxtoidCee8grN9Okydpd9AImJzRaSsdeIP0p8fLIfONmEoSB-uKKeP_Fc/s1600/Carter.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 286px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHaZtdqG5sIESbTQ7sNZhDKGEL_nGEkM42o-schSXVTWVTm4VwnqPObfDQVT8wJGSqNrW4Yjcm_uTTWRLrPOJVxtoidCee8grN9Okydpd9AImJzRaSsdeIP0p8fLIfONmEoSB-uKKeP_Fc/s400/Carter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702786513945943378" border="0" /></a><br /><br />"A bucket of snow. It's really not very exciting, Mom, but I assume since you have your camera out you want me to hold it up and smile for you. There ya go."<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwQGJsqXYX7JyEA5VvDbP9oAyApQB1LoaYMkOu1GVAnvHh8JUztR1DLxTv3krlV4wOwiTXQkGU4bo1Ad7NaUBCkWewv9d9neGYcm37fCFRO6opOtPhAexn_cpWxkYPZ6v9bxznJ4GRuP2T/s1600/bucket+of+snow.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwQGJsqXYX7JyEA5VvDbP9oAyApQB1LoaYMkOu1GVAnvHh8JUztR1DLxTv3krlV4wOwiTXQkGU4bo1Ad7NaUBCkWewv9d9neGYcm37fCFRO6opOtPhAexn_cpWxkYPZ6v9bxznJ4GRuP2T/s400/bucket+of+snow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702786500081009698" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Oh the paci... sometimes, I actually miss trying to find one. I'm still waiting to move a shelf or clean under something <s> that hasn't been cleaned under for 3 years </s> and find one. I have a feeling I will get a little teary-eyed.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha82wlGfIlven3BVzQdeTA3h9JXB3TeQSJWElbyVtZR_u79Sc5MxZdNArEn9WPq-MyLl-UdFrTDV9e-9jh3XNtiqKJpUek50OogJiUpHxxoMc0Is1qS3pw0zcLhY5_NMaAH1r8iTfAFyOe/s1600/Feet.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha82wlGfIlven3BVzQdeTA3h9JXB3TeQSJWElbyVtZR_u79Sc5MxZdNArEn9WPq-MyLl-UdFrTDV9e-9jh3XNtiqKJpUek50OogJiUpHxxoMc0Is1qS3pw0zcLhY5_NMaAH1r8iTfAFyOe/s400/Feet.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702786511613949234" border="0" /></a><br /><br />* * * * *<br /><br />Tonight Jeremy and I went to the basketball games at the high school. After watching Jordyn play, we stayed for the Boys' Varsity game <s> to watch her boyfriend play </s>. Ahem... anyway, it was hard not to wonder where we'll be with Carter in 12 years. I was trying to picture him out on the court...(if he chooses to play basketball, of course.) And when one of the players didn't do so well, and the coach sort of got after him about it, I pictured it being Carter <s> and then I realized that I didn't want anyone to talk to Carter like that, so I decided that Carter couldn't be in basketball... or football... or any sport in which he might make a mistake and a coach might get after him about it. </s> (Okay, so that might be a bit unrealistic.) Then I looked at some of the moms of the boys playing, and I thought to myself, "What kind of mom will I be to a high school boy? Will I be "cool" or incredibly annoying in his eyes? Will I know how to help raise the kind of boy we want to raise? <s> Will I know that I shouldn't be wearing those kind of boots because I'd look like I was trying to be 17? </s> " After feeling quite nervous and unprepared for raising a son for nearly a quarter of the basketball game, I realized that I was simply at a basketball game, and that Carter was 4.<br /><br />I guess that's what the next 12 years are going to do for me... they will get me ready for it.<br /><br />And when I feel as though I have no idea what I'm doing, I will remember that no one does.<br /><br />And when I feel as though I have it all together, I will remember that we all do.<br /><br />And somehow, we will have raised a son that we are incredibly proud of... and if he chooses to play basketball, I will be in the stands, cheering him on <s> and planning a phone call to the coach to request that he not "get after" Carter about a mistake he made in the game. (Yeah, I'm sure that would make me a really "cool" mom.)<br /></s><br /><br />For now, I'll forget about 12 years from now.<br /><br />I'll just go home and cuddle our 4-year-old. Because, right now, to him, I <span style="font-style: italic;">am</span> "cool."<br /><br />And he's pretty darn "cool" to me, too.Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-55344683732792499792012-01-19T23:31:00.002-06:002012-01-19T23:34:50.513-06:00StepmomI became a Mom 11 years ago. Well, sort of a Mom. Maybe a "Mom-like" figure. Maybe a "parental-sort-of-friend." (We didn't use the term "stepmom," and to this day, I only use that term when I get a puzzled look from someone who I can see calculating in their head how old I must have been when I gave birth to Jordyn.)<br /><br />Anyway, it doesn't really matter what we called it. When I met Jeremy, Jordyn was six years old. She was a sweet, spunky little thing with a little bob haircut and missing teeth. I immediately felt welcomed into her dad's life... she was excited to do things with us, and though she lived full-time with her mom, stepdad, and little sister, Jeremy had her a lot, and she was part of our relationship from day one.<br /><br />Since Jeremy and I got married, Jordyn has lived with her mom during the week, and been with us on the weekends <s> unless she was in her early teen years when spending the night at friends' houses on the weekends was just as important as breathing </s>. Fortunately, her mom lives in the same town, so we've always been able to be a big part of Jordyn's life.<br /><br />For the past 3 months, Jordyn has been living with us full-time. It was an adjustment for all of us, but once we all got into the "new groove" of things, we all settled into life, and it has been wonderful. I've gotten to know Jordyn all over again, and when I look at her, it's hard for me to see the six-year-old with a bob haircut and missing teeth. Jordyn has become an incredible young woman. (I couldn't think of any other way of saying that that wouldn't make me sound old.... so there it is... I'm old.)<br /><br />Today, Jordyn turned seventeen. Last night, Jeremy, the kids and I wrote down 17 things about Jordyn that we loved and slipped them into balloons before blowing them up. This morning, with a Happy Birthday song playing from Rylee's iPod, we tossed the balloons into Jordyn's room.<br /><br />If I could pick one of those 17 "loves" to share, it would be that Jordyn is incredibly loyal -- to her family, to her friends. She never brushes off an "I love you" from us, even if it's in the presence of friends (though we try really hard to keep all of the "could-be-embarassing" things to a minimum.) She is always there for her friends when they need her... she helps little sister put clips in her hair (so she can look like big sister) and she always listens to little brother's <s> very long </s> stories.<br /><br />Eleven years ago, I didn't know what being a "stepmom" would be about. And though I didn't ever try to be a "replacement" for her mom (she already had a mom, so there was no need) I was excited about the idea of being a Mom. Or "mom-like." Or whatever.<br /><br />However, the last 11 years have presented challenges... being a parent is challenging enough, but to add the "step" element gives everything a different spin.<br /><br />I haven't written much about being a "stepmom" on here... it's a delicate situation when you write about others, and respecting those you write about is crucial. <s> And let's face it, there are some feelings, whether completely relatable by others, are best kept quiet. </s><br /><br />But on this, Jordyn's 17th birthday, I felt compelled to write. Specifically, to write to <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span>, 11 years ago.<br /><br />If I could go back 11 years, I would tell myself some things that may have helped from time to time.<br /><br />I would have told myself that...<br /><br />You can't take everything personal. Sometimes, when things seem like it's all about you, it's not even a tiny little bit about you.<br /><br />There will be moments when you feel left out. When you feel sort of displaced. Just hold tight, because the feeling will pass.<br /><br />You will realize that some years in a child's growing up are just tough... and whether you are a biological parent or a "stepparent" really makes no difference. They are tough years, and you just believe that everything you've done... everything you've modeled... everything you've said... will help everyone make it to the other side of the "tough" stuff. And everyone <span style="font-style:italic;">will</span> make it.<br /><br />There will be moments when you find yourself being able to offer guidance in a way no other person in her life can. And you will feel important. Soak it up.<br /><br />There will be times when you have to hurt a little so others have the chance to learn about life and grow themselves.<br /><br />When you see a quality in her that she may not have gotten if it hadn't been for you coming into her life, go ahead and smile. Feel good about it. Because whether you have the "mom" title to her or not, you <span style="font-style: italic;">will</span> be a part of who she will become.<br /><br />* * * * *<br /><br />Thank you, Jordyn, for letting me be your "Carin." <br />I am grateful to be a part of your life.<br />Happy 17th Birthday, hon. I LOVE YOU!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU8iX351MkhOwJWR4SqkY2sM4WzGbIsTaausWqGBPaazMGvDWjCsqaOSlYMW2mOvXHbhU1l5hZ3Q2ykTI5loLs1iSZ7sXygIKSHXc5XiMbsD9I1S_qAnJGN1TrbWkCa-jlJG25iAmTQ0-O/s1600/Jordyn+%2526+Me.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU8iX351MkhOwJWR4SqkY2sM4WzGbIsTaausWqGBPaazMGvDWjCsqaOSlYMW2mOvXHbhU1l5hZ3Q2ykTI5loLs1iSZ7sXygIKSHXc5XiMbsD9I1S_qAnJGN1TrbWkCa-jlJG25iAmTQ0-O/s800/Jordyn+%2526+Me.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5699581319444119906" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"> (please excuse the photos -- a grainy, scanned photo and a not-so-great cell phone pic!)</span>Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-56650897917566459432012-01-11T00:00:00.001-06:002012-01-11T00:00:04.196-06:00Wordless Wednesday (On The Court)<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzxbcUAbdFEKN85zF5ReB7OZ2uiKQYCuu6Rsahz_acd5CSB2WXzPVkv0y3_Dq6jnkfZM3OeUUzuLrGhY5ZSgpNqKIPFMxgA3l9j0yfctrDqsste3Bm2_yKEllgA7zRCJleIExtJRp_kZIA/s1600/Basketball+1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzxbcUAbdFEKN85zF5ReB7OZ2uiKQYCuu6Rsahz_acd5CSB2WXzPVkv0y3_Dq6jnkfZM3OeUUzuLrGhY5ZSgpNqKIPFMxgA3l9j0yfctrDqsste3Bm2_yKEllgA7zRCJleIExtJRp_kZIA/s800/Basketball+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696239120158838146" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTSaSwZC7a6SXcVTn6iJU3MtBzAP_94RuUNdzbGAP-oyEkP1WKVbfs_kIVRd93czavJG3t98qtHzKsMNwzBwiSuvjYoyM8MOb7fJJLDslERmIwrBPpMELd8_YPI81WiDVIMyfLmVc5c6MW/s1600/Basketball+6.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTSaSwZC7a6SXcVTn6iJU3MtBzAP_94RuUNdzbGAP-oyEkP1WKVbfs_kIVRd93czavJG3t98qtHzKsMNwzBwiSuvjYoyM8MOb7fJJLDslERmIwrBPpMELd8_YPI81WiDVIMyfLmVc5c6MW/s800/Basketball+6.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696239285284851522" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4l4d7ZK1kf0CjRvkUi15PX2Pl_RVA7fJBo_6U4-KjtcSzaQxyM2WYfJsx-VFOGjLrSKWCc-KWWQhOapqQIKFon7jYVyusWI1OVGj1axG9-8VvPExt9bSjNn6n1pPTnp3vOyfBd1O-jXtK/s1600/Basketball+7.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4l4d7ZK1kf0CjRvkUi15PX2Pl_RVA7fJBo_6U4-KjtcSzaQxyM2WYfJsx-VFOGjLrSKWCc-KWWQhOapqQIKFon7jYVyusWI1OVGj1axG9-8VvPExt9bSjNn6n1pPTnp3vOyfBd1O-jXtK/s800/Basketball+7.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696239292925252146" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidbRT1PujnDelbkipVTmZFHl3QUgIIlg5_BTMId1gzBKA1uuC0XavwBBoYZUddXzmgLbtDL90cHtIjGlSUY9KjPfEXlTBJ9mx-edYdULqHxh5ojxKjtdP0cMSbwgzcuzNpdzTk7qet-pww/s1600/Basketball+4.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidbRT1PujnDelbkipVTmZFHl3QUgIIlg5_BTMId1gzBKA1uuC0XavwBBoYZUddXzmgLbtDL90cHtIjGlSUY9KjPfEXlTBJ9mx-edYdULqHxh5ojxKjtdP0cMSbwgzcuzNpdzTk7qet-pww/s800/Basketball+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696239139658571218" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4vTQKJ8EQ72vRhnlfud7Nkxzy7RG4-u9DB8WwZ55kvhlgg1MiSQLmug9K1YXGYpcZ8juFRauDkFRhpL751bSz_LtU-kIK7lnZL0UPOQSdHNHc6qlAKbHII3sMdfi5YZ62uRo0HZn2UZLS/s1600/Basketball+3.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4vTQKJ8EQ72vRhnlfud7Nkxzy7RG4-u9DB8WwZ55kvhlgg1MiSQLmug9K1YXGYpcZ8juFRauDkFRhpL751bSz_LtU-kIK7lnZL0UPOQSdHNHc6qlAKbHII3sMdfi5YZ62uRo0HZn2UZLS/s800/Basketball+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696239133586979026" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-qBJ5L4O1zkvc6_4-VqegKrOcsytGn-LHfUMb5tzNuwYAdp6QHA2wqGio29_jOjoCe9hCAUny_Rg2fv1FjHK-gxzMJkaA_l7bSSgaaJoHlYxYRcW0mJFAYWTqtgaGS5GyrOKC9_PYLOiU/s1600/Basketball+2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-qBJ5L4O1zkvc6_4-VqegKrOcsytGn-LHfUMb5tzNuwYAdp6QHA2wqGio29_jOjoCe9hCAUny_Rg2fv1FjHK-gxzMJkaA_l7bSSgaaJoHlYxYRcW0mJFAYWTqtgaGS5GyrOKC9_PYLOiU/s800/Basketball+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696239117888812642" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhJHWpWU-sX01v-YCr28bG6J5lnA3SvwLxolp7tB91e6kYnogB9oXT8X2xODU6FSfs3QAx7umSrVeLVWRSvpGzg9JUBGyQFK54zuyCabRAXqFhejSR5BoJ3CZ0r-VfbemkYwAlsRsiWzXI/s1600/Basketball+5.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhJHWpWU-sX01v-YCr28bG6J5lnA3SvwLxolp7tB91e6kYnogB9oXT8X2xODU6FSfs3QAx7umSrVeLVWRSvpGzg9JUBGyQFK54zuyCabRAXqFhejSR5BoJ3CZ0r-VfbemkYwAlsRsiWzXI/s800/Basketball+5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5696239143122663874" border="0" /></a>Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-24356173357687678602011-12-24T20:50:00.003-06:002011-12-24T20:58:11.372-06:00HomeChristmas 2009<br /><br />We fell in love with his photo...<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO3dIvc8G3SNkKWPOuEhwKXFwejiCqp-SVj2PFuTBiGZPmJwvmBUQaWsW7_2FYi-Iazqwq83i7pxEhJvdCnGuaNQrRHLo0pOKLRtM_n40inIExF5Qgms4S-Ay-9TH1hBJusa5xC8Czxm29/s1600/alexanderberizka.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO3dIvc8G3SNkKWPOuEhwKXFwejiCqp-SVj2PFuTBiGZPmJwvmBUQaWsW7_2FYi-Iazqwq83i7pxEhJvdCnGuaNQrRHLo0pOKLRtM_n40inIExF5Qgms4S-Ay-9TH1hBJusa5xC8Czxm29/s800/alexanderberizka.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689874175917991378" border="0" /></a><br /><br />and, if you asked the kids, we "sent him money so he could buy a Mom and Dad."<br /><br />We hung the ornament we received on our tree -- the ornament represented a little boy who needed a home. And so we talked about him, and thought about him a lot.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPSWqUKtq6aCVFSShLnU7nk5stVPVRvIQZPtxTSZJa1qY6yvPgkPYTMcPC8vIlAjueNKkKR2THoxNsf5RF_F6khTAICP8N7Jju6wRknpXuSwmOedvWX27smOJk97pyy924Q3p_N4xkQ0ux/s1600/Antonio+2009.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPSWqUKtq6aCVFSShLnU7nk5stVPVRvIQZPtxTSZJa1qY6yvPgkPYTMcPC8vIlAjueNKkKR2THoxNsf5RF_F6khTAICP8N7Jju6wRknpXuSwmOedvWX27smOJk97pyy924Q3p_N4xkQ0ux/s800/Antonio+2009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689874178979997826" border="0" /></a><br /><br />I didn't stop thinking about him.<br /><br />In fact, to be honest, there were many moments when I wondered if he should be ours.<br /><br />My heart really wanted him.<br /><br />But our lives weren't ready.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />Christmas 2010<br /><br />He was still there.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXd0jnT0N_x2tM3d0qWjGs4LUxtKn2OSEU6NO3GjNShk-e8T0pHs9oRNjh1jAdbyk5xSW1Pf2-0zccYwpAl17lvpzlIg2J8OavH_XU3AoJ4UdoE_0hPWafMbfpuCUGr8_D0qE3DdWphycx/s1600/Antonio+%25285%2529.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXd0jnT0N_x2tM3d0qWjGs4LUxtKn2OSEU6NO3GjNShk-e8T0pHs9oRNjh1jAdbyk5xSW1Pf2-0zccYwpAl17lvpzlIg2J8OavH_XU3AoJ4UdoE_0hPWafMbfpuCUGr8_D0qE3DdWphycx/s400/Antonio+%25285%2529.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689874174400681874" border="0" /></a><br /><br />More money.<br /><br />Another ornament -- another reminder of a little boy without a home. Without a family.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgihw1aa9iZuETo5AXLqxdsZ2jOEOPTF-pdlmrFrdbrwBM7xDUbndW5HhV2lH9lrA_C7caEf86YfCqkBWReWrVlXDX_ua0rOggpclafW9m3qrw1O7fYtvPgbc2KlPu23P6HIErCTqVdyZL6/s1600/Antonio+2010.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgihw1aa9iZuETo5AXLqxdsZ2jOEOPTF-pdlmrFrdbrwBM7xDUbndW5HhV2lH9lrA_C7caEf86YfCqkBWReWrVlXDX_ua0rOggpclafW9m3qrw1O7fYtvPgbc2KlPu23P6HIErCTqVdyZL6/s800/Antonio+2010.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689874186422913458" border="0" /></a><br /><br />More thoughts. More desire to bring him home. To our home.<br /><br />Waiting for something to tell me it was right... that he was ours.<br /><br />* * *<br /><br />April 2011<br /><br />We found out he wasn't ours.<br /><br />We found out where he belonged.<br /><br />He belonged with his family...<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmBi_HFrSDYRWr8csCa4IEv3sSbHHpDmehtTfrkFz780T0e0txchOBQd8ogOLPeGh3s5_ns26iOq7xsFHhPFlOOf0o-peIMhctpm22dn7eyTBjPS0y1IrQD5E_h6Zafq6IrJBoPM9yoGzV/s1600/DSC_0028.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmBi_HFrSDYRWr8csCa4IEv3sSbHHpDmehtTfrkFz780T0e0txchOBQd8ogOLPeGh3s5_ns26iOq7xsFHhPFlOOf0o-peIMhctpm22dn7eyTBjPS0y1IrQD5E_h6Zafq6IrJBoPM9yoGzV/s800/DSC_0028.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689874193130573570" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span>Jake and Ashley Gibson were his Mom and Dad,<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijTNfvg784eJcZ5rxD7Re-SyWaUJ6ZlP5zlwXmqGSlngHEp2iBOzrtbBxHf0awJtihdoExlJ0tWrNE1cE0FtFIaVf5xPvbMqSynJQUeiDXk4k1jGQE_Y6wUxaCyj5cdoRkWdnalvtfG_Ss/s1600/DSC_0461.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijTNfvg784eJcZ5rxD7Re-SyWaUJ6ZlP5zlwXmqGSlngHEp2iBOzrtbBxHf0awJtihdoExlJ0tWrNE1cE0FtFIaVf5xPvbMqSynJQUeiDXk4k1jGQE_Y6wUxaCyj5cdoRkWdnalvtfG_Ss/s800/DSC_0461.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689874351539262674" border="0" /></a><br /><br />and they began their journey to bring him home.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiza4lJRUPHmvy1_J_YYjXzKWnBZJcueIoxPoTOY7143InDGw_rlywG5LCaPNwWMT0j-dU73GMG7tYmf2iqebhppQZhW0VzhLnpIKfRVm0aE_JjNrig1zwvJRayDtYFaqwjW4c8bRnkxTY/s1600/DSC_0164.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiza4lJRUPHmvy1_J_YYjXzKWnBZJcueIoxPoTOY7143InDGw_rlywG5LCaPNwWMT0j-dU73GMG7tYmf2iqebhppQZhW0VzhLnpIKfRVm0aE_JjNrig1zwvJRayDtYFaqwjW4c8bRnkxTY/s800/DSC_0164.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689874351500448018" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7HPrd9ZW-Sno98rmkmhfCYFywzRXdRcX_74qTohyphenhyphenPXlnDZG3NDtvPpGLpAZgJ1RjrTiLeCPkkQx964513nelD2hczzYh_jJ1zgvn3I1tXHOaCMkblpjuZ3-wvpsiNb0VNWSYS7Tjvv6kZ/s1600/DSC_0515.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7HPrd9ZW-Sno98rmkmhfCYFywzRXdRcX_74qTohyphenhyphenPXlnDZG3NDtvPpGLpAZgJ1RjrTiLeCPkkQx964513nelD2hczzYh_jJ1zgvn3I1tXHOaCMkblpjuZ3-wvpsiNb0VNWSYS7Tjvv6kZ/s800/DSC_0515.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689874363503543666" border="0" /></a><br /><br />In November, they did just that. They brought him <span style="font-style: italic;">home</span>.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEu0ODQ6IQjQy1KrrixeFUfA0cNGm1Enl6wsWxmLSSNxseJQE5pZevMumpLKPXsEE_FODFoEAMLIRi9m4G8rR2-oKWodX3Mc_Eln08SyAtqzOvyBcMtUmTwaItx8niQH0wFB6g2j-iNdR9/s1600/DSC_0072.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEu0ODQ6IQjQy1KrrixeFUfA0cNGm1Enl6wsWxmLSSNxseJQE5pZevMumpLKPXsEE_FODFoEAMLIRi9m4G8rR2-oKWodX3Mc_Eln08SyAtqzOvyBcMtUmTwaItx8niQH0wFB6g2j-iNdR9/s800/DSC_0072.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689874351625260242" border="0" /></a><br /><br />And now, my thoughts aren't about where his home is... now I know.<br /><br />He is exactly where he belongs -- I can see it in his smile... his laugh.<br /><br />He is experiencing <a href="http://homeiswhereitsat.blogspot.com/2011/12/powdered-sugar-other-randoms.html">fun toys</a> a<a href="http://homeiswhereitsat.blogspot.com/2011/12/one-month.html"></a>nd <a href="http://homeiswhereitsat.blogspot.com/2011/11/boy-his-dog.html">dogs</a> and <a href="http://homeiswhereitsat.blogspot.com/2011/12/pop-til-you-drop.html">popcorn ball-making</a> and <a href="http://homeiswhereitsat.blogspot.com/2011/11/clifford.html">gifts from far-away friends</a> and <a href="http://homeiswhereitsat.blogspot.com/2011/11/one-week.html">haircuts</a> and <a href="http://homeiswhereitsat.blogspot.com/2011/11/phew.html">car seats</a> and <a href="http://homeiswhereitsat.blogspot.com/2011/12/one-month.html">unconditional love</a>.<br /><br /><br /><br />And this year, because of an incredibly thoughtful Mom, we have a 3rd ornament on our tree.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgELjMsfchhV4_BzRrXX2YzEtXkjPdpx_DMqyqYw_VvjwhSfpi7wQlWCqIGCFoNoYVdaEQrEkM8MAV85BT6c9XnEOlS1SJBgmVkhlmCfHydanONX914fqhOV0iOMsCSZcawMaH0AYXQ1vL2/s1600/New+Ornament.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgELjMsfchhV4_BzRrXX2YzEtXkjPdpx_DMqyqYw_VvjwhSfpi7wQlWCqIGCFoNoYVdaEQrEkM8MAV85BT6c9XnEOlS1SJBgmVkhlmCfHydanONX914fqhOV0iOMsCSZcawMaH0AYXQ1vL2/s800/New+Ornament.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5689874367291333490" border="0" /></a><br /><br />The ornament doesn't represent a little boy who <span style="font-style: italic;">needs</span> a family... a home.<br /><br />The ornament represents a little boy who <span style="font-style: italic;">has</span> a family...<br /><br />He is <span style="font-style: italic;">home</span>.Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-77096765878996576482011-12-18T22:03:00.002-06:002011-12-18T22:03:56.395-06:00Happy Holidays 2011!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSJ_n48m1APHRn0CNI5OBQap8vFf589CDUMvHYomNEI1lk4R8KFdcyec5e2gZVE4LYBHE4josTdweA4Pw6-HbaZMSit9rnYKemzbgD_PmXFbOLKmUZfeoMoM5h8pogOVjoazbiZJFy7Cu6/s1600/Griffiths+2011.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSJ_n48m1APHRn0CNI5OBQap8vFf589CDUMvHYomNEI1lk4R8KFdcyec5e2gZVE4LYBHE4josTdweA4Pw6-HbaZMSit9rnYKemzbgD_PmXFbOLKmUZfeoMoM5h8pogOVjoazbiZJFy7Cu6/s800/Griffiths+2011.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5687685193180375986" border="0" /></a>Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-47309198800166900952011-12-14T17:12:00.001-06:002011-12-14T18:18:28.733-06:00ThoughtsI feel most inspired to write when I can't. Or I shouldn't be.<br /><br />Like right now.<br /><br />Right now I have two kids, watching a show on the couch, periodically requesting more grapes. Right now I have 3 cupboard doors open in my kitchen and a dishwasher hanging wide open, half-emptied. (Or half-full, I guess... depends on your mood.) Right now I have a dog shuffling her food and water dish around the kitchen floor with her front paws, signaling to me that she's ready for supper. Right now I have a clock nearing 5:30, which means that I should have supper started. At the very least, I should know what I'm <span style="font-style: italic;">making</span> for supper.<br /><br />The truth is... right now I have a ton of thoughts in my head. Thoughts about the holidays, challenging child behaviors, brownies and iPads. I have thoughts about friends, Christmas presents and raising a teenager (who is now living here full-time.) I have thoughts about cleaning the house, finding time for my husband, and strawberry daiquiris. (Actually, not much thought on that last one except for wanting one.)<br /><br />But, the kids' requests for more grapes are becoming louder and more difficult to ignore, the dog is now sitting at my feet whining, and supper is not making itself.<br /><br />So, my thoughts will have to wait. And later, when the kids have gone to bed, the hum of the dishwasher washing dishes can be faintly heard from the kitchen, the Christmas tree lights are sparkling and reflecting against the window... the perfect environment to reflect and write.... I will be tired and my mind will be trying to recollect just what on earth I had to say about brownies and iPads that was inspiring (or even remotely interesting.)<br /><br />For now, I will leave you with this.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu2lkGtkX340zyoSSeF2ys69VTkxuccJO8sPKkJyQMAwn2lCTMjXDNFfBmZjZdvegfszf9LXdHbsSKu1QQChLXhfBiqijAwDFpxeWpuB0ZwFRqfkDd3CIB_LgsJomFoWHUdYHTP1muOqII/s1600/Carter+Gibson.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu2lkGtkX340zyoSSeF2ys69VTkxuccJO8sPKkJyQMAwn2lCTMjXDNFfBmZjZdvegfszf9LXdHbsSKu1QQChLXhfBiqijAwDFpxeWpuB0ZwFRqfkDd3CIB_LgsJomFoWHUdYHTP1muOqII/s400/Carter+Gibson.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5686141953239002578" border="0" /></a><br /><br />As soon as I can wrap my arms around the overwhelmingly wonderful feelings I have for this little boy,<br /><br />and now his forever Mom and Dad,<br /><br />I will be back.Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-23242622894787978752011-11-29T16:44:00.002-06:002011-11-29T16:46:51.372-06:00Fashion StatementThis is where we wear our skirts... so why wouldn't the tree?<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrH7SreJ9QdyRTGtY9ZCeSwcQH-YnuBfI73PkVrbyt0aX6-dgdU2Jr5opx6kLtVpuo3bK1ccMShA3_uzE3XHwewiItNoYqlkWDzuIrZW6292VjlLrmRko_v8Outf7ltqcY7vNpVz3H1z7h/s1600/Tree+Skirt.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrH7SreJ9QdyRTGtY9ZCeSwcQH-YnuBfI73PkVrbyt0aX6-dgdU2Jr5opx6kLtVpuo3bK1ccMShA3_uzE3XHwewiItNoYqlkWDzuIrZW6292VjlLrmRko_v8Outf7ltqcY7vNpVz3H1z7h/s800/Tree+Skirt.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680552504061193730" border="0" /></a>Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-55249140064610481102011-11-21T20:30:00.001-06:002011-11-21T20:36:49.900-06:00First TimeFirst time walking to the Metrodome for his very first Vikings game<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPBu4kX0OckGpRu5ymk2H5iaEqPmKmZv2ReNbFm6FgeX6b9x9C6ojse1fY7pqyHc71ES4rsKVABUCJ_cIh-iVS7SyuVmuX2-MB61xzIDdTR67zLGAe6yPVZNqyv7uGC4otw37ue1N2GzA/s1600/Walking+to+Game.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLPBu4kX0OckGpRu5ymk2H5iaEqPmKmZv2ReNbFm6FgeX6b9x9C6ojse1fY7pqyHc71ES4rsKVABUCJ_cIh-iVS7SyuVmuX2-MB61xzIDdTR67zLGAe6yPVZNqyv7uGC4otw37ue1N2GzA/s800/Walking+to+Game.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677297898552526930" border="0" /></a><br /><br />First time posing in the cold weather just outside the dome<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTB7-boJM3-AjHMpJoHgk0-91uKf8IgRIdUttEIwuADDH98sGds7EpiKs8nijxKmTHD41V41edhdBrCk5ENkhCOTIIeNeavxLVuryslfrAVr4UqZ0Sbuu6KVusUl9dDhk6qj9u3_Brbg_P/s1600/Stadium.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTB7-boJM3-AjHMpJoHgk0-91uKf8IgRIdUttEIwuADDH98sGds7EpiKs8nijxKmTHD41V41edhdBrCk5ENkhCOTIIeNeavxLVuryslfrAVr4UqZ0Sbuu6KVusUl9dDhk6qj9u3_Brbg_P/s800/Stadium.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677297892030823202" border="0" /></a><br /><br />First time watching the players come in from the parking lot<br />(spotted Adrian Peterson, Jared Allen and Kevin Williams)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMwL1oIBuAmlCKNbDzFi1XxwUbkXuhU6_UHsPmgn1B8AkayEu_fU9Kqe7B9iqGCw5_fFuoerMExMuhhgg8Br-Wc4Iz_uOAN-404aJDF8869u4lwPR-r5f9UszQKMmhr67KOpiusytzxT9Q/s1600/Watching+Players.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMwL1oIBuAmlCKNbDzFi1XxwUbkXuhU6_UHsPmgn1B8AkayEu_fU9Kqe7B9iqGCw5_fFuoerMExMuhhgg8Br-Wc4Iz_uOAN-404aJDF8869u4lwPR-r5f9UszQKMmhr67KOpiusytzxT9Q/s800/Watching+Players.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677297904204802866" border="0" /></a><br /><br />First time at the official "Vikings Locker Room" purchasing his first game souvenier<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnIbPtck7BUJ0hTMpo3Av__NwOz4wdqPFkekwwpu7r-1RSAyVM8hG-AJ2GHnYxlI70j81nEI8Z_x9Gl-7G5Ta-4BeqP0_XyUjkWbj6E66f2AcgO2s_DwtiZYzVjm28HH97ugWN_mXKinHs/s1600/Buying+Souvenier.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnIbPtck7BUJ0hTMpo3Av__NwOz4wdqPFkekwwpu7r-1RSAyVM8hG-AJ2GHnYxlI70j81nEI8Z_x9Gl-7G5Ta-4BeqP0_XyUjkWbj6E66f2AcgO2s_DwtiZYzVjm28HH97ugWN_mXKinHs/s800/Buying+Souvenier.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677297441100419666" border="0" /></a><br /><br />First time seeing the field<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHbLhoTVCACKbaDIv2h5V0rGRSxb5Hz-Dk8eR2togb0A8FFtQ8HlwyPu4wwoWo_NFBivzkfGX9HaRrC-Ypn1CcmlODpyanXQrQML30raZXg56PZJdZC8l0KlJ0ElnS0Y70Z0Wi5GNbf_nt/s1600/Jeremy%252C+Carter%252C+Jordyn.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHbLhoTVCACKbaDIv2h5V0rGRSxb5Hz-Dk8eR2togb0A8FFtQ8HlwyPu4wwoWo_NFBivzkfGX9HaRrC-Ypn1CcmlODpyanXQrQML30raZXg56PZJdZC8l0KlJ0ElnS0Y70Z0Wi5GNbf_nt/s800/Jeremy%252C+Carter%252C+Jordyn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677297673645324066" border="0" /></a><br /><br />First time finding his seat<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDSivLNogmz9cvvpmHSNF-3FpA0iv8NUSrOSDJvadl0psN4uz__wiL9l-s9V32n8U7FjSYzXwruj5vH0a9DbROTDi-2TFC7wmyeAp6vWHmiNKo9uSgIkddb_N0PKIHUWOizn5AOyy7B4NY/s1600/Jeremy+%2526+Carter.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDSivLNogmz9cvvpmHSNF-3FpA0iv8NUSrOSDJvadl0psN4uz__wiL9l-s9V32n8U7FjSYzXwruj5vH0a9DbROTDi-2TFC7wmyeAp6vWHmiNKo9uSgIkddb_N0PKIHUWOizn5AOyy7B4NY/s800/Jeremy+%2526+Carter.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677567013089976498" border="0" /></a><br /><br />First time discovering that kisses are nearly impossible wearing a helmet<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM1L6xJMYpAINY6kN7mDWDKdRiw12f4x3YMUgo7ZbGkQ5yJEoM3G_vTh9EqGVmHkBY2NlW70rjOPTKxMOFN4W7ZNnpyarEM3yjQpp4zRssSGHljrSP8-JXnB0_TwkoeNg0CH0mdSlQZLDA/s1600/Kisses.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM1L6xJMYpAINY6kN7mDWDKdRiw12f4x3YMUgo7ZbGkQ5yJEoM3G_vTh9EqGVmHkBY2NlW70rjOPTKxMOFN4W7ZNnpyarEM3yjQpp4zRssSGHljrSP8-JXnB0_TwkoeNg0CH0mdSlQZLDA/s800/Kisses.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677297679295376050" border="0" /></a><br /><br />First time showing his "tough face" and getting psyched up for the game<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWhJlA3zgJdTlCRdZ2QqmwIDhdKtu43qXgzCESxszuKw5eIeVkeHaJqjpvqcNcx7t9H7uZiEg0WAf-qhfaG87LlT7FQ1ep4Qp97MU15aeo3yOdIzGKLQYfwAa6YjHeWk5c6yQGDCavcwf5/s1600/Rock+On%2521.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWhJlA3zgJdTlCRdZ2QqmwIDhdKtu43qXgzCESxszuKw5eIeVkeHaJqjpvqcNcx7t9H7uZiEg0WAf-qhfaG87LlT7FQ1ep4Qp97MU15aeo3yOdIzGKLQYfwAa6YjHeWk5c6yQGDCavcwf5/s800/Rock+On%2521.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677297695657743106" border="0" /></a><br /><br />First time watching the Vikings ship inflate and the fireworks explode for the introduction of the players<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY4CKA4XdWPoVZnvi_Z8KuWgD5vhfbScx0NNLM6Cdd1fCia9g2mA7aUADygOBULnKwvp2KtlvJEFWFmR3Thg6xQMKzVMg69iA5RavotEaFZ8RXfbaILsOjvgKOR2fr9Xab0srWEzGJkx0R/s1600/Field.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY4CKA4XdWPoVZnvi_Z8KuWgD5vhfbScx0NNLM6Cdd1fCia9g2mA7aUADygOBULnKwvp2KtlvJEFWFmR3Thg6xQMKzVMg69iA5RavotEaFZ8RXfbaILsOjvgKOR2fr9Xab0srWEzGJkx0R/s800/Field.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677297458429637298" border="0" /></a><br /><br />First time cheering the players on one by one as they come onto the field<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOfFyJ8ClgD1Qtp9z2AVOxFfJ1IjEP7kAMVOhgE2127LaoTbjWhQ4WtuleDMhyphenhyphenEdxDN3Xd4wJlVpwGHyQKA1oh4Tuhhgf8fiirDnkuKavAh_LWtOCXY8b_i1APwX9-1KOPUR-GIijjDMD_/s1600/Cheering+on+Players.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOfFyJ8ClgD1Qtp9z2AVOxFfJ1IjEP7kAMVOhgE2127LaoTbjWhQ4WtuleDMhyphenhyphenEdxDN3Xd4wJlVpwGHyQKA1oh4Tuhhgf8fiirDnkuKavAh_LWtOCXY8b_i1APwX9-1KOPUR-GIijjDMD_/s800/Cheering+on+Players.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677297449353276850" border="0" /></a><br /><br />First time taking pictures of the action with Mom's little pocket camera<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXHUD4Lf-w_Mu9pMagom81CjOQ20ZSMpb7vYt_eq4LlMMhKKrsT89sd9j-aQFsta-BG2fXqjcmJ0eK4pBfPLUhwCvCle7-WnreRG7vHluVoLyfNsuh8t4Xued6QOpnQBN-EKrXeYZKHxQP/s1600/Taking+Pictures.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXHUD4Lf-w_Mu9pMagom81CjOQ20ZSMpb7vYt_eq4LlMMhKKrsT89sd9j-aQFsta-BG2fXqjcmJ0eK4pBfPLUhwCvCle7-WnreRG7vHluVoLyfNsuh8t4Xued6QOpnQBN-EKrXeYZKHxQP/s800/Taking+Pictures.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677297897547918962" border="0" /></a><br /><br />First time watching a pro-football game live and in person<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6LtT4tMtkntEwZn4x166JTXooc-alJi9Ab0CSvaqT_XZVN6FpyEEjB3L5LfuMmyhPRFgY_tj69tRDDWStiGg6dHpIR7Or0gVViNbTWaB43v5_oZBFS9sAbikyrUhJDB02zjaIiokkbOa/s1600/Players+on+Field.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW6LtT4tMtkntEwZn4x166JTXooc-alJi9Ab0CSvaqT_XZVN6FpyEEjB3L5LfuMmyhPRFgY_tj69tRDDWStiGg6dHpIR7Or0gVViNbTWaB43v5_oZBFS9sAbikyrUhJDB02zjaIiokkbOa/s800/Players+on+Field.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677297684117719506" border="0" /></a><br /><br />First time munching on popcorn in a very large <s> and over-priced </s> popcorn tub.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAI-ZSXHadqRHCrMyqfHh1jWrkhDnizgWDWlhgZ4G1op53opRak_Ji0S5mal8uOozhKktYi5xNkjwTtOP1jtybBvCGLWhsKX9hXg0LpUeWfbsw65b1GNt6P6Tq9qM_4XDZQeC3XjjzdAJx/s1600/Popcorn.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAI-ZSXHadqRHCrMyqfHh1jWrkhDnizgWDWlhgZ4G1op53opRak_Ji0S5mal8uOozhKktYi5xNkjwTtOP1jtybBvCGLWhsKX9hXg0LpUeWfbsw65b1GNt6P6Tq9qM_4XDZQeC3XjjzdAJx/s800/Popcorn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677567019382010562" border="0" /></a><br /><br />First time realizing that the 1st half of the game is intriguing, but that he's only four, and he still gets bored for the 2nd half and needs his Mom's phone to keep him entertained. (At least her phone case is purple, so he still looks supportive of the team.)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1XvuJ7BDPJ1XjpQLJzjZPH-_Dp-jUH8szZvHFZndCp9QHvkpRdCZTaNAIZ8UbvWKDKcrxDfbY7mvoLvvD8RQ3_TyIZuop7hIgx8iyJX1NtsaVFbSWEdC_pw6KVub_CZuHx-9GnlyOiOZp/s1600/Playing+on+Phone.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1XvuJ7BDPJ1XjpQLJzjZPH-_Dp-jUH8szZvHFZndCp9QHvkpRdCZTaNAIZ8UbvWKDKcrxDfbY7mvoLvvD8RQ3_TyIZuop7hIgx8iyJX1NtsaVFbSWEdC_pw6KVub_CZuHx-9GnlyOiOZp/s800/Playing+on+Phone.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677297689407890690" border="0" /></a><br /><br />First time covering his ears when the crowd gets a little rambunctious<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJwx-7ykAR4ZFJUDbagD8Xiwu5FPKQxNxyKykWZ3uTeRGjd4qgZY7NG1L19jebyBtVBV3LTyx4xnOSYm25OJlpzYp1NtPGYryRv2tGZDAPdSMN7d00LL19ppmtGVr42S9efmWBbiqbaxyW/s1600/Covering+Ears.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJwx-7ykAR4ZFJUDbagD8Xiwu5FPKQxNxyKykWZ3uTeRGjd4qgZY7NG1L19jebyBtVBV3LTyx4xnOSYm25OJlpzYp1NtPGYryRv2tGZDAPdSMN7d00LL19ppmtGVr42S9efmWBbiqbaxyW/s800/Covering+Ears.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677297453897944226" border="0" /></a><br /><br />First time falling asleep in the car after his very first Vikings game<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHlO-Fp5vZCEuKk75xcPi5yo5NXNwTP9E8Se5nlBd9eo35Yt0q_uiXbD1Wln0ifFe-2jlFNbqPvbH-yXzEtciHIIzA2H90Wux8EODD8WEWRtumVpfcWfB8Hh84d6Vf0hO0IUO0q-RhoBj0/s1600/Asleep.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHlO-Fp5vZCEuKk75xcPi5yo5NXNwTP9E8Se5nlBd9eo35Yt0q_uiXbD1Wln0ifFe-2jlFNbqPvbH-yXzEtciHIIzA2H90Wux8EODD8WEWRtumVpfcWfB8Hh84d6Vf0hO0IUO0q-RhoBj0/s800/Asleep.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5677297435717249890" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br />First Vikings loss of the season.<br /><br />Okay, so maybe that last one wasn't a <span style="font-style: italic;">first.</span>Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-79648154144514609242011-11-05T23:41:00.009-05:002011-11-06T00:04:26.352-05:00PreparationCards have been written (and adequately covered in stickers),<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh71Vcz4-nP5JtH8ctOK_BtFIWqOzUBjBVB0ldl5AEQqLR0_WmzGXYzsqQBLM24_Lqe7wjVEpOMFuQJIH0WjuTzW4W1SGs6A7QlwRdyOZ3x9DIQ3-5E8bfe2zujTqzk64RH1lMK_w8s9Sl/s1600/FBB+Card.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh71Vcz4-nP5JtH8ctOK_BtFIWqOzUBjBVB0ldl5AEQqLR0_WmzGXYzsqQBLM24_Lqe7wjVEpOMFuQJIH0WjuTzW4W1SGs6A7QlwRdyOZ3x9DIQ3-5E8bfe2zujTqzk64RH1lMK_w8s9Sl/s800/FBB+Card.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671738436999152274" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >(Adding his name was an afterthought... so he squeezed it in where it fit!)</span><br /><br /><br />smoothie cups have been decorated and labeled,<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOWtnpAZNPpwU5QHNFUcrFfxbo-7eqdJ-Rid6q7beFwqOINzF23ZTKGewfKOYsFB4lK5KtOtApuuxdRamUhnS1FhxWp6VUE6JXYyBI0DghGCm8igxb0uwkXOH2rdxiVCfHbNO2zFvS8Ids/s1600/FBB+Cups.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOWtnpAZNPpwU5QHNFUcrFfxbo-7eqdJ-Rid6q7beFwqOINzF23ZTKGewfKOYsFB4lK5KtOtApuuxdRamUhnS1FhxWp6VUE6JXYyBI0DghGCm8igxb0uwkXOH2rdxiVCfHbNO2zFvS8Ids/s800/FBB+Cups.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671738435097763042" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />and the cake has been frosted <s> and bowls of cake batter have been licked clean </s>,<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmls_iVu1tIZiAcb8Hbnz0_8ISS3FNI-F9alFiwin4_jkyHp6FmNK8pJpPn6tiOFxYB_reZyN7Zig40uUsO_aROZP5EORNXILx9_hQygqWG6cMI0C2L6ZF4nKxAgGEFqpDN5W39IRfxw1s/s1600/FBB+Cake.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmls_iVu1tIZiAcb8Hbnz0_8ISS3FNI-F9alFiwin4_jkyHp6FmNK8pJpPn6tiOFxYB_reZyN7Zig40uUsO_aROZP5EORNXILx9_hQygqWG6cMI0C2L6ZF4nKxAgGEFqpDN5W39IRfxw1s/s800/FBB+Cake.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671741993853371394" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Any guesses on the cake?!)</span></span><br /><br /><br />all in preparation to celebrate THIS DAY!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh6nITet3rxc78k8YXFeKI0XOTFnhXHDjbc0xcPYHBq-joahLcdSwOtTefNPdvd8scM6bPFoW14tD6KFRsInpf9URt1zO8UpDDFqyCUlUfvAZS4_0EdGZ-TGlxLymiggz-8bk7v8PSmudb/s1600/Rylee+NB.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh6nITet3rxc78k8YXFeKI0XOTFnhXHDjbc0xcPYHBq-joahLcdSwOtTefNPdvd8scM6bPFoW14tD6KFRsInpf9URt1zO8UpDDFqyCUlUfvAZS4_0EdGZ-TGlxLymiggz-8bk7v8PSmudb/s800/Rylee+NB.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671740402879261490" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >(Thursday, November 6, 2003 at 9:12 am • 6 lbs 2 oz • 19" • 4 weeks early)</span><br /><br /><br />It's <span style="font-size:130%;">Party Time!</span><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBUJlpcfR-Z3gLHqYDqJ67kKqCZjqVxA66CftBs6Hp0PJ6MMwZLv2P9nPz5GKoYRqOMdikbmjACYJppo8uW9-U7zJFJxaPQFICcKFZtIiERQBKELSQmShugGI2PeBKJCfwDzrEya4hKrmU/s1600/Rylee%2527s+8th+Birthday+Invite.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBUJlpcfR-Z3gLHqYDqJ67kKqCZjqVxA66CftBs6Hp0PJ6MMwZLv2P9nPz5GKoYRqOMdikbmjACYJppo8uW9-U7zJFJxaPQFICcKFZtIiERQBKELSQmShugGI2PeBKJCfwDzrEya4hKrmU/s800/Rylee%2527s+8th+Birthday+Invite.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5671738439486717250" border="0" /></a>Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5669542480886208954.post-15875702869371183612011-10-28T22:46:00.010-05:002011-10-29T17:16:34.144-05:00InadequateBlogging is always on my mind -- every time I take pictures I already have thoughts on what I'd write about -- but somehow I've let "my blogging time" be swallowed up by everything else in life.<br /><br />I don't feel quite complete when I'm not blogging consistently. It's strange. And when it's been awhile since I last blogged, the words don't come as easily as when I'm blogging more frequently.<br /><br />There are several blogs I follow regularly -- blogs written by remarkable, creative, inspiring women. And when something happens in my life that inspires <span style="font-style: italic;">me</span> to write, I grab my laptop and click on "Blogger", visualizing this wonderfully-written post with breathtaking photos. But before starting my post, I take a little detour and click on the blogs of these other women. <br /><br />I read. I look. I smile. <br /><br />And then I allow myself to feel inadequate.<br /><br />Why do I do that?<br /><br />Suddenly my moment of inspiration is gone, and what's left is the feeling of "um... nevermind."<br /><br />My thoughts, my photos, my experiences, my <span style="font-style: italic;">everything</span> suddenly pales in comparison to these other women.<br /><br />My excitement to blog is gone.<br /><br />If I consider myself to be confident (which I do), why do I let that happen? *hmmmm*<br />Must be just moments of uncertainty peeking through the confidence sometimes...<br /><br />But because of those feelings, I've missed out on blogging some really fun moments in our lives...<br />and that just bums me out.<br /><br />So, I'm making a <s> New Year's </s> Halloween Resolution. More blogging. More of our family. Whether the thoughts are eloquent or the words stumble over each other, I'm going to say them. Whether the photos are magazine-worthy or slightly blurry and underexposed, I'm going to share them.<br /><br />And with that resolution out there, I'm going to show you our two little Halloween kiddos... our two little ones who often say the sweetest things to me,<br /><br />as if they're helping me to see there is nothing inadequate about me.<br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypAMRDRTXyZAOav531rz5RcnFU2Q2zo-wDMws2OfuWJRyHWTShhryxOlJdWsMooG6neuyKko5-x9Pr0lbYGEPrfhmHuKEVVMJiOXYM8sFbhqtYJzP2PeTjiKQ2nO7-gOM58oNpq3F94cv/s1600/Halloween+Notes+to+Friends.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiypAMRDRTXyZAOav531rz5RcnFU2Q2zo-wDMws2OfuWJRyHWTShhryxOlJdWsMooG6neuyKko5-x9Pr0lbYGEPrfhmHuKEVVMJiOXYM8sFbhqtYJzP2PeTjiKQ2nO7-gOM58oNpq3F94cv/s800/Halloween+Notes+to+Friends.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5669034838200558834" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Have a fun and safe Halloween everyone!<br /><br />(Take a peek at our Halloweens from the past <a href="http://caringriffith.blogspot.com/2010/10/that-time-again.html">here</a> and <a href="http://caringriffith.blogspot.com/2009/10/flashback-friday-halloween-edition.html">here</a>!)Carinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13805298204904611543noreply@blogger.com3