tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-268797712024-03-14T12:10:22.967-04:00It's just me. Again.Blogging a little.Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.comBlogger73125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-17963700905903349492018-11-19T23:51:00.011-05:002021-12-06T13:53:34.364-05:00A gift giving guide for the bewildered gifterDear Friend/Spouse/Partner;<br />
<br />
Hey. I love you. I know you are struggling with what to get me. And I know you care and want to buy the perfect thing as a token of your love so I thought I would help you out a little.<br />
<br />
First, I’m not going to BUY MY OWN GIFTS.<br />
<br />
But here are a few questions for you to answer that should help you prepare a little:<br />
<br />
<b>1. What would make my life easier?</b> <div><br /><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyBXfGehzMeR1CELGPe9XuJNGriqeQfktDZaTIZJnIKLreaDh6o6h737pTmlJoTdqdTTRl74LOoDkCUdqYCFxdO_2CP_Yp0aPFwDn2svoeO8vPy614XWoYNUIbK6Awic8SOR7oFA/s792/It%2527s+the+little+things.jpg" style="clear: right; display: block; float: right; padding: 1em 0px; text-align: center;"><img alt="" border="0" data-original-height="792" data-original-width="446" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyBXfGehzMeR1CELGPe9XuJNGriqeQfktDZaTIZJnIKLreaDh6o6h737pTmlJoTdqdTTRl74LOoDkCUdqYCFxdO_2CP_Yp0aPFwDn2svoeO8vPy614XWoYNUIbK6Awic8SOR7oFA/s320/It%2527s+the+little+things.jpg" /></a></div>There is something I complain about ALL the time. True, there are MANY things I complain about. So go now to your dark place and think of those things…. Those nagging, constant, irritating things. And then fix it, buy it, get rid of it! Whatever complaints I have made over the past few months - Take care of it for me! Broken dish washer? Fix it! No dish washer? BINGO. Not enough spoons/mugs/dish towels? Buy me a dozen! Always tripping over your shoes? Get rid of them! And by that I mean buy something to take care of the shoes-all-over-the-living-room problem. Yes. A shoe organizer. You’re catching on quick! What am I always looking for? My keys? Make a duplicate set. My cell phone charger? Get me three: work, car, and home!<br />
<br />
<b>2. What would make me feel adored? </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>Something extra. Something I don’t need. Something that I often use/wear/want. You’ve seen me put on a necklace every day before work. Buy me a new one! You’ve seen me work endless hours on my hobby … get me better tools, a fancy thing-a-ma-jig, and a do-hickey to compliment my efforts. (Please … please tell me you know what my hobby is!? If not go look on my pinterest account, eh? It should be loud and clear.) Basically, what do I do every single day to make myself feel pretty, feel sane, or just feel like a human? Buy me more.<br />
<br />
<b>3. Who (or what!) else can do my chores?</b> </div><div><br /></div><div>If I spend all my free time keeping the house clean please buy me a maid! Once a month for the entire year someone to come into our home and spend 2-3 hours cleaning, organizing, SOMETHING! Dear God, I want a BREAK! (Or see "dishwasher" in part 1.)<br />
<br />
<b>4. What would make me speechless? </b></div><div><b><br /></b></div><div>Go ahead. Buy me something that would blow me away. A real dream come true! So far out there that it’s virtually unrealistic; A vacation. A car. A weekend away. Yes. That’s it! A weekend away. No guilt. No strings. And by all means NO CHILDREN. And if I’m being honest … no YOU either. Let me relax. Let me manage my own 48 hours. However I want. With my current responsibilities THAT would be an absolutely unrealistic and unexpected dream come true!<br />
<br />
MAKE IT HAPPEN.<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
The Happiest Gift Receiver<br />
<br />
PS. Don't ASK me if I want _____ for Christmas/My Birthday/Our Anniversary. Just surprise me! I DON'T WANT TO KNOW AHEAD OF TIME!
</div></div>Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-49120431948541404342014-12-22T00:15:00.001-05:002021-12-06T13:50:12.893-05:00Sophisticated No-Bakes <div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
I found this amazing <a href="http://mysimplekitchen.com/no-bake-oatmeal-bars/" style="border: 0px; color: #21759b; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; font-weight: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">No Bake oatmeal bar recipe</a> just before Thanksgiving and my brain adapted it for me before I pulled a single ingredient from the shelf. Fun how our brains do that. ;) (Yeah. I read the recipe wrong from the start. But what I ended up with was just as amazing and I personally feel like royalty when I eat them.) So. ..</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
Here's my adapted recipe. I like to call them <strong style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">SOPHISTICATED NO-BAKES</strong>.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw_CwJeNf83lznoOUsPt2K6dPHfATybYk2C24phStsD_NVoDtNnhqbNE0GdDo4PUUoa9P8_hq9QdHznRSY4bBZDkvvJw4ptKlPqVeebGELOIR4WJCgkZI-3gYmYVnndnWxfnOFGA/s1600/20141221_232806.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw_CwJeNf83lznoOUsPt2K6dPHfATybYk2C24phStsD_NVoDtNnhqbNE0GdDo4PUUoa9P8_hq9QdHznRSY4bBZDkvvJw4ptKlPqVeebGELOIR4WJCgkZI-3gYmYVnndnWxfnOFGA/s1600/20141221_232806.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">GATHER</strong><br />Square baking dish<br />Parchment paper<br />2 sauce pans<br />Measuring cups<br />Something to stir with<br />Rubber Spatula</div>
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<strong style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Ingredients</strong><br />1 cup salted butter</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
1/3 cup light brown sugar</div>
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1 tsp vanilla</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
3 cups quick-oats</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
1 cup semisweet chocolate chips</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
3/4 cup chunky peanut butter</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
1/2 cup dried cranberries</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
1/2 cup white chocolate chips</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
<strong style="border: 0px; font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">Let the magic begin!</strong><br />Line square baking pan with wax or parchment paper, set aside.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
Melt butter on medium heat in large sauce pan.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
Stir in brown sugar and vanilla.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
Stir in oats.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
Turn heat to low and cook for another 5 minutes, stirring occasionally.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
Then take 1/2 of oat mixture and press into bottom of lined baking dish.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
In a different saucepan, melt chocolate chips and peanut butter , stirring frequently.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
Once fully melted, pour onto oatmeal layer. Gently spread evenly.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
Carefully top with remaining oat mixture, then add white chocolate chips and cranberries. Gently press it all down.</div>
<div style="background-color: white; border: 0px; color: #464646; font-family: DroidSans, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 18.6666660308838px; margin-bottom: 0.8em; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">
You could save about a 1 tbsp of chocolate mix to drizzle on top, or you could just eat it to celebrate your Sophisticated No-Bake success!</div>
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Put the pan in the fridge for about 3 hrs or until someone finds out you made them. ;)</div>
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Slice in small squares, hide a few for later, and serve to your friends and family this holiday!</div>
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Enjoy!</div>
Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-91086957242575512282013-02-03T10:24:00.001-05:002013-02-03T10:25:02.106-05:00Turn off the tv and DO something<div style="text-align: center;">
A note to myself for 2013 (and beyond!): </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP11UkNuhbhyphenhyphenRsqtMpgRE9oFB-BQZaSj2_NtDf12Hs_3t45jv66vOF6OYfePVsfSdi1x6zSlYwHR4dEc2VGe-V8OUvbnom0rcJJhMK-p_q726XwdHNvlPCp7Lxr14pqcKnsNIkrg/s1600/Be+Human.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhP11UkNuhbhyphenhyphenRsqtMpgRE9oFB-BQZaSj2_NtDf12Hs_3t45jv66vOF6OYfePVsfSdi1x6zSlYwHR4dEc2VGe-V8OUvbnom0rcJJhMK-p_q726XwdHNvlPCp7Lxr14pqcKnsNIkrg/s1600/Be+Human.png" /></a></div>
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<br />Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-48688510535498724022013-01-08T20:16:00.000-05:002013-01-08T20:24:24.112-05:00Chores and RewardsIt's time for updated systems around here. What was once considered major accomplishments (brushing your teeth) has now become expected and normal. No more special attention for such mundane tasks. Our baby is now 5 years old and while chores have been a regular part of our lives I now see the need to "up the ante".<br />
<br />
I learned from my sister-in-law, <a href="https://twitter.com/paigetimer" target="_blank">Paige</a>, and a wise woman of 9 children, <a href="http://momandus.com/2008/08/29/teaching-children-to-work-pt-5/" target="_blank">Darlene</a>, about the "<a href="http://momandus.com/2008/09/01/five-finger-chores/" target="_blank">five finger chores</a>". We've doing those for about a month now and it has helped us reign in my daughter's desire to instantly jump on the computer or turn on the tv in the morning. First she needs to finish her "first fives". <br />
<br />
Here's what our (well used!) Five Finger Chore Chart looks like:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7FNH-B6XS6Qynv4P9XwDKUXJv7CundAjq2AT5mA4MJ-mDyhtiL6dq7-msRb2S5jtL3NI2Y7hPkTP84ju0Y5hSQrv_lf3BL4lcttEK8FY2vUT0qwn_JSvRawgyxK6Yyh8euA_Qaw/s1600/20130108_200428%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7FNH-B6XS6Qynv4P9XwDKUXJv7CundAjq2AT5mA4MJ-mDyhtiL6dq7-msRb2S5jtL3NI2Y7hPkTP84ju0Y5hSQrv_lf3BL4lcttEK8FY2vUT0qwn_JSvRawgyxK6Yyh8euA_Qaw/s320/20130108_200428%5B1%5D.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
1. Turn off your "water sounds" (white noise machine)<br />
2. Turn off your radio<br />
3. Get dressed<br />
4. Drink water<br />
5. Put your laundry in the basket<br />
<br />
Humbly drawn at the bottom is a picture of the computer. She can watch a show when she finishes all five. It's perfection.<br />
<br />
But I also learned from my years observing Darlene that a great chore system may last a short while before it loses it's appeal. She seemed to have a good handle on when to revamp!<br />
<br />
Pockets, Popsicle sticks, stickers, money, threats .... whatever your system, I'm curious what you do; What you've tried; How you've succeeded and how you've failed. Do tell!<br />
<br />
Here's my newest plan to use in conjunction with the Five Finger Chart. Feel free to use, share, or delete! <br />
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<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 24.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">REGULAR CHORES/TASKS</span></b></div>
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(Compiled with
input from the 5 year old)</div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Take a bath</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Clean up after your meals</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Put away your books</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Put away your toys</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Take care of your laundry</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Rest time</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 24.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">EXTRA CHORES FOR REWARDS</span></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Clean kitchen surfaces </span>(floor,
or cabinet doors, or garbage can)</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
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<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Vacuum the living room</span></div>
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<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Sweep/rake leaves</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Match plastic lids with their
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<div align="center" class="MsoNoSpacing" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: 18.0pt; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Bring in 4 bags of groceries</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br />Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-37790160507202681702012-08-29T11:57:00.000-04:002016-07-06T12:01:46.708-04:00Where my peeps at?I just want to raise my hand and say "Here!" when the Broken Hearts club meets. I just want to say I'm here.<br />
<br />
What does it mean when no one reaches out? What does it mean when my outstretched hand is picked clean and there is no balm to cover the wounds? I don't want to feed the birds. I want to feed friends. <br />
<br />
Am I searching for something that doesn't exist? Am I crying about the loss of something that was never meant to be? <br />
<br />
You can't force the community to include you. Or can you? Is that how people succeed? They claim their place and stand firmly on confident ground? I don't think I have that kind of resolve. The wounded don't typically feel confident about where they stand. I certainly don't feel confident about anything right now.<br />
<br />
Perhaps this is a season. Endure. Get through. Hope.<br />
<br />
My club meets every other Tuesday. I'll see you there.Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-23801929725390336642012-08-12T11:52:00.000-04:002016-07-06T11:55:14.462-04:00Lucky Charms and Johnny CashIs it presumptuous to think that if Jesus were here, today, he might eat Lucky Charms and listen to Johnny Cash with you? <br />
<br />
I'd like to think that God is chill. That He'd give you permission to relax. <br />
<br />
Most of my upbringing I spent Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights listening to sermons about how we need to DO, GIVE, BE more. How we are called to be warriors. Even now, songs on the Christian charts blare about being courageous, stepping up to be better men. Better women. Yet there are just as many sermons that tell you to LET GO AND LET GOD.<br />
<br />
As a teenager this call to action was heavy in my heart - DO MORE. BE MORE. GIVE MORE. Even in the simple acts of worship - I wanted to know how high to raise my hands, how low to bend my knee ... how much was I to give? I wanted to see the figures, formulas, and rules. It's easy to follow rules. But letting go? "Letting God"?<br />
<br />
"Letting Go" is not part of my nature. I spend a lot of time wound up like a spool of thread.<br />
<br />
<div>
"Take a deep breath", I remind myself. While He's in the business of "more" ... He's also in the business of "just as you are." Either way, there is room for you. Eating Lucky Charms and listening to Johnny Cash.<br />
<br /></div>
Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-73023709888424336322012-05-10T13:34:00.000-04:002016-07-06T12:12:55.632-04:00Perfection isn't part of this journey.Thoughts swirl with relentless reminders that I am not perfect. Simple tasks, jumbled, become costly mistakes. I am unfocused and scattered. Appointments made for the wrong day. Miscommunicating. Forgetful. Interrupted. Unfinished.<br />
<br />
Last night after a day, full, I grumbled my exhaustion to the one who chooses to love me and my mistakes; 9 hours of work, 3 hours for a hair appointment, dinner at the diner, getting home just in time to watch Survivor. I have talked non stop since dawn and I have nothing more to give. I grumble more to the child I've only seen for 20 minutes. It's bedtime. She refuses to brush teeth and I respond in anger. I'm tired and angry. <br />
<br />
He said, "You're tired, but isn't it because you are living your dream?" <br />
<br />
Oh.<br />
<br />
Yes.<br />
<br />
He is right.<br />
<br />
Thank you, dear husband, for not letting me dive any deeper into my mistakes! <br />
<br />
With different perspective, exhaustion is beautiful. Something to feel and be happy for the feeling. <br />
<br />
Tired and happy!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfYRm8GpF0u-aqgbaM1zSb8o3e6mLmhrDaSPdK4LUaoVSLjO-yVfR1DzCjq94rYSl4_2KQW3w9EZG1EKbcjNn8_ovNwUzDOsNTSfXUQrt_6VH8w75CPEJCnAEUgPOA5YZMIxa_IQ/s1600/tired2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfYRm8GpF0u-aqgbaM1zSb8o3e6mLmhrDaSPdK4LUaoVSLjO-yVfR1DzCjq94rYSl4_2KQW3w9EZG1EKbcjNn8_ovNwUzDOsNTSfXUQrt_6VH8w75CPEJCnAEUgPOA5YZMIxa_IQ/s640/tired2.jpg" width="382" /></a></div>
<br />
So then, could the pain of my mistakes also be something beautiful? Embarrassed, guilty, and apologetic - even those feelings might be welcome. I feel. I feel these things. And there is beauty in the emotion. In the consequences. I learn. I move forward. <br />
<br />
They don't tell you this - but making mistakes is part of the curriculum. You can't "live the dream" without them. You don't get through a day, a week, a month, without error. Without misplaced anger. Without exhaustion. You just don't. <br />
<br />
And living with it, moving through it, is part of this dream I am after. It's part of it! I can't separate it! Ignoring it like it might go away and eventually stop happening!? It will never stop happening. I lie to myself if I think that.<br />
<br />
So this is my assignment. To feel my exhaustion! Feel my embarrassment! And be happy!<br />
<br />Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-26799008401876255052012-04-01T16:11:00.003-04:002021-12-06T13:50:01.390-05:00April Fool's Day Pranks<div style="text-align: center;">
Oh what joy this day brings.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Just <i>thinking </i>about pranks thrills me to tears!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
I decided to make up a tasty treat for my family along with a few other low-key pranks.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Enjoy!</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
April Fool's Day Chocolate Chip Cookies:</div>
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She wasn't very happy with me when I told her what they were ... she was too keen on these - knew something wasn't quite right and never actually tried one.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzpI1A5i-ql4kCWbP08siakP2CaLp3jvhwSSI1azdvUZZTUfanDXHAehxJJXNdyeEc5Gj68xwAbF33npBp2R0Bgd2xEsF3ELT_D5_6b45gSUWfYIVYSFRtUFXm9eejdaBlH7JrA/s1600/IMG_5067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXzpI1A5i-ql4kCWbP08siakP2CaLp3jvhwSSI1azdvUZZTUfanDXHAehxJJXNdyeEc5Gj68xwAbF33npBp2R0Bgd2xEsF3ELT_D5_6b45gSUWfYIVYSFRtUFXm9eejdaBlH7JrA/s640/IMG_5067.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJIQe8UBZYqgbEvo33R70VLD3Fsy3QPJBhTgkLskww5_M9-o6rBjxKZD9dL0FwyAbwJexn9q1d1MpiJGezzmy0FCvPZH_w3Tm3SYyH5MaCE14wdoHwJnzryYz3_wkZ5xHUED7LQ/s1600/IMG_5068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnJIQe8UBZYqgbEvo33R70VLD3Fsy3QPJBhTgkLskww5_M9-o6rBjxKZD9dL0FwyAbwJexn9q1d1MpiJGezzmy0FCvPZH_w3Tm3SYyH5MaCE14wdoHwJnzryYz3_wkZ5xHUED7LQ/s640/IMG_5068.JPG" width="640" /></a><br />
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Did you figure it out? </div>
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These are baked taters and black beans!!!</div>
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Simply delicious if you're expecting garlic, salt, sour cream, and potatoes! </div>
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Here's how:</div>
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1. Whip up your favorite mashed potato recipe (I used 3 medium potatoes)</div>
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2. Mix in a few drops of yellow food coloring (3 drops was enough for this batch)</div>
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3. Stir in 1/2 can rinsed black beans</div>
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4. Then drop on a cookie sheet in a 350* oven for 30-45 minutes ... until golden on the top. </div>
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These will taste delicious with a little salsa at dinner time! </div>
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By the way: I did make REAL cookies so as not to completely disappoint the family! ;) </div>
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<br />For all you Pinterest Fools ..... happy pinning!<br />
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Not only did I prank today, but we also dyed few things: </div>
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Julia's Bunny checking out the eggs:</div>
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After the eggs were done I hated to waste all that beautiful color - so we dyed rice. Not sure what we'll do with this, but it feels right to have festive rice laying around.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwI2VjlsqqokuGxrLvW-rVhVcfn2FAlHR6879xImmXYFxo6NGmY2tSv85pofdI6V8lLeetaq0dHQyC1OTgve4ccmrU8OpZmvlO0BmRcwWUF027LuJQJSGWmJ57GNZxyz72zjZpjA/s1600/IMG_5020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwI2VjlsqqokuGxrLvW-rVhVcfn2FAlHR6879xImmXYFxo6NGmY2tSv85pofdI6V8lLeetaq0dHQyC1OTgve4ccmrU8OpZmvlO0BmRcwWUF027LuJQJSGWmJ57GNZxyz72zjZpjA/s640/IMG_5020.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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I hope you fully enjoy April 1st - no matter what you get into!</div>
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One more thing .... </div>
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if you have any leftover color disks/pellets from the Easter egg kit ... pop one into your kitchen faucet. Makes for a fantastic blast of color when the next person turns on the water!<br />
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</div>Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-82410173756956718092012-03-23T11:34:00.000-04:002013-12-03T02:47:07.784-05:00Thoughts about my thoughtsRandom Things of Little Interest.<br />
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1. My husband is on Pinterest. (Thought I'd start with a rhyme. And although Pinterest is generally considered a "female" thing ... I think it's cool that he's "pinning".)<br />
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2. I want to say things people shouldn't say. I want to be rude. Loud. Obnoxious. (Is this why people drink?)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdoc7KohzIFL4tRZnozTHmql_HwHEYHUgZQIlcgkxR47beelVdQZIBuw2b_XqYkd7WywaC61-ZdOZknvEn-rwY3RISp8ifNGogjb3KAIahB3SYs5PBlVPdodTkkUzMkcMGmlkqHw/s1600/can't+tell+you.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdoc7KohzIFL4tRZnozTHmql_HwHEYHUgZQIlcgkxR47beelVdQZIBuw2b_XqYkd7WywaC61-ZdOZknvEn-rwY3RISp8ifNGogjb3KAIahB3SYs5PBlVPdodTkkUzMkcMGmlkqHw/s320/can't+tell+you.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
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3. I also want to live in peace. I want to be quiet. Harmonious. Respectful. (I think I should just go back to bed.)<br />
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4. Food coloring doesn't actually have a flavor but the color makes my mouth <em>think</em> it has flavor. (It's pretty, but carrot cake just isn't the same with purple cream cheese frosting.)<br />
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5. I measure the strength of coffee by comparing it to my daughters eyes. If it's as dark as her peepers it's gooooooooood coffee. (Of course, I muck it up with cream and sugar to create a warm coffee-flavored milk shake.)<br />
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6. I've waited all week to type invoices at work. Typically I type them every day. I am procrastinating by taking pictures of myself, my lunch (carrot cake!!), and my coffee. (I probably shouldn't be telling you this.)Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-16205512175996214532012-03-18T19:03:00.000-04:002021-12-06T13:49:53.580-05:00essential ingredients for a black bean burger?Tonight we experiment with our first ever homemade black bean burgers.<br />
I've found recipes as simple as <a href="http://allrecipes.com/recipe/homemade-black-bean-veggie-burgers/" target="_blank">this one</a> and as complicated as <a href="http://showmethecurry.com/fusion/black-bean-burger.html" target="_blank">this one</a>. Somewhere in between there must be a tasty medium.<br />
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I decided to make up my own version and by no means am I suggesting this worked! :)<br />
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Rinse and drain 1 can of black beans<br />
Saute onions, green bell peppers, mushrooms (I added a few other chopped veggies I had left over from a salad; carrots and radishes being some of them)<br />
Add 75% of beans and 100% sauteed mixture into the food processor - pulse until combined.<br />
Add 1 egg, 1/2 cup bread crumbs, & remaining black beans - stir all together.<br />
Form into 4 patties - VERY sticky.<br />
Pour small amount of olive oil in hot pan, add burgers and let cook 5-8 minutes per side.<br />
Add slices of your favorite cheese on the first DONE side.<br />
Grill your buns lightly on the stove.<br />
Add tomato & lettuce, ketchup & mustard - ENJOY.<br />
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I wish there was a list of the essential ingredients necessary for it all to come together.... like ... Pick one veggie from this list, pick two from here, add an egg and bread crumbs - voila. I'll keep trying. It was good enough to experiment with in the future.<br />
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If you've never had one, don't expect it to take like a hamburger - expect it to taste like a black bean burger. (If that's not helpful advice I don't know what is!)<br />
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Here's how my version turned out:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_f7s26TqJ3DkWCz6foagNgtrRGbPAwIIXXeqg0_qoan3Awcbsks_84563I3JsNcL43PFkznAcVeX29oW024fHEt-pWiukoTWy_AqF-dE3qrm93a8bFOKBzxzAsqydCF1ytqlhCw/s1600/IMAG0431.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_f7s26TqJ3DkWCz6foagNgtrRGbPAwIIXXeqg0_qoan3Awcbsks_84563I3JsNcL43PFkznAcVeX29oW024fHEt-pWiukoTWy_AqF-dE3qrm93a8bFOKBzxzAsqydCF1ytqlhCw/s320/IMAG0431.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTTluiQHWcdo-THOm1e4B-3jifZEXce2bPHeQVxGcal4bouBmy2cTj76mRq0RbuFQd7d9gxotNZMn7k0caEJutBKD46b9gn8YKdGUn3XGX0xjCuHasza7zaJIZ_Y6tvz0U85Jrgw/s1600/IMAG0433.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTTluiQHWcdo-THOm1e4B-3jifZEXce2bPHeQVxGcal4bouBmy2cTj76mRq0RbuFQd7d9gxotNZMn7k0caEJutBKD46b9gn8YKdGUn3XGX0xjCuHasza7zaJIZ_Y6tvz0U85Jrgw/s320/IMAG0433.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><br />
Plenty spicy, full of flavor, a little pasty, very filling. Bake up some sweet potato fries and you've got yourself a Sunday night meal!Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-84660053618594364382012-03-18T13:04:00.000-04:002016-07-06T12:05:52.168-04:00Spiritual HomesToday we walked through the doors of the 4th church. Another opportunity for me to find a "home" among people who believe in the Bible and gather on a weekly basis to celebrate, cherish, confess to and console one another in this life we call sacred. Four walls, familiar music, a minister.<br />
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But I'm cynical. I'm longing for a place to call home all the while refusing to call any place home. Home insinuates rolling up my sleeves and digging into "housework". "Home" would require responsibility on my part. Playing an active roll. Even children have chores.<br />
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Can you be a guest in a place you call home? If you're never given responsibilities, never asked to take out the trash, or allowed to do the dishes ... you quickly realize that you will always be a guest. Some day they expect you to leave.<br />
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If you really want someone to "feel at home" don't you need to set an extra plate, clean out the spare bedroom, make room in the garage? <br />
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And so, in the churches I visit I look for a room with my name on it. I look for a place at the table. I want to know if this is someplace I can call home or if this is just a temporary stopping place.<br />
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I guess this whole life is a temporary stopping place. Which is what leads me back to why I walk in with hope but look through the glasses of a cynic. I want to find a home here. But I don't want my heart to be broken when I discover it's not.Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-70129002310505552032012-02-28T12:21:00.001-05:002012-02-28T12:37:19.799-05:00Always MoreShe cries and begs, "Please don't go! Don't go to work!"<br />
I explain in words too vague for the four year old clinging to my leg.<br />
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It's hard to leave.<br />
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She wipes away the tears and follows me to the kitchen.<br />
Her tiny hands reach for fruit and she packs my lunch with a banana pulled from the bunch.<br />
Strawberries spill on the floor and she finds one rolled under the cabinet.<br />
"You need one more strawberry, Mom."<i> </i>It goes in the ziploc - lint and all.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/justjacqs/6916094509/" title="innocent by justjacqs, on Flickr"><img alt="innocent" height="1024" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7206/6916094509_f72486c9c3_b.jpg" width="612" /></a><br />
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They walk me outside and cover me with kisses. The crisp air grabs her arms and she runs away - back inside to the steaming oatmeal waiting on the table.<br />
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I spend my day under papers and phone calls. Constantly trying to lasso my thoughts back in - I don't want to be here.<br />
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Arriving home, I am wrapped with legs and arms. "Hug me, Mom!"<br />
She gets right to the point<i>. </i>"Popcorn?"<br />
She is hungry and knows I am too.<br />
All the ingredients are at her fingertips and she teeters on the chair to reach for them. I turn on the burner while she carries the large pot across the room and then the oil. Finally the chair is pulled up next to me and she stands, waiting.<br />
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My baby isn't such a baby anymore. She doesn't flail her arms and cry when she wants something. She stands up, moves the chair closer, and reaches for herself.<br />
<br />
She is wholly in charge of her life and yet not at all.<br />
Like me, she answers to something higher than herself. My yays and nays are the joy and bane of her existence. 98% of her asking is for more.<br />
<br />
<b>More</b>.<br />
<i>Yes, you can watch one more show. Yes, I'll read another book. No, you can't take another bath today.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
She is sucking the life out of everything she encounters. And I don't mean that in the sense I usually say that. <b>She is asking what portion is hers</b>. She is pulling, begging, hoping that her portion is more.<br />
More from me. More technology. More friends. More entertainment. More games. More reading. More food. More laughter. More warmth. <b>More life</b>.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/justjacqs/6543839805/" title="City Park by justjacqs, on Flickr"><img alt="City Park" height="1024" src="http://farm8.staticflickr.com/7010/6543839805_1bd24623fc_b.jpg" width="612" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>She begs for more.</b><br />
I am taking hints from her and I, too, am begging.<br />
<br />
<b>I want more. </b>More time. More joy. More peace.<br />
More out of the things I encounter.<br />
I have lived too long ignoring the life around me or accepting what I already have. <i>This will do.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
My eyes are wide. <b>There is more. </b><br />
I am welcoming peace in the typical moments of desperation and asking for more determination.<br />
<i>Order my steps. No flailing or crying. Move the chair closer and reach.</i><br />
<br />
It's easy to feel the victim when you can't get what you need. When you can't reach for it yourself.<br />
But unlike popcorn and oil and large pots - the things I am reaching for aren't located anywhere but within my own heart. A loving God has supplied all I need. (And continues to do so!)<br />
<br />
Anger and frustration arrive when I've <b>chosen </b>to be angry and frustrated. Peace and joy are there for the taking just as much as the uglier counterparts. It all resides inside.<br />
<br />
I am learning, much like a child, how to get more.<br />
First, don't I have to believe MORE exists?<br />
Then I must believe it is available to me. For the asking. The reaching.<br />
<br />
I pray that as my daughter grows, she continues to reach for what she needs. I pray she learns by watching me.<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/o7PQ9GUFiOg" width="420"></iframe>Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-80100990251951978192011-12-16T15:08:00.001-05:002011-12-16T15:10:47.670-05:00Reasonable RequestsShould we go back in? She's calling. <br />
<em>Your blanket needs to be fixed?</em><br />
I don't want her to be cold.<br />
Night 1: Open door. Fix. Adjust. Kiss. She sleeps.<br />
Night 2: Repeat. She sleeps.<br />
Night 3. Repeat. She sleeps. Lament. This isn't working for me.<br />
Night 3: "No! Fix them yourself!" * Weeping and gnashing of teeth * She sleeps.<br />
Night 4: Anticipating the inevitable, we say lovely things. "I don't care if your blanket is across the room, I'm not coming in here to fix it." She sleeps.<br />
<br />
<br />
Should we go back in? She's calling.<br />
<em>You need a glass of water?</em><br />
I don't want you to get dehydrated. You've been a little sick lately.<br />
Night 1: Bring in glass of water. Kiss. She sleeps.<br />
Night 2: This time she comes out for a glass. Kiss. Tuck her back in. She sleeps.<br />
Night 3: "I don't care if you're thirsty - GO TO SLEEP!"<br />
Night 4: Anticipating the inevitable, we say lovely things. "Unless you're choking and about to die, I don't want to see you or hear you." She sleeps.<br />
<br />
Now, we run down a list of threats before bed. "No water, no blankets, we're not turning up the music, we're not giving you one more hug. If we see you or hear you call us, no matter what the reason is ... we're taking away your music. Then we're taking away your night light. Do you understand?"<br />
<br />
What seems like the worst parenting ever to you, feels like the worst parenting ever to us. No one likes to deny reasonable requests. Water. Blankets. Soft music. It's all reasonable. <br />
<br />
But it's insanity. It's delayed sleep. It's one more reason to see my face and kiss it.<br />
<br />
Oh! That is SUCH a reasonable reason! To be kissed and hugged ONE MORE TIME. <br />
<br />
And so, for the sake of sanity... I remain the worst parent ever. No more water. No fixed blankies. <br />
<br />
Good night, dear child.Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-82844241815098902732011-12-09T12:14:00.000-05:002011-12-09T12:14:52.185-05:00Christmas: The Best Songs EverSentimental. Overwhelming. <em>Fall on your knees ... </em><br />
<br />
Childhood comforts replace adult anxieties. <em>Our troubles will be out of sight ... </em><br />
<br />
Every feeling of "family" swells. <em> You can count on me ... </em><br />
<br />
The electric guitar hugs me. <em>The hopes and fears of all the years ...</em><br />
<br />
Narrates my heart. <em>The weary world rejoices ...</em><br />
<br />
Drums beat. Beat. Beating. <em>I have no gift to bring ... </em><br />
<br />
This is every song ever to be sung about Christmas.<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/KJdKLqkD42Q" width="560"></iframe>Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-41112541100667757322011-12-07T15:08:00.000-05:002011-12-07T15:08:07.858-05:00By keyboard or pen - just write<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0MdUZwtqMLBDMh_pYwDre3kutQSSwjHxFz2kCzN41ZPa88klamguBirRSKyVauzeJQeHBZlKnhigUj9rCVDGNkgKy2wrZ86XMqXTM6vY02XNYxPqwxMY7pKX7IEyBpUflHzTdxA/s1600/12072011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0MdUZwtqMLBDMh_pYwDre3kutQSSwjHxFz2kCzN41ZPa88klamguBirRSKyVauzeJQeHBZlKnhigUj9rCVDGNkgKy2wrZ86XMqXTM6vY02XNYxPqwxMY7pKX7IEyBpUflHzTdxA/s640/12072011.jpg" width="491" /></a></div>Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-26535967209051526192011-11-10T17:22:00.000-05:002011-11-10T17:22:02.825-05:00Speed blogging.I know, I know ... it's like we're strangers. I haven't blogged, or videoed, or updated in far too long.<br />
If speed dating gives you a glimpse of someone's life, a brief chance to get to know them, then I think this entry could aptly be considered "speed blogging". Five minutes to learn as much about me as possible.<br />
<br />
Ready. Go!<br />
<br />
I really miss painting. Once upon a time I had walls. With color. Dark and rich. I'm moving into my 3rd house since marriage and for the first time several rooms are paint-able. There's something quite comforting in a blank canvas, though, and I believe I'll let them be white for a while. <br />
<br />
If you're trying to start a small business - you must be crazy. It's agreeing to do more work than you've ever done your entire life only to try and make it possible to work far less than you've ever worked in your entire life. This is a bad plan. And if you're crazy enough to try it, there are people who might call you crazy ... <b> be ok with this</b>.<br />
<br />
<br />
We are still faithfully juicing our veggies every morning and to date I've lost 25+ lbs since July 15th. Life changes that happen slow and just become part of the norm are very ok with me. (I would never divulge this information to a stranger ... but I feel oddly at ease with you.)<br />
<br />
Speaking of strangers, I find that I am the kindest and most forgiving to people I don't even know. While the ones I love the most are snapped at, held to a standard I don't even care for, and the grudges I carry take on the form of the Grinch; I take your stocking and tinsel so you, too, can be miserable. This needs to change.<br />
<br />
I don't communicate when I don't know the answer. Or when<b> I don't like the answer</b>. People are getting married, having babies, performing on stage, struggling with illness. The question is "will you come?" and the answer is difficult to accept. I can't. I just can't. I don't want to admit this. Ever. But then I end up ignoring you because I don't want to deal with the hurt of not being able to be there. And that's worse.<br />
<br />
I just checked my watch, 5 minutes are almost up. Not sure if I should shake your hand or hug you now ... I'll just smile awkwardly and go.<br />
<br />
Call me?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2bVmu3dm-Z8pZRETksIV855PtEfF_1rR-eL38CohzUSSwMQUiQjvCsKv6s3mpBTItTeDu9RoQP6hSjq0oS35-JT6pr3QsEkP4Ze2HKtbccBMa9i8j7lIgwgOQVClXvd-Ltsfzlg/s1600/julia+me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2bVmu3dm-Z8pZRETksIV855PtEfF_1rR-eL38CohzUSSwMQUiQjvCsKv6s3mpBTItTeDu9RoQP6hSjq0oS35-JT6pr3QsEkP4Ze2HKtbccBMa9i8j7lIgwgOQVClXvd-Ltsfzlg/s320/julia+me.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-8844511212559124192011-10-28T12:59:00.001-04:002011-10-28T12:59:54.288-04:00Praying for your EnemiesI'm sorry? Did you say you don't have any enemies?<br />
<br />
<em>I laugh.</em> Sure you do! <br />
<br />
If you're like me you first assume an "enemy" is someone who might literally spit in your face. Raise a hand against you. Butt heads in a family-feud and now you don't speak anymore.<br />
<br />
But if you will let me - I'd like to suggest that you have many more enemies than that.<br />
Without going to Webster, I would say that an enemy is someone who is against you and against the things important to you. Anyone hindering your goals. Not helping you in your endeavors. I dare say - if they're not for you ... they are indeed against you. Your enemy.<br />
If you <em>must</em> have an <a href="https://www.google.com/search?sourceid=ie7&q=enemy+definition&rls=com.microsoft:en-us:IE-Address&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8&rlz=1I7ACGW_enUS302US303">official definition</a>, this is for you: <em>A person who is actively opposed or hostile to someone or something.</em><br />
<br />
So. Let's tone down this "spit-in-your-face" mentality and bring the battle field a little closer to home. <em></em><br />
<br />
<em>Actively <a href="http://www.thefreedictionary.com/opposed">opposed</a></em>. 1. To be in contention or conflict with. <br />
<br />
By that definition, your enemy might look something like this:<br />
<br />
My goal: Make dinner. <br />
Who's in contention with me? An antsy, hungry 3 year old swirling at my feet, whining, jumping, laughing, "helping" <strong>every time I turn around</strong>.<br />
<br />
Tell me that isn't the truth! <br />
<br />
Do you know how many times a day she is <em>actively opposed</em>? How many times she could be considered "an enemy"? We're called to love those that oppose us. Love those that are in contention with us. <strong>Pray for them.</strong><br />
<br />
But what does my attitude look like when the enemy is a 3 year old?<br />
Frustration. Anger. A snap "<em>Get out of the kitchen</em>!"<br />
<br />
But Love says <em>Pray for her</em>. <br />
<br />
So - what do I pray? (I know I'm being petty and specific here - but follow me. It ends well.)<br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure "praying for enemies" is effective when we're praying FOR THEM. Not against them. <br />
<br />In addition, praying FOR seems different than praying ABOUT. No?<br />
<br />I don't need to pray about my daughter: <em>God help her little size 11's march out of this room. Amen.</em><br />
<br />No. <strong>For her</strong>. <br />
<em>Thank you <strong>for her</strong>. You created her. To swirl and whine and jump and laugh. Thank you for HER goals. Her desires. Help her enjoy life. Teach her patience and love. Give her the desires of her heart. Bless her.</em><br />
<br />
Focusing on her needs immediately turns the focus off my needs. If I let it, prayer will turn my attitude. Toward my enemy. Toward my opposition. Toward the person I am called to love.<br />
<br />
And the need to pray for myself. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
______________________________________</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-size: x-large;">Grant me the serenity.</span></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
______________________________________</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Can I get a little more specific?</div>
<br />
You know that man you're attracted to? The guy that's married? The one you find yourself talking to on lunch breaks, text messages, and emails? Yeah. His wife is your enemy. If she knew about it, she'd be in direct opposition. And you're called to love her. To pray for her.<br />
<br />
What would <strong>that</strong> prayer sound like? <em>God, thank you for his wife. For her life and her care for this man. I pray that you would keep their family close. Help them grow together, not apart. Give her wisdom, grace, understanding. Giver her the desires of her heart. Bless her.</em><br />
<br />
Praying for her, if you let it, will change your attitude. Toward her. <br />
And the need to pray for yourself. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
________________________________________________________________</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-size: x-large;">To accept the things I cannot change.</span></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
________________________________________________________________</div>
<br />
Praying for your enemy covers the whole shabang - from the idiot who was texting while driving and caused you to be late to work to the person who might literally be trying to steal your job or your spouse - <br />
<br />
While this isn't a call to paranoia (enemies are everywhere!) it's a call to prayer. When you feel opposed. When your attitude is wrong. When someone is standing in your way. <br />
<br />
I've found praying for my enemies an exercise in my own spiritual, emotional, and social health.<br />
<br />
Whether it's a momentary "enemy" or a lifelong one, if you'll turn your thoughts and your heart toward prayer, I'm convinced you'll find it easier to love others and more difficult to hold onto the anger that consumes you. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
________________________________________________________________</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-size: x-large;">Courage to change the things I can.</span></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
________________________________________________________________</div>
<br />Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-88843194076602499162011-10-12T14:10:00.002-04:002011-10-12T14:10:38.814-04:00Signs of Aging<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Some days the signs of aging seem much more prominent than they actually are. </div>
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Some days I honestly think this is what you see when you look at me.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5XWkUs6tCL7juM_BOjyDmlV66WTLmNYRuyPrcgVwB0W_rMuaMAE-swtK7e1jcCUDFQRu0srUcpe6OCo2r-4QEd02iWAo2g8mnCX0F3toyRFxu7hyfZ5jz7BbwvroNuGbRKZDjsQ/s1600/WHITE+HAIR.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5XWkUs6tCL7juM_BOjyDmlV66WTLmNYRuyPrcgVwB0W_rMuaMAE-swtK7e1jcCUDFQRu0srUcpe6OCo2r-4QEd02iWAo2g8mnCX0F3toyRFxu7hyfZ5jz7BbwvroNuGbRKZDjsQ/s320/WHITE+HAIR.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Know what I mean?</div>Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-67189747453571439602011-09-20T12:30:00.001-04:002011-09-21T09:31:14.771-04:00Motherless ChildrenI hope you find a way to get through holidays. Anniversaries of life and death. Significant moments.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4i6nB4RlaBz2_ajoOWsD3S4PatXCdz7AejkiwuPxuG3mQ_JCUoqij2EcSpCE5nPBUyzviF6GxgDEQw4UnJ4PC1YsGrwGDIGHfOIXKX3OryGUXa7jR79Yn6UBOl2eKNg4kfwG-pA/s1600/carol.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="203" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4i6nB4RlaBz2_ajoOWsD3S4PatXCdz7AejkiwuPxuG3mQ_JCUoqij2EcSpCE5nPBUyzviF6GxgDEQw4UnJ4PC1YsGrwGDIGHfOIXKX3OryGUXa7jR79Yn6UBOl2eKNg4kfwG-pA/s320/carol.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
* Mother's day is a day of thankfulness otherwise I sufficate under the blankets of self-pity and loss. Write to the women who have shared their nurturing heart with you. Be a "mom" to someone else who needs to be held for a moment, someone who needs an unconditional hug. By finding the "mothers" that surround you and looking into your life for those you "mother" you'll find a vast array of women (even if coworkers!) who deserve to be celebrated.<br />
<br />
* Christmas, a day to share life with the living. Embrace family and friends that laugh and love. Intentionally surround yourself with them. Make new traditions. Create new memories. Drink a little.<br />
<br />
*I have had only two moments since her death that caught me off guard. Flooded with tears. <br />
The first was 6 years after she passed. I realized mid-day that it was the anniversary of her death AND it was the same day of the week as the day she died. For some reason that significance caught me by surprise.<br />
<br />
The second was 7 years after she passed. I had a question about office managing and reached for the phone. As if it were completely natural to just give her a call. That was the strangest feeling I'd ever had. <br />
<br />
I have been silently counting the years. Looking at the horizon knowing the day would come.<br />
<br />
The year I turned 34. I counted. "This is the year she discovered breast cancer."<br />
<br />
Today. I counted. "This is the equinox." <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0ecNr9dhyphenhyphenWCoraIcdGLhnqnqni5uaGG3DtaQvpHoCjKJOOnfBenn5RgsgApjEDJLOR47fafElKKzVicctlSNScMq1WsUfJZ5yhmZfDl8GkLzmzgQ4USdr3Kd4nHJWE9ZqfhYSg/s1600/18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR0ecNr9dhyphenhyphenWCoraIcdGLhnqnqni5uaGG3DtaQvpHoCjKJOOnfBenn5RgsgApjEDJLOR47fafElKKzVicctlSNScMq1WsUfJZ5yhmZfDl8GkLzmzgQ4USdr3Kd4nHJWE9ZqfhYSg/s1600/18.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">image from </span><a href="http://groundshaking.blogspot.com/2010/05/on-turning-18-fear-and-trust.html"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://groundshaking.blogspot.com/2010/05/on-turning-18-fear-and-trust.html</span></a></div>
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18 years with her, 18 years without. Up until now the days with her outnumbered the days without. From here on that changes. And now starts a new counting.<br />
<br />
When I turn 43. "This is the year she died."<br />
Every year after. "These are the years she didn't get to live."<br />
<br />
You know I don't dwell on her much. But this counting - it's always on my mind. A way to remember. A way to acknowledge that she once lived. <br />
<br />
When she died, I didn't have an email address. "Bottled water" was a laughable idea. These scrubbies weren't invented yet. <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilUi_y9tnTalXGEXAr5_VX8YJFAQLTpEyZFcClVza_svpYK8ojHfdDEfUJnzTMg7yizBkm44_vodjMkZEZpKZuH1Nt06xRSmLIdWyDGaBOJ5HqZpxc1fxlLb090SqRMeS98a7rVQ/s1600/scrubbies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilUi_y9tnTalXGEXAr5_VX8YJFAQLTpEyZFcClVza_svpYK8ojHfdDEfUJnzTMg7yizBkm44_vodjMkZEZpKZuH1Nt06xRSmLIdWyDGaBOJ5HqZpxc1fxlLb090SqRMeS98a7rVQ/s1600/scrubbies.jpg" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">picture from </span><a href="http://www.thebeautyclutch.com/bath-scrubbie--.html"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://www.thebeautyclutch.com/bath-scrubbie--.html</span></a></div>
<br />
Stumbling upon some archives comforts me. <em>See. She did live. Proof. </em><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Thank you </span><a href="http://historicnewspapers.guilpl.org/altamont-enterprise-1982-july-december/altamont-enterprise-1982-july-december%20-%200008.pdf"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Altamont Enterprise</span></a><span style="font-size: x-small;">!)</span><br />
<br />
Whatever you do to get through your days, you're not alone. Count. Remember. Celebrate. Be thankful. Or flat-out cry. I'm with ya.Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-8608326245825141302011-09-14T12:13:00.000-04:002011-09-14T12:13:19.933-04:00Slow down<div style="text-align: center;">I push play and close my eyes. </div><div style="text-align: center;">To hear every string, every key. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Your voice is just how I remember. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Music flows to the empty spaces. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Fills the gaps of my thirsty soul. </div><div style="text-align: center;">I am full and undone.<br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgioc1Cjaewrfm_52X4-lgFrYZKqjAzSe7N6DBJGZzFYP662DG-QHEBfFFdLfZ8a8BqPD_Q1gJiXO74FF07vTlSC4TdBoXdvtlcQSkNHEC22NL5nm5ofiaXAHXVqoojj4a62Nc51w/s1600/IMAG0479.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgioc1Cjaewrfm_52X4-lgFrYZKqjAzSe7N6DBJGZzFYP662DG-QHEBfFFdLfZ8a8BqPD_Q1gJiXO74FF07vTlSC4TdBoXdvtlcQSkNHEC22NL5nm5ofiaXAHXVqoojj4a62Nc51w/s320/IMAG0479.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Slowing down.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Aware.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Today, the earth smells like a new book.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Listening to music here: </span><a href="http://open.spotify.com/user/justjacqs"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Spotify</span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-48391166301198318462011-09-13T11:04:00.001-04:002011-09-13T11:19:04.202-04:00Coffee: Falsely accusedI'm amazed (and shouldn't be!) at the connection between food and the condition of my body. <br />
<br />
Don't laugh. I'm naive. I know it.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure you've heard my story. At the slightest hint that anyone is willing to listen I don't hesitate to tell you about my year from hell and how traditional medicine was killing me.<br />
<br />
Let me refresh you: <br />
<br />
Stressed to an all-time high, sicker than I'd ever been before, I was back in the dr's office for a 5th antibiotic in a 6 month span. 2003 was a rough year. Constant post nasal drip, an ear infection, chest congestion, sinus junk ... you get the idea. I'd been to the doctor 4 times already and this time he didn't even look at my ears, nose, or throat before writing me another script. <br />
<br />
Did you catch that? He DIDN'T EVEN LOOK AT ME. Just got out his handy dandy notebook & pen.<br />
<br />
I was done with it. With antibiotics. With him. The whole thing.<br />
<br />
Walking into the health food store I was already at the end of my rope and tears were on deck. At the ready. I explained how completely maxed out my emotions were, how I was sporting an infection in every possible location, and how the doctor dismissed me as just another antibiotic prescription. <br />
<br />
She gave me advice. *Sound advice. And one week later every symptom I had was gone. <br />
<br />
Did you catch that? ONE WEEK LATER. <br />
<br />
I had been sick, really sick for 6 months. SIX MONTHS. The doctor had no cure, no reason, no clue what to do for me. Stumped.<br />
<br />
..................<br />
<br />
Skip forward to the birth of my daughter 4 years later. <br />
<br />
Hormones and coffee. I blamed them. A really bad case of B.O. led me to quit coffee for a season, thinking it was an acidic reaction and a blend of whatever new hormones that either increased or decreased since Julia was born. I was taking an internet-educated guess and hoping for the best. The lack of coffee helped a little, but honestly, I just didn't want to give it up forever.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/justjacqs/6105438598/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" title="IMAG0726 by justjacqs, on Flickr"><img alt="IMAG0726" height="500" src="http://farm7.static.flickr.com/6082/6105438598_96c45a1609.jpg" width="299" /></a></div><br />
Recently, we decided to start juicing after watching *Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead. I had nothing but fruits and veggies for 2 weeks straight. I dropped 15 lbs. <em>Thank you, Joe Cross!</em> <br />
<br />
Then we watched *Forks over Knives and I decided I was done with meat and dairy altogether. It's not because of love and sympathy for the animals, although I'm aware of the horrific conditions some of those poor guys endure and definitely don't condone it or want to support it. But ultimately I've been convinced that I don't NEED meat and dairy to sustain my life. <br />
<br />
And now, almost two weeks without it I am experiencing the joy of a meat and dairy free body. I've lost another 3 lbs and (drum roll please!) I don't stink! I have had insufferable stench for 3 years. Ask my husband. After one week of cutting out meat and dairy I don't even need deodorant. I haven't used it in 5 days! <br />
<br />
I sound like a freaking commercial. But this is why I tell you I'm amazed. <br />
<br />
Cutting out dairy also has me avoiding cereal. I know I could use almond milk or soy - but I'm pretty sure the processed sugars, flours, and chemicals weren't helping my cause either. <br />
<br />
What feels good is that this isn't just a diet. It's not for a few weeks. This is it. <br />
<br />
And one more thing - you might want to sit down for this one - I jogged yesterday.<br />
<br />
I KNOW!!! RIGHT!!!???? <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*For info on the </span><a href="http://wholeapproach.com/"><span style="font-size: x-small;">candida diet click here.</span></a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*</span><a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1227378/"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Fat, Sick, & Nearly Dead</span></a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*</span><a href="http://www.forksoverknives.com/showtimes/"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Forks Over Knives</span></a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">We watched both documentaries on Netflix.</span>Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-23916389247448907232011-08-24T14:02:00.000-04:002011-08-24T14:02:08.386-04:00One step behind1. I don't like to ask for help.<br />
2. Learning interests me.<br />
3. Doing it myself interests me more.<br />
<br />
I've taken up basic graphic design lessons. Free, online. <strong>Basic</strong>. For the sake of my own website. For the sake of other small businesses with a small marketing budget (if any!).<br />
<br />
I can make shapes and words. But I don't know the first thing about design. Techniques. Industry standards. Graphic designers seem to have somthing in their genes. Either you have design sense or you don't. I'm not sure it's anything that can be learned.<br />
<br />
Music, fashion, art ... I have no idea who's "in" or what's "hot". I'm not at the top of any list. Any field. Any category. I've always been a little behind the times. Behind the leaders. I've spent my life in the middle. Older brother. Me. Younger brother. <br />
<br />
I wasn't concerned with being second when it came to passing out cookies. I knew I'd get mine. "Second" wasn't a cause for tears as long as we all received the same amount. And being one step behind never really bothered me either. Not when it comes to crossing a river or facing danger. I'll watch the steps you take and I'll place my foot on the same rock if it's dependable. I'd rather not be first at all.<br />
<br />
While on vacation I watched people surfing. It's an impressive sport. Anticipating the wave. Positioning for it's arrival. Riding ahead of it. I admired them from shore. Watching the ocean swell and surfers rush to be in front. <br />
<br />
I've never managed to be in front of any wave. No, I'm rushing just to keep a step behind.<br />
<br />
I follow, I watch, I absorb, and then I act. Never because I had the idea first. Success is more certain when following someone who's already been successful. <br />
<br />
And when it comes to graphic design, The Organic Bird is successful. Funny, though. <a href="http://www.theorganicbirdblog.com/2011/08/i-am-11-again.html">She, too, wrote</a> about being picked. Not first. Not last. Somewhere in the middle. <br />
<br />
My <em>I can relate to this</em> antenna was at full tilt. I love how things I'm feeling are the same things you're feeling ... only different.<br />
<br />
Most things I do are simple. Basic. In the middle. Honestly, I'm ok with that. I'm ok with being me. And I'm ok with trying to be more. Learn more. Do more. <br />
<br />
Even if I wasn't "first".<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">My random attempts at graphic design:</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJnQx5TX7TRKpET-lF9zQQMr-S96CW55liWIPxP_nQUrhAgOhyWL2nbHRcsZQGKUv-wnsoDoeVRJkzjAQf4NrdlZvkGT20DsaPN0C-7V0bizOrZ3lpMPIbzLIdUsS6IlsHVF1cQ/s1600/first.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbJnQx5TX7TRKpET-lF9zQQMr-S96CW55liWIPxP_nQUrhAgOhyWL2nbHRcsZQGKUv-wnsoDoeVRJkzjAQf4NrdlZvkGT20DsaPN0C-7V0bizOrZ3lpMPIbzLIdUsS6IlsHVF1cQ/s320/first.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJiI-Pb-6jbdlCgJtF3X3y-Uspgd5346RpV9MWZU4WQGQrrZPrHPExS4yjiaxujpZ0eYJbyg5uLLhBaLPeCgwGo1SLM6fRJrX1pdKFHCaUOt-3XPfS8PtJABBFeNEVwKyfEY2z9Q/s1600/addict.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJiI-Pb-6jbdlCgJtF3X3y-Uspgd5346RpV9MWZU4WQGQrrZPrHPExS4yjiaxujpZ0eYJbyg5uLLhBaLPeCgwGo1SLM6fRJrX1pdKFHCaUOt-3XPfS8PtJABBFeNEVwKyfEY2z9Q/s320/addict.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWkSdYXFt_Zy6CL7fe_paMbeXETaCnXzWgaKlz3w-l-6PDKwI3QyXWdVYHjcthzmt5jEgs0vOF8U13c0UFCS8yrGe1VBLvkZiE0cfbz8rgufwtmB5ZpokFGbMyN6YDU0SGmmeJMA/s1600/FROZEN.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWkSdYXFt_Zy6CL7fe_paMbeXETaCnXzWgaKlz3w-l-6PDKwI3QyXWdVYHjcthzmt5jEgs0vOF8U13c0UFCS8yrGe1VBLvkZiE0cfbz8rgufwtmB5ZpokFGbMyN6YDU0SGmmeJMA/s320/FROZEN.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-7825693918345169352011-08-15T10:23:00.001-04:002011-09-13T11:05:19.443-04:00Brothers<div style="text-align: center;">I miss brothers.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWI-AbJbaiVvtd5le0F9PJOyAlqotiIgIfoSYrHnaWlWXSdh9sgOdvXvWQ_668w5BB2F3L6_mC4TZvMsMRVhoVkPj_DHc86AJrtb8A1bzeVyANMYM6t2hq8Ltoz0UjaYEfev3x5w/s1600/brothers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWI-AbJbaiVvtd5le0F9PJOyAlqotiIgIfoSYrHnaWlWXSdh9sgOdvXvWQ_668w5BB2F3L6_mC4TZvMsMRVhoVkPj_DHc86AJrtb8A1bzeVyANMYM6t2hq8Ltoz0UjaYEfev3x5w/s320/brothers.jpg" width="251" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Biological or fast friends, always the adventurous boys.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKk__OLfYuxOL7gzhsU_JvZi1GihCFQjagQQo0z5GKftf613qEVn1hOYIp48VbY6NW12J4FvNk9lHDSIjtiXN-af8jC2S5GvwsPHlkbS88UXzyFq2wsuwoq3YCcZ-6leVT9Y1sMA/s1600/ferguson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKk__OLfYuxOL7gzhsU_JvZi1GihCFQjagQQo0z5GKftf613qEVn1hOYIp48VbY6NW12J4FvNk9lHDSIjtiXN-af8jC2S5GvwsPHlkbS88UXzyFq2wsuwoq3YCcZ-6leVT9Y1sMA/s320/ferguson.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Risking their lives to go faster.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So certain of <strong>right now</strong> that tomorrow isn't even a care or thought.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Willing to get a little closer to danger.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmM10CIV9YXBPF5LU3h4HshkVoeCBdxJfGS81MQlfAl80-QciFwVi_3OBhQkrdgWOVyXj4LxgRAF700JkZhIdLevKKavCxs_Dx_Dht508kl-8KADHO-uedMUVjFw_sIe9ZcFTicw/s1600/snakes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmM10CIV9YXBPF5LU3h4HshkVoeCBdxJfGS81MQlfAl80-QciFwVi_3OBhQkrdgWOVyXj4LxgRAF700JkZhIdLevKKavCxs_Dx_Dht508kl-8KADHO-uedMUVjFw_sIe9ZcFTicw/s320/snakes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">To be first.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQdInroXqsR8dQD1eXEe0hxR0uUKnUkx_qp6v2ihRBXfKWDfPtwcYBjrZor-iCeZXDY0IHEGO6VGEq7-Hq6o_KL_j0StDcXC-H9gkhVG2AXkKS55bUECuB2jz8F5KeM9jXjGhyw/s1600/joe2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPQdInroXqsR8dQD1eXEe0hxR0uUKnUkx_qp6v2ihRBXfKWDfPtwcYBjrZor-iCeZXDY0IHEGO6VGEq7-Hq6o_KL_j0StDcXC-H9gkhVG2AXkKS55bUECuB2jz8F5KeM9jXjGhyw/s320/joe2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
Finding a way across the face of the falls just to be there, in the midst of it.<br />
Jumping to the next rock without knowing if it will move.<br />
Pushing their bodies, and their vehicles beyond limits to near breaking.<br />
Pulling me out of my safe, comfortable securities.<br />
Asking for more. Asking me to follow.<br />
Steady hand out-stretched to bring me along.<br />
<br />
I can't remember the last time I feared for my life. <br />
Or my heart beat faster than the river's flow.<br />
<br />
I miss brothers.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGof2eZS8ee4Nl7Gnvo7g3uEYjPfPkVzQDDQwTxwf-iUHPtaCvfZeS-DE4gpP80OrWQYH3Y8Tz1pycVxHD73Uv7sNcNJ4egUAxymJFq0pm0Q5VLzeR9_xEFvnLlVzHEuGPHfPKag/s1600/jeff.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGof2eZS8ee4Nl7Gnvo7g3uEYjPfPkVzQDDQwTxwf-iUHPtaCvfZeS-DE4gpP80OrWQYH3Y8Tz1pycVxHD73Uv7sNcNJ4egUAxymJFq0pm0Q5VLzeR9_xEFvnLlVzHEuGPHfPKag/s320/jeff.jpg" width="235" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQIkBAWB_mi3F0_MNRbrSjqlVHKwKDaRjVNsnMgvmJewAZS_z0DNtAo81RO7Bi-W62xldKrik1aXniZnsaUtRPeNzsD1b6X_gnh4o0-mFKTeUd3boYAwxy0iM-dfvm2tVEpylKng/s1600/josh" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQIkBAWB_mi3F0_MNRbrSjqlVHKwKDaRjVNsnMgvmJewAZS_z0DNtAo81RO7Bi-W62xldKrik1aXniZnsaUtRPeNzsD1b6X_gnh4o0-mFKTeUd3boYAwxy0iM-dfvm2tVEpylKng/s320/josh" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimb2flzifD0EeAs-IMoZiKcJ-Xnq2yBaq-xuMu53EAr914OFY-f68n1xVkDDIyL85gKB2XVp3WRWXp_fF9uSUeU_vlQ8KiJSWqm0Kup1HYz78rFn4RMDSZATmzbDUMJ69azLdmWg/s1600/river.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimb2flzifD0EeAs-IMoZiKcJ-Xnq2yBaq-xuMu53EAr914OFY-f68n1xVkDDIyL85gKB2XVp3WRWXp_fF9uSUeU_vlQ8KiJSWqm0Kup1HYz78rFn4RMDSZATmzbDUMJ69azLdmWg/s320/river.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Reminding me of childhood adventures: </span><a href="http://curlsandcrayfish.blogspot.com/2011/07/together.html"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Curls & Crayfish</span></a>Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-78703678796013066972011-07-10T15:40:00.000-04:002015-09-20T09:58:48.653-04:0090 minutesIt's not enough. Not nearly enough.<br />
<br />
With sunblock still scenting my fingers, I type wildly just to have a moment of my own thoughts. They've left for the pool and a recent back injury keeps me home.<br />
<br />
Thankfully. Home.<br />
<br />
What do you do with 90 minutes when it's all you might have for another month?<br />
And I only have ONE child. I stand to salute you, mothers of many. I don't know how you do it. Honestly have no idea how you manage!<br />
<br />
And as it goes, I may only get 20 minutes. There is no guarantee of solitude when you're a mom. There's constant activity and interruption.<br />
<br />
But here's something I've been chewing on;<br />
<br />
Jesus was interrupted.<br />
<br />
That makes me pause and take a deep breath.<br />
I'm certainly not Jesus - but I'd like to be like him. And if being interrupted is what makes up a day, a life ... then I'd like to do it with more grace. Ya know?<br />
<br />
And the phone just rang. Pool is closed.<br />
My 90 minutes just turned into 8 and I've gotta run.<br />
<br />
I have a toddler to console.Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26879771.post-61775538752061475782011-05-20T14:46:00.000-04:002011-05-20T14:46:47.958-04:00I'm a mom. It's complicated.There are moments I think, <i><b>will this ever end?</b></i><br />
<br />
Do you have a toddler too?<br />
<br />
In the same draining sigh there are shadows of <i>it already has<b></b></i>.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYMMlIrTn7yL7xtR2RGunbqTJ95hICvqU4_Cb-bKumdwvZvZnv904wFkbN_RciABIzlAl94TMi-XDs1JDcAAWMXpY0NaEM35fC3H1Mw2A9vbqK6CWU4RRMjTKa2zlW57Q-LV4kNw/s1600/julia+cat2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYMMlIrTn7yL7xtR2RGunbqTJ95hICvqU4_Cb-bKumdwvZvZnv904wFkbN_RciABIzlAl94TMi-XDs1JDcAAWMXpY0NaEM35fC3H1Mw2A9vbqK6CWU4RRMjTKa2zlW57Q-LV4kNw/s400/julia+cat2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<br />
The toys, the books, the loads of laundry still unfolded in wicker baskets: her room only stays organized while she sleeps. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkmebrFbQcCyn-SZjtQ_ZjekAd0NMhc5jOFTk-pPvjY-dK4xhQNkT2gWn-kDO2oBQ3Q6nBy1fxxe3-i5AvoKszKzgrpmNfPGQ1w1APVpSYRMmO_z6SrNv6O2bGvF1RKg5QnCv3pQ/s1600/julia+shoes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkmebrFbQcCyn-SZjtQ_ZjekAd0NMhc5jOFTk-pPvjY-dK4xhQNkT2gWn-kDO2oBQ3Q6nBy1fxxe3-i5AvoKszKzgrpmNfPGQ1w1APVpSYRMmO_z6SrNv6O2bGvF1RKg5QnCv3pQ/s400/julia+shoes.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Questions are repeated hourly.<br />
<i>Why did you just pull that off the shelf? <br />
Where are your pants?<br />
Didn't you just eat 3 snacks?</i><br />
<br />
But her laughter. Oh, the laughter. <br />
And she pushes until she gets mine.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_Og5jIlZAYuGQbEwfuC4W96UB38c1zmXWXBfTv4gw2IzLjOnM11ygoVkKjcJ_JXTcxe9ZZeHsC6ayiHR9b4Kav6msii_ZsDkHMgAtAGds97GKnhlq755n38cxxJ2oo437fhEJA/s1600/julia+laugh2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgj_Og5jIlZAYuGQbEwfuC4W96UB38c1zmXWXBfTv4gw2IzLjOnM11ygoVkKjcJ_JXTcxe9ZZeHsC6ayiHR9b4Kav6msii_ZsDkHMgAtAGds97GKnhlq755n38cxxJ2oo437fhEJA/s400/julia+laugh2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<br />
<strong>I am confused.</strong><br />
<br />
Stop being 3 for a minute! Don't <strong>ever</strong> stop being 3.<br />
<br />
This child brings life. Brings me out of my own darkness.<br />
I am forced to look at <i><b>mess </b></i>differently. <br />
<br />
The shoes, her spaghetti stained cheeks, fresh marker on table legs. Please STOP being 3!<br />
<br />
Then I hold her. Legs dangling near my knees. <em>Not much longer,</em> I think. <em>She'll be standing and we will meet eye to eye.</em> <br />
<br />
Don't EVER stop being 3!<br />
<br />
I am a walking contradiction. And I think she knows.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrnZxSX2V4gRw5xiqWmEUJUSo16Ne1Q7W3sgV0y3G4H6UNHdngwtI1BWnItaOuHtUYSDAVboT5lKQQEc19t4pNWZyEUC2hqXRVm_syRCs8WzeCRD1DnnnK0OOSAtdaCDX7zd7uvg/s1600/j.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left:1em; margin-right:1em"><img border="0" height="400" width="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrnZxSX2V4gRw5xiqWmEUJUSo16Ne1Q7W3sgV0y3G4H6UNHdngwtI1BWnItaOuHtUYSDAVboT5lKQQEc19t4pNWZyEUC2hqXRVm_syRCs8WzeCRD1DnnnK0OOSAtdaCDX7zd7uvg/s400/j.jpg" /></a></div>Jacqshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12117053099660024786noreply@blogger.com2