tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-69700462912930786952024-03-14T10:35:55.692-04:00Renaissance MommaRegular days in our somewhat regular familyAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.comBlogger351125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-24622156956197163612014-09-09T14:39:00.001-04:002014-09-09T14:51:33.073-04:00A new school year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The adventure of school is underway. Kindergarten for Gwennan; preschool for Afton. Their enthusiasm is more than I ever hoped for. Gwennan is eager to practice. My fears for getting the school year kicked off well are assuaged. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paper doll from the book study</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Practicing numbers on the sidewalk</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nature study</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;">This post could be a montage and make us look like a super-schooling family. That would not be a fair depiction. We started school a month ago. Do not be intimidated - I feel accomplished if I plan one interesting event a week.</span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Here’s what we’ve done:</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Homemade worksheets.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Printed off worksheets.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">More homemade worksheets.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Because school is <b>work</b>. The year started out rote and routine. Page after page of copy work and math skills, reviewing the alphabet and numbers, correcting mistakes in letter formation, introducing diphthongs and silent e. Setting a foundation for the three R’s.</span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><a href="http://renaissancemomma.blogspot.com/2012/08/teaching-art-of-learning.html" target="_blank">Our first year homeschooling</a>, we started the year <a href="http://renaissancemomma.blogspot.com/2012/08/two-hungry-caterpillars.html" target="_blank">hatching butterflies from cocoons</a>. It was a perfect unit study, tying in the letter B with hands-on science and Eric Carle’s <u>The Very Hungry Caterpillar</u>. Charlotte Mason couldn’t have done any better. After that first week, our expectation for school was sky high. I couldn’t keep up with the energy or excitement. The year faded into monotony that soon felt like failure after the hype of the first week. That’s why we started out with the difficult daily grind. The new school year momentum carried us through building the practice of school. Now that we’re in a good habit, we’ve introduced the fun stuff.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">1.</span> <b>Nature study</b></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We took a day at the park to examine different leaves, count lobes, identify veins, take rubbings. By sorting pinecones, sweet gum balls, and acorns, we explored odd and even sets. Our fearless kindergartener led us on a Milne-esque “expotition.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-size: large;">2. </span><b>Book study</b> - </span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px; text-decoration: underline;">Little House in the Big Woods</span><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"> by Laura Ingalls Wilder</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’ve anticipated sharing this book with Gwennan since the doctor told me she was a girl. Reading the Ingalls’ story as a family is one of my favorite childhood memories. Every afternoon, we cuddle up after lunch and dive into a new chapter, only to have them beg to hear two. The new favorite game at our house: lock Abby (cast as Jack) in the room, huddle in the bed, and squeal over the wolves outside the “cabin.” So far, it’s been everything I hoped for. </span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Funny side story: We were practicing predictions during the Christmas chapter. I asked the girls how many presents they thought Mary and Laura would receive: lots and lots or just a couple. Gwennan voted just a couple. When I asked why, she reasoned that they lived way out in the big woods without other people, so there wasn’t a Target.</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: large;">3. </span><b>Missionary social studies</b></span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Each week (starting yesterday), we learn the story of a missionary, where they came from, where they traveled to, who they helped, and most importantly, why they helped. We investigate the culture they moved to, including food from that region (as Tim pointed out, I never pass up an opportunity for curry or any other unusual fare).</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.amycarmichael.org/amy1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://www.amycarmichael.org/amy1.jpg" height="320" width="208" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.amycarmichael.org/amy1.jpg" target="_blank">source</a></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;">Amy Carmichael was our first subject. A single woman who became a mother to thousands of abused children. Such an amazing testimony. Her story is told briefly <a href="http://www.christianity.com/church/church-history/church-history-for-kids/amy-carmichael-helped-the-helpless-11634859.html" target="_blank">here</a>. Elisabeth Elliot (who will be a subject later in the year) might be her greatest champion and wrote a beautiful article about her mission and writing <a href="http://www.elisabethelliot.org/newsletters/2002-05-06.pdf" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></div>
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<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I can’t believe how this year has started. Where I feared stubborn refusal from students and blustering impatience from teacher, school has been none of those things. If I expected things to go so poorly, why did I ever agree to homeschool? My own experience. I remember neglecting my work, hiding skipped homework, fighting with my mom. some. More I recall amazing field trips, extra time on more interesting subjects, weekly trips to the library, hours reading what I loved, extra time with my mom and sisters, extra time playing, moving school outside on days too lovely to stay inside. Flexibility and time. What I want for my kids too. And so far, exactly what we have.</span></span>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-75176556613697169792014-08-27T16:39:00.004-04:002014-08-27T16:39:50.468-04:00Westward, HO!"Where did you go," you might be wondering. A lot of nowhere, a lot of busy beeing around the house. But not all nowhere. A few very big somewheres starting with California.<br />
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We have lovely friends in California, stationed there through the Air Force. When they began making plans to see each other, they invited us along. With the Ellis clan, we boasted 9 children {the oldest was 5 yo} and 6 excited, tired parents for a week of hiking, playing, biking, and touristing:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wandering down the Monterrey Wharf in borrowed clothes</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful girls searching for sea lions and otters</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunset on the bay</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What?! An Ellis family photo - only because we were reminded to take one</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The redwoods at Big Sur</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The best part - these wonderful ladies</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bubba on the beach</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLax3mp_QlUE_MIxUj65dJkHYFLHcZp5Dke5TtaVVOZuvQL5taycqhl8o_a_KUKYXhYFR9vR668SIDUk79zLhF2arzU43deFDgh7kqVlyqG-_WNtGFsllZ7uOq8aZnTP-zZstOSHz6JyQ/s1600/IMG_9117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLax3mp_QlUE_MIxUj65dJkHYFLHcZp5Dke5TtaVVOZuvQL5taycqhl8o_a_KUKYXhYFR9vR668SIDUk79zLhF2arzU43deFDgh7kqVlyqG-_WNtGFsllZ7uOq8aZnTP-zZstOSHz6JyQ/s1600/IMG_9117.JPG" height="402" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I might have taught this warrior girl to shoot at seagulls. She shot one!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqCSn5wyi3l3tKXF4OkrUMCfCplTnwCRm9MRcj_ZdPwEB-uPni3iNZ5Iw-VjexwXlZdI4Hp94u2Yn5Kbc2epRylWCZoUAD_vpbcHOnUQV5vLqv6Z5MZ0_CGRgK4NELq6v-cXUsGvDm-94/s1600/IMG_9190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqCSn5wyi3l3tKXF4OkrUMCfCplTnwCRm9MRcj_ZdPwEB-uPni3iNZ5Iw-VjexwXlZdI4Hp94u2Yn5Kbc2epRylWCZoUAD_vpbcHOnUQV5vLqv6Z5MZ0_CGRgK4NELq6v-cXUsGvDm-94/s1600/IMG_9190.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Expectant faces watch for the wave to fall at the Monterrey Aquarium</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjra3yTlI30lJW-au6FI_wybProh3pkrcHMhMJkXG6uIdO49lSb_NflMZCGTxwVYsR95qyHZFymw8VY85havplmNX8m2mAqCz3Wb788b2v8KljxKMOF6J0lq8MDRbuMQiZ-AjvcTdyQwK4/s1600/IMG_9189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjra3yTlI30lJW-au6FI_wybProh3pkrcHMhMJkXG6uIdO49lSb_NflMZCGTxwVYsR95qyHZFymw8VY85havplmNX8m2mAqCz3Wb788b2v8KljxKMOF6J0lq8MDRbuMQiZ-AjvcTdyQwK4/s1600/IMG_9189.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ecstasy with every wave</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Our trip to California was one of the most rejuvenating experiences of my life, right up there with our honeymoon. We got away from daily pressures without any true agenda other than to spend time with people we love.</span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The trip out was a comedy of airline errors to be certain: cancelled flights, long delays with restless children in overcrowded airports with no gluten free food, lost bags, stomach virus (appropriately discharged on the airline kiosk). 24 hours round trip. If so many people didn’t experience the same thing every time they flew, I might think we were special. I haven’t sworn off flying, but I’m not jumping to get on another plane either.</span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 13px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But once we were there, seeing Emily and Keith and Mollie and Jeff and all their sweet little ones that I love like nieces and nephews... What a blessing! Even now, I can close my eyes and find myself standing in that open white kitchen with the windows and door flung wide to allow the cool breeze to flow through the house, taking my tension and frustrations with it. The yard with its rusty sand and spiny plants, all harboring their precious water against the long dry season. The living room couch covered with bare legs and open picture books and plastic dinosaurs.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The trip to Big Sur, driving along the sharp coast with breakers spraying above the rocks, the wind whipping hair and clothes. Red woods towering impossibly tall overhead, imposing and sheltering. Kids circling around us like a pack, excited, whining, bounding, all looking for lunch and bugs and the one perfect stick or rock or pinecone. All crouched down at the water’s edge, staring into the stream life below them. All filing over the fallen log bridge, holding momma’s hand and shuffling tiny tennis shoes to jump proudly at the end and stand tall while momma heads back across to help the next one in line. </span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The hike with my besties. Getting to be free, strong mommas, skipping up the trail without the added weight of a child or two wrapped on and dragging against our hands. That conversation started the long, tearful talk over delicious food two nights later. The talk where we bore our souls and our fears and our frustrations with two of the only people alive that could hear all those deep ugly things we hate admitting to ourselves. They are those friends. Who know how angry I get, how messy my house is, how much I love and struggle with my husband, my God, my position, my life. And they are those friends who don’t let me wallow in the struggle, but pray for me, encourage me, and point me back to the will of God. Any plane ticket, any long day of flying, any hauling sick children across country was worth that conversation.</span></span><br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
Afton thanks God for our trip to California and the plane ride and all of our friends every day still. What a blessing!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-31890984155428784872014-08-26T10:14:00.000-04:002014-08-26T10:14:00.779-04:00#wordgiftIn apology for my prolonged silence, I want to offer a simple present, a gift created by my 4 year old to convey the deepest of devotion. The most recent trend in our family texting. <b>The word gift</b>.<br />
<br />
It goes something like this:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>You are more beautiful than a herd of angry trolls.</i></blockquote>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>You are the princess of God's holy robbers.</i></blockquote>
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<i><br /></i></div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>You are brighter than the eyes of ten thousands of giants.</i></blockquote>
<i><br /></i>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>You are stronger than enough baboons to fill a Costco.</i></blockquote>
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<div>
Gwennan is serious as can be when delivering her love messages. She inhales in delight when she receives a word gift. She particularly loves word gift texts to and from her aunties who only surpass her mind-blowing comparisons.</div>
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My daughter is recognizing the power in her words. They are a tool to build people up as much as a box in bright paper can. And her choice in word gifts is as wonderful and random as the selections she makes at the dollar store {Daddy received TNMT mini frisbees and a whoopee cushion for his birthday; I can only imagine what's coming to me this weekend}.<br />
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I'd like to give you, my dear friends, a word gift of my own:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i><b>You are more lovely than the gilded edge of a garage sale picture frame.</b></i></blockquote>
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I hope you spread the word gift love and have an awesome day!<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Katie</span><br />
<br />
P.S. #wordgift comments are always welcome here!</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-19658077426803484382014-05-01T15:53:00.001-04:002014-05-01T16:00:50.028-04:00Mustache cakeThis glorious day that The Lord gave. It started rough but took a turn for the much better.<div><br></div><div>The unpacking you might expect...</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtP1r1HsVEp16_7wV4UoGorbGsdMPC1bOoBLv8MDdZ4cnpcUohuTIHguE7Rbs4JWRw5FPM042GssGo1eCbELNVHKtK41U-PbZpliqp3Ry7Uq9AFAiPqyNepp3odfzL3UKRni6mBohL-_E/s640/blogger-image-1890168081.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtP1r1HsVEp16_7wV4UoGorbGsdMPC1bOoBLv8MDdZ4cnpcUohuTIHguE7Rbs4JWRw5FPM042GssGo1eCbELNVHKtK41U-PbZpliqp3Ry7Uq9AFAiPqyNepp3odfzL3UKRni6mBohL-_E/s640/blogger-image-1890168081.jpg"></a></div><div>The momma-ing you might expect...</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEOpmXH6HdNajeWZxj5LNekZ8XdK0csHLkdahSd9kuf7Pkj00ENsvm7MQgWEdSQID_hloF81mL4AA-L40273JO-KZ-1BHMuf6Pu3oOZkez1mzuIMzkfOGQwJVo-xQKmE_LtlCRuFWCBw8/s640/blogger-image-1221167606.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEOpmXH6HdNajeWZxj5LNekZ8XdK0csHLkdahSd9kuf7Pkj00ENsvm7MQgWEdSQID_hloF81mL4AA-L40273JO-KZ-1BHMuf6Pu3oOZkez1mzuIMzkfOGQwJVo-xQKmE_LtlCRuFWCBw8/s640/blogger-image-1221167606.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><i>Does anyone else get a tad protective of their Lego building projects? I was none to happy when an errant stroller went crashing through the carefully crafted bedroom.</i> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Trying to make headway with the mountain of laundry</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb_iNlT7y8SBQL6Cnw0JxlhHF0fvhfMvlFJz-8zOTCWDMCf49Znqvl4g5IFrmZfm4orAQclooKk94qlqYa9Bur-Q66ArnSna7sRxlnt402eVRxTfc8J54z-eZtAubwYWZ9gpdlsnlHhJw/s640/blogger-image--786754189.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgb_iNlT7y8SBQL6Cnw0JxlhHF0fvhfMvlFJz-8zOTCWDMCf49Znqvl4g5IFrmZfm4orAQclooKk94qlqYa9Bur-Q66ArnSna7sRxlnt402eVRxTfc8J54z-eZtAubwYWZ9gpdlsnlHhJw/s640/blogger-image--786754189.jpg"></a></div>when the forecast looks like this...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkQDtSx6lYNhOnbi7YmIg2Xjtf1wBTwc-UY1rjmDyD6bOwoO3ht6vymjd9j3VZD9gn3OctIGODR-PqCuVuSeHvfojMwpJC3Spm-yMTakiADCUKkV-jfH2niI_mj5TOMTf0HmIchv-pWdo/s640/blogger-image-2094189666.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkQDtSx6lYNhOnbi7YmIg2Xjtf1wBTwc-UY1rjmDyD6bOwoO3ht6vymjd9j3VZD9gn3OctIGODR-PqCuVuSeHvfojMwpJC3Spm-yMTakiADCUKkV-jfH2niI_mj5TOMTf0HmIchv-pWdo/s640/blogger-image-2094189666.jpg"></a></div><i>I'm not psychotically protective of the ozone layer. We don't have a dryer. We own one. We don't have an outlet (and maybe not even the breaker box) to power such a machine.</i></div><br></div><div>And finally the piece de resistance, Tim's birthday cake, </div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwS9cM66k3PA7nq4PJgx05ZpkfWtQkHfvsjoWP_ttxI4XxBGsP8UJ2Z7drOlTybl1-EfefMBjkpmQcrLHuSL0pkw7Z6djgF9rqu24ZR4WaZO1UGUieWOxEDRKtx8CSC_XVMyLf8WOR8OQ/s640/blogger-image-884246633.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwS9cM66k3PA7nq4PJgx05ZpkfWtQkHfvsjoWP_ttxI4XxBGsP8UJ2Z7drOlTybl1-EfefMBjkpmQcrLHuSL0pkw7Z6djgF9rqu24ZR4WaZO1UGUieWOxEDRKtx8CSC_XVMyLf8WOR8OQ/s640/blogger-image-884246633.jpg"></a></div></div><div>I'm a week late. What can I say? I only found the cake plate last night.</div></div><div><br></div><div>This was the first year I proposed a grown up birthday cake for Tim. By grown up cake, I don't mean over 21; I mean the kind of cake that children declare yummy but not a birthday cake. No sprinkles, no frosting, not 9" round<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">. Only a grown up would request such a cake.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">At least that's how my girls reacted.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">G: We need to put Frozen characters on it!</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">M: For daddy?? (The poor man has endured that movie enough without it bedecking his cake)</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">G: Well, we don't have to put Hans on there.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">M: This is for Daddy. Can we think of something more boy?</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">G: Then turtles! (TMNT, that is)</font></div><div><br></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">I'm not sure who shouted "mustache," (it sounds like Afton). It seemed like a more doable suggestion; thus the cake was baked and decorated. And my delightful day will come to a delicious end.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><i>In case you are interested, the cake is based on a wonderful grown up lemon pound cake from Smitten Kitchen.</i></font></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-84830632959991245672014-04-28T15:42:00.001-04:002014-04-28T15:42:24.557-04:00Progress reportAll of you waiting on house news have been very patient. Thank you! (Or you follow me on Instagram and already know).<div><br></div><div>As you might imagine, we are living in madness. Amazing church framily members stepped up to get us scraped, plastered, painted, and moved in less than two weeks. I'm still puzzling out this timeline, and how everything happened so quickly. It's a blur!</div><div><br></div><div>The main living spaces are set up (please don't even walk upstairs to the spare bedrooms. Yikes!). For the paragraph's form, I feel like I should now list all the other accomplishments, but that's it. The main living spaces are set up. Everything else is in a state of partial doneness or complete denial.</div><div><br></div><div>Truly, I'm nervous to post pics, because everything is still a disaster. We don't have doors on cabinets or toy storage set up or even all the clean clothes put away. I tried to take pictures, and was a bit horrified. But it will come together. Eventually. At least one room at a time. Because about the time I finish setting up shop, I'll start into something else and mess it all up again. Such is life with a projectee.</div><div><br></div><div>Fortunately, the girls are finding plenty of ways to entertain themselves...</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioNa947Espju2gmNgUIm7BxJ-qYgclvtwBvVItg0NCB2AchjuPDhtwtizcp_lE9shZlqaUXguAzY8mgsuDdfATZHSAQpDM-yjcEoSRhK232FUsQeRIVLh3-lja6vOZz92q9qy6FHaAPGQ/s640/blogger-image--815138445.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioNa947Espju2gmNgUIm7BxJ-qYgclvtwBvVItg0NCB2AchjuPDhtwtizcp_lE9shZlqaUXguAzY8mgsuDdfATZHSAQpDM-yjcEoSRhK232FUsQeRIVLh3-lja6vOZz92q9qy6FHaAPGQ/s640/blogger-image--815138445.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1jxKdrdHTuQK23n4S207BN-JGdlddF0HBTHyJXQdzZNCNw-xPnmQ-xyKbIKn1GUHMOVJpQNdQBR3rJviMoY9v_mVbpG-bdP-JlSzqvatm8fKSCiXUFBcs-xUekI6nLTrG38hyphenhyphen7PGin1c/s640/blogger-image-931800836.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1jxKdrdHTuQK23n4S207BN-JGdlddF0HBTHyJXQdzZNCNw-xPnmQ-xyKbIKn1GUHMOVJpQNdQBR3rJviMoY9v_mVbpG-bdP-JlSzqvatm8fKSCiXUFBcs-xUekI6nLTrG38hyphenhyphen7PGin1c/s640/blogger-image-931800836.jpg"></a></div><br></div><br></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-38279052066967832012014-04-01T12:12:00.000-04:002014-04-01T13:56:24.526-04:00The Semi-annual Ellis Backyard Mud RunInhales sharply, "Ooooh, I look just like Christopher Robin!" Indicates her overall shorts and rainboots. "Now I can pash in puddles!" And she's gone, out the door and into glorious mud...<br>
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The last hour feels like a special gift from God. Not just in the category of "every breath is a gift," but a sweet blessing to a stressed family.<br>
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A sweet, filthy, muddy blessing.<br>
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The semi-annual Ellis Backyard Mud Run is in full swing...</div>
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Our backyard floods every spring creating a small system of lakes. If our grass is going to suffocate anyway, we might as well enjoy it.<br>
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She tells me, "It floats!" No sooner are the words out of her mouth then...<br>
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Here's what really kills me - the first mud run, they looked like this...<br>
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Where is the boy? He should be enjoying the muddy fun as a rite of boyhood. Unfortunately, Carrick is recovering from a double ear infection. He will just have to wait for another steady rain to join the fun.<br>
<img background:="" none="" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZEDckzdxYtQ/T4zJzSyV1vI/AAAAAAAABIc/F_UwN1dwEfQ/s300/blog%2520signature.001.tiff-001.jpg" transparent="">Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-74791266058024292732014-03-28T15:40:00.001-04:002014-03-28T15:40:51.531-04:00Stalled<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLJCjPaMDQu5eC6mNOp2aEQf22xlWwMCOcHeppSAfbcYjGbqefs5dbHg_5vqS0qo6-tCPydCLUmvvI5w-hCJHUuDTOaS9WCM07kvWLrHgTH0kPz_wyYoscrZNKVjb2NH9hPyC2M3gKapU/s640/blogger-image--665824739.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLJCjPaMDQu5eC6mNOp2aEQf22xlWwMCOcHeppSAfbcYjGbqefs5dbHg_5vqS0qo6-tCPydCLUmvvI5w-hCJHUuDTOaS9WCM07kvWLrHgTH0kPz_wyYoscrZNKVjb2NH9hPyC2M3gKapU/s640/blogger-image--665824739.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">So... This is our hallway in preparation for the big move.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">But... The big move is on hold. The bank is not so sure of our housing choice.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">Therefore... If you are of the praying persuasion, we could use prayer as we decide whether to pursue this house further or find a new one. Either way, we are living on hold for the next few weeks in a house full or boxes. You can also pray for our sanity as the rain returns, and we lose our outdoor time.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">I'll keep you updated.</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-67489137509753107022014-03-27T16:20:00.003-04:002014-03-27T16:24:17.964-04:00All Things<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me. Philippians 4:11-13</blockquote>
This afternoon I am breaking from packaging tape and cardboard. I took a break yesterday too. But that was a different type of break. Yesterday I was on a mini strike, a passive housewife tantrum because the home buying process jumped off the pleasant track it was on. We were closing tomorrow. Now we are not. Hopefully we will close some time in the next two weeks, but even that is in jeopardy. Yesterday I expressed my frustration by unpacking a few boxes and cleaning the house we are still living in {most pathetic protest ever!!}<br />
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Today is different. My head held a fury storm all day which was raging strong this morning, threatening to blow my day to pieces as I vented my irritation to a few loving listening ears. Out of daily ritual {lest I claim extraordinary wisdom}, I sat down to my Bible only to find my mind so tumultuous that it would not adhere to the task at hand.<br />
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From a heart desperate for quiet, I cry:<br />
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Lord, our compounded trials are not under your radar any more than Carrick crying through my "quiet" time again. I want to give obvious, public glory to you in this situation. Then I don't mind the difficulty. Your glory is worth it. Especially your glory declared!</blockquote>
{Aha moment} That's what Paul means, "I can do all things through him who strengthens me." I can be content in all these things: in fixed cars that immediately break again. In the other car that joins the fun and breaks too. In homeowners that don't want to sell. In challenging lender requirements. In our rental house full of boxes. In the fixer upper that won't be fixed up as soon as we thought. In the house falling through. I can be brought low, I can abound, and in all things I can be content in Christ.<br />
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Blogging is the cheap literal answer to my prayer. There must be more. A personal manifestation of holding onto the "sure and steadfast anchor of the soul," Jesus Christ.<br />
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Might be it starts with an end to the mental tantrum and a return of my sense of humor and patience with my family. Might be I turn my thoughts to praying for my friends {multiple} struggling with babies in life-threatening conditions. Might be I use my words to find reasons to thank rather than supplicate our great God. HOnestly, I'm not sure what this contentment looks like {I haven't practiced it often}, but I am certain of the source.<br />
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In every high and stormy gale, my anchor holds within the veil. On Christ the solid rock I stand. All other ground is sinking sand. All other ground is sinking sand.</blockquote>
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<img background:="" none="" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZEDckzdxYtQ/T4zJzSyV1vI/AAAAAAAABIc/F_UwN1dwEfQ/s300/blog%2520signature.001.tiff-001.jpg" transparent="" />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-47906829731391772642014-03-17T14:57:00.001-04:002014-03-17T14:57:25.056-04:00I'm watching things grow<br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In honor of the great green day, I’m making corned beef, just like my grandmother used to cook for our family. The nostalgic smells have me thinking about legacy and what a blessing my grandparents, especially my grandmothers are in my life. Not just childhood memories, the things they’ve passed on to me, practical and spiritual, that I see everyday. Regular Bible study. Scripture memory. Love for and loyalty to their families, especially their husbands. The universally appropriate advice, “take a minute away to read a book - you’ll feel better.” I am blessed, my children are blessed by their lives.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I see this blessing in Gwennan right now. Her four-year-old brain is processing the complexity of God in ways that astound and encourage me.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Just last night while we were praying, she says, “Dad, I mean God,” then her head pops up. “Oh, I have two dads! You, Daddy, and God is my dad.” Bows her head again, “God-dad...”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">My heart is still smiling at that recognition. Especially on the heels of this conversation...</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The house is quiet while the two little ones sleep. Gwennan is up from her nap early helping me in the kitchen. “Mother, when does God stop looking at people?” </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m caught off guard for a moment, “Are you talking about our prayer, ‘the Lord turn his face toward you?’” </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Yes. When does God stop looking at people?” </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We embark on a long discussion about common grace (in 4 yo terms) and heaven and hell and who goes where, when they go, how we know we are children of God. She receives it all with her deeply thoughtful expression and sums it up, “Because I have a new heart, God never stops looking at me.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She understands better than I do somedays.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I think to quiz her and ask, “What is the place God’s children go when their bodies die?” </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Heaven.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Good. And what is the place people go when they don’t love God?”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Hilton.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Nope. That’s the neighborhood we’re moving to.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Oh... hell.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As I’m sure it was for my grandmothers and mother before me, the greatest blessing in my life is watching my little ones turn their faces to the God who always looks at them. Seeing the truth we daily repeat take root and grow. Witnessing the people you love best in the world learn to love the One you love best. Grace upon grace.</span></span><br />
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<img background:="" none="" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZEDckzdxYtQ/T4zJzSyV1vI/AAAAAAAABIc/F_UwN1dwEfQ/s300/blog%2520signature.001.tiff-001.jpg" transparent="" />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-2219071366392985442014-03-05T10:22:00.000-05:002014-03-05T10:40:57.849-05:00Our family identity<br />
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> </span>caught her again Saturday, still clutching the hastily eaten tube of toothpaste. This is the third tube this weekend. My discipline arsenal is exhausted. She’s bought more toothpaste with her own carefully saved aquarium money. She sat in time out until she fell asleep. Frustration sags my frame.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Why are you doing this?” Two concerned parents sit down with the wayward three year old.</span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“Because I sneaky. I your midnight ninja.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">That silly nickname I made up one morning after she crawled into our bed in the middle of the night without waking us. How could I guess that she would own my joke as her identity.</span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You are not sneaky,” her daddy replies. “You are our Sweet Afton. You are a good girl.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Talking and more talking ensues. Talk with her about who she is. Our girl. Our sweet, big hugging, hard loving, good girl.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">More talk with each other about how we present identity to our kids. We are in an uphill battle to build their frame of reference, how they see themselves and the world around them. Our task is to give them a Biblical frame in the face of a society with a fundamentally different understanding.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In society, what you do determines who you are. You bank, therefore you are a banker. You blog, therefore you are a blogger. We wear these activities like so many name badges, creating an identity. </span></span><br />
<div style="min-height: 14px;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In God’s kingdom, who you are determines what you do. You are an adopted child of God, a new creation, an heir to Christ’s eternal glory. Therefore you worship the Lord; you love the church; you serve other people; you spread good news. All your activities, even quilting, cooking, mowing flow from a predetermined identity: Christian.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">In society, my girl is an untrustworthy sneak. I want to treat her as such, taking away the privilege of privacy from her day, insisting that my all-watching eye be on her every move until she proves that she is other than what I think her to be. Which is why God gave her two parents. Daddy, who is not operating out of desperation to correct behavior, sees God’s way.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“You are our good girl, so we will treat you like a good girl.”</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">“<i>What</i>?!” My heart screams. “<i>And let her disobey again? If this backfires, what will she get into next?!”</i></span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The conundrum of the Christian’s relationship to God. God doesn’t treat his children as screwed up messes unworthy of trust. He doesn’t hold back His hand of blessing. We are new people as He has promised, as He has identified. Thus He treats us as His good children, knowing that in doing so, He is further subjecting Himself to injury through our disobedience.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">More than that, we will label God as weak and passive because He stays His discipline. He stores His wrath for another day to show His goodness now, and we mock that He is impotent. Still “the Lord is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.” Exodus 34:6</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Gracious. Merciful. Slow to anger. Abounding in steadfast love. He shows these things because He <b>is</b> these things. They are His identity.</span></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But<b> you have</b> the mind of Christ. <span style="font-size: x-small;">1 Corinthians 2:16</span></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Have this mind among yourselves, which <b>is yours</b> in Christ Jesus. <span style="font-size: x-small;">Philippians 2:5</span></span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;">We are not who we were. We do not think according to the established pattern. Because </span><b style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;">we have the mind of Christ</b><span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;">. Now. in the flesh. not just a promise for another day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As parents, we make every opportunity to speak identity over our children. <i>You are good. You are helpful. You are important. You are ours. Disobedience works against who you are. It does not define you.</i></span></span><br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Christian, you are God’s much loved child. You are sealed with his Holy Spirit. You have a new mind with Godly desires. You have a heart that longs to worship the one true God. Your sin acts in direct opposition to who you are. Your weaknesses do not define you. They cannot. Your identity is set in the cross of Christ.</span></span></blockquote>
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<span style="font-family: inherit; letter-spacing: 0px;">Therefore, act like who you are! Throw off sin as counter to your nature. In the words of the immortal Mufasa, “Remember who you are!” Or as Paul would say, “You were bought with a price. <b>So glorify God in your body</b>.”<span style="font-size: x-small;"> 1 Corinthians 6:20</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As always the proof is in the pudding... </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The tube of toothpaste remains untouched since our good girl heard her true identity...</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And we guard the silly monikers we create to mask our frustration with our children...</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">And we are defining our family according to truth...</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
<span style="letter-spacing: 0px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Because we are our beloved Savior’s, and He is ours.</span></span><br />
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P.S. If you are struggling with your definition of self in Christ, I humbly suggest reading 1 Corinthians. You are not the first person to need your identity laid out. The entire Corinthian church and every church thereafter needed this encouraging, convicting letter.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-54655837707442677692014-03-03T16:01:00.001-05:002014-03-03T16:01:31.746-05:00Changes aheadA good news update: I am not drowning in baby poo and toddler tears. We are all doing well. I didn't leave off blogging to wallow, as I so often have.<br />
<br />
Last month, we used up all our data... looking at houses! Then looking at pinterest for ideas to spruce up the lovely 1940's cape cod that we're slated to buy on March 28. That's right folks, we are under contract to become bought in residents of Hampton Roads.<br />
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A lot of prayer predated this move. We hunted houses 3 years ago. After six months of hunting, Tim's credit score disappeared. You can be punished for paying off student loans and refusing credit card applications. We no longer qualified for a mortgage, so the search ended. We settled more comfortably into our lovely rental house where we've happily brought two babies home from the hospital and spread out quite a few Thanksgiving and Christmas feasts.<br />
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Tim's brought up home ownership before, practically offering a paper bag to me when he opened Zillow. The last time we bought our forever home and painted it just right, we moved while the perfect paint was still fresh, held on to that vacant house from another state for almost a year, and watched our investment drop to zilch. Part of me trusts God for the timing of that move and the ensuing stress. Another less trusting part never wants to put myself in that position again. Hence the stomach churning stress over house hunting.<br />
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But this time didn't go that way at all. Pre-approval was a cinch. We found the home on the second day of searching. Of the other houses distracting us, one sold, another with no explanation was taken off the market. So here we are. A house that fits our wants and needs in a neighborhood we love at a price we can afford. Thank you Lord for easy, obvious provision.<br />
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I should stop typing now. Tell you all that I'll post when I can and show lots of pictures of the slow renovation.<br />
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That wouldn't be right. I can't leave this post with the idea that God is working when it's smooth sailing but not at harder times.We prayed before we bought the other house. We sought wise council. All the things we are doing now.<br />
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And while we were in that first house, we used the extra space to house people and extend hospitality. While in that house, we followed the Lord's confusing instructions to walk away from a career I loved and trust him to provide through one career. While in that house, we followed the Lord's obvious calling to leave family, friends, the mountains and a mortgage to shepherd a subdued middle school group. God was all over that house.<br />
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So He must have been all over the months and months it sat loosing value while we learned to trust the Lord's provision above the number in our savings account. That year was full of wild, unexpected turns. For instance, right before Afton was born, a tree fell on that dream house. The difference in the insurance payoff and the good friends discount tree removal was the cost of our OB bill. God wasn't only working through the amazing good events. Through that trial my covert mistrust in the church was replaced with absolute confidence in God's work through our adopted family.<br />
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I can't wait to be a bought in member of the peninsula because I am already an all in member of our Northside church family. I, no, we love, <i>love</i>, <b>love</b> the people of our church. We can't imagine serving anywhere else. It only makes sense to buy into the community and plant deeper roots.<br />
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As a bonus, we get a sweet house in need of just enough elbow grease to justify creative projects.<br />
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Please be in prayer for this process, especially our daily lives. We are all operating with a short fuse thanks to the chaos of packing. Closing is scheduled for March 28. All of you who like to offer babysitting days, pick a date in April. I'll be burning the candle at both houses trying to scrub and paint one and pack the other. I'm sure our kids will want a break from the VOC's and mess.<br />
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<img background:="" none="" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZEDckzdxYtQ/T4zJzSyV1vI/AAAAAAAABIc/F_UwN1dwEfQ/s300/blog%2520signature.001.tiff-001.jpg" transparent="" />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-72564739901458983472014-02-13T15:30:00.000-05:002014-02-13T15:30:51.948-05:00He leads meWe have an Angry Bird. I won't rat my child out on cyberspace. Suffice to say, God has blessed us with one child in particular who rages. When we're in a storm {<i>like today</i>}, the tantrums link from one to the next like chain smoking. The ember from one fire still hot enough to ignite the next.<br />
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Early this morning, I pray over a defiant head, <i>Bless with joy and peace. Protect from anger and temptation to sin. Lead to righteousness.</i> Eyes up, <i>I don't want righteousness. I want to be angry!</i> A new prayer forms, <i>Spirit, grant a new heart that seeks you.</i> My momma heart is heavy.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>The anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God. James 1:20</i>.</blockquote>
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Our verse of this storm.<br />
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What I didn't prepare my heart for... my own anger. By lunch, I was nearly in tears of rage. Baby is teething. Both girls are acting out in their irritation from the incessant crying. Now lunch is burning, and Gwennan is trying to ask me questions about mythological PBS dinosours over the exhaust fan, stand mixer, and screaming baby. That's when the egg was hurled at the sink wall as my rage bubble finally burst.<br />
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Fast forward through one more hour of fussing and fits and disobedience. Naps arrive, and graciously, they all sleep. at the same time. this hasn't happened in quite a while.<br />
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Open my Bible, <i>Please Lord, some sanity restored! </i>I see today's scheduled reading and immediately look for an escape route.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<i>Woe to you whitewashed tombs, full of uncleanness, who appear righteous to others, but within you are full of hypocrisy, Matthew 23:27, 28</i></blockquote>
<i><br /></i>Graves hidden under life - grass, flowers - no marker to alert people to avoid this contaminating spot.<br />
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Part of me, the still raging part, wants to accuse, <i>I thought you promised not to break a bruised reed? What am I today if not bruised??</i><br />
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Except He isn't breaking me, not today. Honest, bare moment: Did I lose my temper? Yes. Did I scream that rage at my kids? Yes. Did I try to make them feel guilty for causing my sinful rage? That one stings, and yes.<br />
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My children are being led to the throne by a hypocrite. Or are they? Yes, I am a hyprocrite, preaching righteousness and exercising wrath. But I'm not leading them to the throne. The Holy Spirit holds their little hands and guides them.<br />
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I breathe deep. That's why all those wonderful, godly parents reply, <i>I didn't do anything</i>, when I press them about how they raised wonderful, godly children. Even a few years of parenting is teaching me that all parents are hypocrites, myself the chief. Those wiser parents are exactly right to say, <i>God did all the important work</i>.<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Thank you, Father. You give grace when I show none. You give peace when I sow strife. You set our feet on paths of righteousness. Your burden is light on me because it is all on you, and You are strong enough to bear up. I trust my family to you!</b></blockquote>
<img background:="" none="" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZEDckzdxYtQ/T4zJzSyV1vI/AAAAAAAABIc/F_UwN1dwEfQ/s300/blog%2520signature.001.tiff-001.jpg" transparent="" />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-88890503458018327232014-02-12T14:20:00.001-05:002014-02-12T14:20:46.711-05:00Winter WonderlandThe last two weeks have been snow and vacation. Finally built that snowman Gwenny's been planning for months. Traveled to Knoxville for <a href="http://renaissancemomma.blogspot.com/2014/01/why-my-christmas-presents-will-be-late.html" target="_blank">Christmas in February</a>. We've been so busy playing that I haven't collected my thoughts in weeks. But the house is coming together. Most of the stuff is put away. Time to move back to organized, creative school, thought out meals, daily workouts, and chronology.<br />
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At my parent's home, my sisters and I sorted through decades of photos. My grandmothers back in the day - so beautiful in their pearls and victory rolls. Our childhood - the field trips and the wind suits and the hours and hours on horseback. Memory after memory sparked and relived around the kitchen table, three sisters awww-ing and hugging and beaming. My family is blessed with a beautiful history together. A cause for celebration.<br />
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To keep the party going, let me share some of the crew's favorite moments this winter.<br />
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From the Farm:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Standing by the banks of the much swollen creek</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My beautiful niece</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Playing Pooh Sticks</td></tr>
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In honor of the flaky forecast, our last snow day:<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First taste of snow cream - shocking and amazing</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFZ8ZcL3BhyphenhyphenP8AP2GG4pR4WxLn4Wql-3V6sZGf4AwZxd5drPeguVWA7BnOiwxGG2akn9GVpBv82MVy4-wiIs652oot5HwpCf7YRWy577HunTO9fP0QkDTNtmxc78aiI1zSeW9cjsKXFk/s1600/IMG_8340.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijFZ8ZcL3BhyphenhyphenP8AP2GG4pR4WxLn4Wql-3V6sZGf4AwZxd5drPeguVWA7BnOiwxGG2akn9GVpBv82MVy4-wiIs652oot5HwpCf7YRWy577HunTO9fP0QkDTNtmxc78aiI1zSeW9cjsKXFk/s1600/IMG_8340.jpg" height="640" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She finally built her snowman! That hair was all her idea.</td></tr>
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This winter is full of good memories for our kids to reflect on later.<br />
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That being said, bring on the warm weather!<br />
<img background:="" none="" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZEDckzdxYtQ/T4zJzSyV1vI/AAAAAAAABIc/F_UwN1dwEfQ/s300/blog%2520signature.001.tiff-001.jpg" transparent="" />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-66266056324057316002014-01-27T15:03:00.000-05:002014-01-27T15:03:22.596-05:00Smoky stovetop beetsBeets have a muddled place in my kitchen. Some of us believe beets can and should be a part of every day's menu... hot, cold, raw, roasted, pickled... Anyway you make them, I {and now Brother} will eat them.<br />
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The girls declare them "yummy in my tummy," but don't dream purple like their momma.</div>
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Tim would prefer, well, any vegetable to a beet. Disappointing. However, this is one of three things he prefers not to eat, so I try to oblige.</div>
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What's a beet luvin' girl to do? <span style="font-family: inherit;">Wait for an evening youth event serving a dinner, then make a mess of beets. An evening such as this one.</span></div>
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Since it's a single parent Sunday night, I was thinking borscht. Easy, delicious beets. That is until my daughter informed me that I <i>always</i> make soup, and she <i>never</i> wants to eat soup, and can't I <i>please</i> make a pizza instead. She doesn't appreciate this rare opportunity.</div>
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A compromise: <b><u>Smoked Beet Pizza</u></b>, or a new segment I'd like to call T<b>he</b> <b>Penny Gourmet</b>.</div>
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Gourmet food has earned the reputation for extravagance and expense. Families concerned with thriftiness, such as a single income family with three kids, can be easily convinced that thrifty food must be common. I disagree. Any food can become gourmet with a little effort, such as fire roasting or in this case smoking.</div>
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Since week old snow still lays unmelted in the yard, I will not be using the big smoker. Tim might be that dedicated to the cause, but I prefer my heated kitchen. Thus follows a brief tutorial in <b>Stovetop Smoking</b> {seen first in <u>Homemade</u> by Yvette Von Boven}.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdFeXKy5TLD-kOfdfQqIfepSUjbuF0PPPF7j30eb3VJa6iErXK76OEkzwQd0hvo7Y_pU5A7GDmM6Tt_PXXVFldsY6BCK_G6lgpg_pGShxPCfozNwteGKhVC0to-gOLumshaIVgplykvvM/s1600/IMG_8140.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdFeXKy5TLD-kOfdfQqIfepSUjbuF0PPPF7j30eb3VJa6iErXK76OEkzwQd0hvo7Y_pU5A7GDmM6Tt_PXXVFldsY6BCK_G6lgpg_pGShxPCfozNwteGKhVC0to-gOLumshaIVgplykvvM/s1600/IMG_8140.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPZh96-nzWk0O2CqJg-tKw5JCXlG5BUsM7v3Cykun0sj0HHThUy7nrZhp8zSgOhcYHuXWTjsM96uP7R_tMttLSsreq7G5oeHNWtm21GSSR1l8Mv6goA4WxPhCnb4GxN3v81M6XXejfLwI/s1600/IMG_8147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPZh96-nzWk0O2CqJg-tKw5JCXlG5BUsM7v3Cykun0sj0HHThUy7nrZhp8zSgOhcYHuXWTjsM96uP7R_tMttLSsreq7G5oeHNWtm21GSSR1l8Mv6goA4WxPhCnb4GxN3v81M6XXejfLwI/s1600/IMG_8147.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></div>
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You will need:</div>
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A roasting pan with a heat resistant rack (a trivet can work)</div>
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Aluminum foil</div>
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A couple handfuls of wood chips or loose tea<br />
Optional: woody herbs such as rosemary or juniper berries for flavor</div>
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Something to smoke: fish works well. Today we are focusing on root veggies</div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Directions:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Cube 2 lbs of root veggies (peeling if desired).</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Place wood chips or tea leaves in the middle of the roasting pan forming a flat pile. Cover with a double layer of aluminum foil. Lay the rack in the pan and arrange the veggies leaving space between pieces.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Set the pan on a large burner over medium high heat until the wood chips begin to smoke. Turn the heat down to medium low and cover the pan in aluminum foil, crimping around the edges to create the tightest seal possible. Smoke for 30-40 minutes.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Move veggies to a greased cookie sheet and roast in the oven until <i>al dente</i> (This step is unnecessary with fish).</span></div>
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These veggies are versatile. I made extra and sliced them thinly for sandwiches or in salad. I might bust them out for snack this afternoon with a bit of sour cream. Anywho...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJlR6lLg6gRSyA7dldZFyUTKJugea2o1_85-TrjIPlbgwxjtuHjZDQfMG3wTPjHK0ELjnxDqZzeeYBblP7EACWwqlLFZGExvfCN5Set0b2gu2SiFr5vG8D6TXLPobNm0OuKTs3jH9C52U/s1600/IMG_8136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJlR6lLg6gRSyA7dldZFyUTKJugea2o1_85-TrjIPlbgwxjtuHjZDQfMG3wTPjHK0ELjnxDqZzeeYBblP7EACWwqlLFZGExvfCN5Set0b2gu2SiFr5vG8D6TXLPobNm0OuKTs3jH9C52U/s1600/IMG_8136.JPG" height="352" width="640" /></a></div>
To create the pizza, I sautéed onions in a honey balsamic glaze {aka, add 1 t each of balsamic vinegar and honey to the translucent onions and caramelize for 1-2 minutes}. Olive oil, salt and sage for sauce. Mozzarella over the top, and you have a sunset pink gourmet pizza for around $3.</div>
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In case the time commitment of this venture worries you... All three kids were awake for the whole process. You need to be aware of the stove, but you don't have to stand over it.</div>
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Happy smoking!</div>
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<img background:="" none="" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZEDckzdxYtQ/T4zJzSyV1vI/AAAAAAAABIc/F_UwN1dwEfQ/s300/blog%2520signature.001.tiff-001.jpg" transparent="" /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-87160334661757509082014-01-23T10:55:00.000-05:002014-01-23T10:55:16.347-05:00Little Man<div>
The first tooth popped through this morning. Another step toward manhood. Tomorrow his voice will be cracking.<br />
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The first tooth is always exciting. We found it at the breakfast table, and everyone cheered. But it brought another gift.<br />
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<i>Ding, ding, ding. Tell him what else he's won... a wake you screaming diaper rash!</i><br />
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Which is what led to this humiliating moment...<br />
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I couldn't stop the hashtags forming in my brain during this bath. <i>Nibble, nibble like a mouse - Who is nibbling on my house?</i><br />
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Why am I washing my son in a roasting pan?!! Dirty dishes. Oatmeal soak. One time, I tried an oatmeal bath in the tub. One time. and decided never again. What a mess. Hence the roasting pan soak and why I'm not winning the parent of the year award.<br />
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<i>P.S. ~ Don't you love how he decided to flex his muscle and guard his modesty at the same time?</i><br />
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<a href="http://renaissancemomma.blogspot.com/2014/01/two-swans.html" target="_blank">Weeks ago</a> now, I promised <a href="http://renaissancemomma.blogspot.com/2014/01/two-swans.html" target="_blank">a post</a> for Brother Bear. And I started it. Right after his belated 6 month check up. The check up that looked something like this:<br />
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<i>Pediatrician perusing the front page of the growth chart, "25th percentile height, okay. 25th percentile weight." Flip the chart over, "Whoa!! Head's in the 95th! What's with your kids being very smart elves?"</i><br />
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<b>So... How go things for the little man?</b><br />
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Although I haven't posted as many pics of him, he's not the forgotten third child. At least not as much as I feared. I envisioned Mowgli scrounging through cabinets for baby food samples. Or me so distracted that I missed all his big moments - <i>hey, when did you teach yourself to read?</i> Fortunately, it's nothing like that. We have sweet time together. We just don't have extra time or hands to recreate the scene for a photograph.</div>
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His childhood is slightly less documented, but not less rich. Instead, he has been worn along and exposed to all sorts of wonderful stuff... photography exhibit and lecture, glass blowing display, pony hunt on Shackleford Island, the body exhibit. The girls did none of this stuff. His wedding slide show might be shorter, but it won't reflect neglect.</div>
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<b>What is Carrick up to? </b><br />
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All the usual 6, almost 7 month stuff. He babbles and grabs and sits for short periods before his oversized noggin overpowers his balance. And teethes. on. everything. He's started the backwards inchworm, the precursor to crawling. The girls have no idea what they're in for when he starts crawling. Come to think of it, their momma is pretty spoiled by kids old enough to recognize that a pin shouldn't be eaten.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGtb51n3nWP9mR-RH3l9P8bku-Dcsw2t3_TGZFBo6nesovSYSy_PL9Xrp_2EDwmH4n9JLiNOI0GpeCeiZvytGKMWmIA2qZTTp8YRm_26TX2i7-NbG3Ib0AYeoHsUjYl9gx_X4EX7-E7e8/s1600/IMG_8107.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGtb51n3nWP9mR-RH3l9P8bku-Dcsw2t3_TGZFBo6nesovSYSy_PL9Xrp_2EDwmH4n9JLiNOI0GpeCeiZvytGKMWmIA2qZTTp8YRm_26TX2i7-NbG3Ib0AYeoHsUjYl9gx_X4EX7-E7e8/s1600/IMG_8107.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blue Steel</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkNl8bJNbPz4k0R1kKPukQoW4IPf0Ympql8B2wYmxtOruJ1yQwKdmcl4W75XKoo67NMZohD12SJWIbg6aTfZZuYkqRmmvucxC67DN3aXEPU_jOqPG7bvJqpGkwdY2X3l9YkUQOmvGFjO4/s1600/IMG_8129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkNl8bJNbPz4k0R1kKPukQoW4IPf0Ympql8B2wYmxtOruJ1yQwKdmcl4W75XKoo67NMZohD12SJWIbg6aTfZZuYkqRmmvucxC67DN3aXEPU_jOqPG7bvJqpGkwdY2X3l9YkUQOmvGFjO4/s1600/IMG_8129.JPG" height="426" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Watching the sisters play</td></tr>
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He's the happiest critter you'll ever meet. Smiles for everyone all the time. He guffaws and snorts and yuks, especially at Afton {<i>they share an understanding beyond the rest of the family</i>}. He flirts with everyone at church. He delights in hearing other people laugh and keeps up the clowning as long as we laugh with him. In short, the only other person I know who is this friendly and smiles so easily is his G'pa {<i>Tim's dad</i>}, which I suppose is where he got it {<i>my side tends to produce Eeyores</i>.}<br />
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<b>How is life with three?</b><br />
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Wonderful. and hectic. and overwhelming. and hysterical. More than ever, T and I sit back and shake our heads that we should be so blessed. And more than ever, we bang our heads against a wall. I didn't comprehend how much more organized I must be. Slowly, I'm trying to implement routine to my duties, so I make time for intentional school {w<i>e've resembled an unschooling family, which isn't my style</i>}, to create, and to write. The hardest part is recognizing my time limitations. With three, I'm interrupted that much more. My windows of free time have significantly shrunk unless I use Disney to babysit while I sew. In short, we're still transitioning. Probably will be for a while yet. But it is a blessed transforming.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-36133314905131212972014-01-22T12:21:00.001-05:002014-01-22T12:22:30.695-05:00Making candy in the snow<b>Snow! Finally!</b><br />
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I don't want to exaggerate this snow fall. It's a bare 3 inch accumulation. But in this snow starved climate, we have to pack every important snow day activity into those precious three inches.</div>
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For instance - <b>Snow cream</b>. At breakfast due to my excitement. Snow cream is my all time favorite snow treat. If we receive half an inch, I'm dusting cups of snow from every clean surface to make snow cream. Several bowls worth are sitting outside the back door. The only time I don't experience an absolute need for an extra freezer. </div>
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And a new snow day activity: molasses squiggle candy. You Little House fans know what I'm talking about, even if you haven't made it. The hot molasses poured over snow that Laura and Mary make for Christmas in the big woods. Today's science, art and history lesson all in one.</div>
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The girls made fantastic mini sculptures, spooning the brown goo over trays of snow. But we learned several lessons in the school of life along the way. </div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">1.</span> The book illustrator misrepresented how messy this project is. No neat candies in the snow. We spun yards of molasses candy string linking each individual piece. These proved excellent nourishment for the Wonka twins during the lean times while mommy was reheating the candy goop. Or so they explained to me as they gobbled them up as fast as the sugar could harden.<br />
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The romanticized drawing...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEyWsQjcxm0iMvk5dnG1HYbjjNKcIPSwnLdIcBon-yCGAVb7o4Oz5zaiz_i5UjdXMJqfvpIZ0b3V1lkMK2Hza4WB_wygBQTIY-OH-AahZufpj2zAbe9sBGXhD_z1V2P30WnvTwMs12C4/s1600/CIMG3364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEyWsQjcxm0iMvk5dnG1HYbjjNKcIPSwnLdIcBon-yCGAVb7o4Oz5zaiz_i5UjdXMJqfvpIZ0b3V1lkMK2Hza4WB_wygBQTIY-OH-AahZufpj2zAbe9sBGXhD_z1V2P30WnvTwMs12C4/s1600/CIMG3364.JPG" height="346" width="640" /></a></div>
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The sculptural reality...</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">2.</span> Little man could play short stop. His hands moved at Jeter speed to snatch a candy from the tray where they lay drying. I didn't realize he could reach that far. Nor did I know he could get food in his mouth which was beyond his skill last week with a banana.</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-large;">3.</span> These big sisters will spoil the brother rotten. They kept trying to sneak "safe" pieces of candy to him once they realized how much he liked them. Here's the face when mean ol' momma interfered with the black market candy trade.</div>
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If you are the sort of adventurous family that gives small children spoonfuls of 300 degree sugar and encourages them to draw in snow {<i>I realize how crazy I sound even suggesting this</i>}, here's the recipe:<br />
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<b><u>Molasses Snow Candy</u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<b>Ingredients</b><br />
Equal parts sugar and molasses - I used 1/2 c each<br />
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<b>Directions</b><br />
Prepare two large baking trays with snow up to the lip. Store outside to keep the snow from melting until you're ready to pour. Cover a cookie sheet with a towel for drying the candy.<br />
In a small sauce pot on medium heat, combine sugar and molasses, stirring until smooth. A wooden spoon is best for this.<br />
If you have a candy thermometer, use it. Otherwise, have a spoon and a cup of cold water handy. Heat the sugar mixture, stirring frequently to prevent burning. <i>Early in the process, vigilance is not as important as toward the end. Don't leave the pot, say to pick up a crying baby, when the mixture is bubbling and growing.</i><br />
Heat the mixture to the "hard crack" line on your candy thermometer, about 20 minutes. If you don't have a thermometer, you can check the stage by dropping a small ball of sugar into the cup of water. It's ready when the drop forms a hard candy with a crack.<br />
Spoon the hot mixture in squiggles, curlicues, etc... over the snow. It will harden almost immediately. Move the hard candy to a towel to dry.<br />
If the mixture will not flow off the spoon, return pot to the stove on low heat and reheat mixture until it pours.<br />
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A fun old fashioned adventure.<br />
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If you are wondering whether this is a safe activity.. to misquote C.S. Lewis: Safe? Course it isn't safe! But it's fun.<br />
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Seriously, no one was hurt. The girls understood how hot the candy was and carefully avoided it until it hit the snow.<br />
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<b>And a bonus snow recipe:</b><br />
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<b><u>Snow Cream</u></b><br />
<b><u><br /></u></b>
<b>Ingredients</b><br />
Large bowlful of snow {I use the biggest bowl I can find - this shrinks by at least half}<br />
Sugar to taste {1/4-1/2 c}<br />
1 T vanilla<br />
1/2 c milk<br />
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<b>Directions</b><br />
Combine sugar, snow and vanilla. Slowly add milk. Combine until you make a dry slush.<br />
Eat it all and make more!<br />
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Yep. It's that simple. You can flavor it with cocoa or espresso powder if you want. I'm happy with plain vanilla, just like my momma made it.<br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-91595473162461126652014-01-17T19:20:00.001-05:002014-01-17T19:20:56.332-05:00Why my Christmas presents will be late...My Christmas gifts are going to be late this year. I mean the 2013 gifts. My family pushed back the gift giving until our visit in February. Sounded like plenty of time, even for the make-it-all-from-scratcher's. I was feeling confident. Until the new car seat arrived.<br />
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We need to bump everyone up in the car seat department. For sizing purposes. Gwennan and Carrick both sit above the highest belt position. Afton's current car seat is a Britax - it could comfortably hold a 15 year old. Nevertheless, everyone is moving up.</div>
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The giant amazon box arrives with the new booster seat. Bright pink with 2 cup/treasure/discarded hair bow holders. Every little girls dream seat. And did I mention that she gets to use the grown up seat belt?</div>
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And what do we have to offer Afton?</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
The two year old cosco with its stained, crumby seat and faded flowers. She didn't seem to mind, but Daddy and I felt sorry for the Hand-me-down Kid.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Afton and I made a trip through the scrap bag. Lo and behold, we found her "favorite, most beautiful fabric I ever wanted."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Minky dot.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqYg_plK8nzNzPMNZ_XiVXKbak7jNbP3rH10gmbu38CQxgbNhbKEu8XE4Mkq-lvKhWFG7fVtyGJdl90v15DuaiGrkHX21QxgthCc6HxDoONXs08lEuLq_fX471mSdqdR4sng7LoRv9H_Y/s640/blogger-image-284274487.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqYg_plK8nzNzPMNZ_XiVXKbak7jNbP3rH10gmbu38CQxgbNhbKEu8XE4Mkq-lvKhWFG7fVtyGJdl90v15DuaiGrkHX21QxgthCc6HxDoONXs08lEuLq_fX471mSdqdR4sng7LoRv9H_Y/s640/blogger-image-284274487.jpg" /></a></div>
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<div>
Yeah, I was curse smiling.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Reasons to use minky dot on a car seat cover:</div>
<div>
1. Your three year old has a fit of trembling joy over soft and pink and polka dot</div>
<div>
2. It's super stain resistant</div>
<div>
3. It's synthetic, so it should withstand the test of wiggling, squirming three year old bum</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Reasons never to use minky dot for anything. Ever!</div>
<div>
1. It stretches unpredictably making is hard to cut, hard to iron, hard to pin, hard to sew, etc...</div>
<div>
2. It melts onto your iron in a stinky pink goo if you're two clicks too hot</div>
<div>
3. The dots flatten under your sewing machine foot so that the pieces you sized and cut is not the same piece you actually sew down.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Reason 1</b> under the pro's is really all that matters. At any rate, one of two things will happen: this project will come out great, producing an ecstatic three year old, or I'll throw it down I frustration and start over. And I'll have a still ecstatic three year old. Fortunately, A is a generally grateful soul.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
And if you're waiting for your Christmas presents... You might get to wait a little longer.</div>
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<br />
Happy Momma'ing!!<br />
<br />
Katie<br />
<br /></div>
<div>
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">A sewing note - This project is for an intermediate, confident seamstress {aka, top of my abilities}, since you have to tear apart the existing car seat cover, making your seat useless until you finish. Have a back up seat or nowhere pressing to go. If anyone is interested, here's <a href="http://www.makeit-loveit.com/2011/02/recovering-baby-car-seat.html" target="_blank">the tutorial</a> I found most helpful. <a href="http://www.makeit-loveit.com/2011/02/recovering-baby-car-seat.html" target="_blank">This tutorial </a>is for an infant seat cover, but the same method works for any seat cover. If recovering a booster, you will need a small piece of foam rubber for the seat cushion. I used an old camping mat.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;"><br /></span></i>
<span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">An immediate update {<i>I started the project and post a few days ago</i>} - The car seat cover was a success. Afton was thrilled with her soft pink seat. Everything lined up as it should. I would definitely do this again.</span></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-37562461915171741782014-01-14T12:20:00.001-05:002014-01-14T12:20:44.883-05:00The Great Horned Owl DebacleYesterday brought a new parenting challenge for me. A situation that tested my resolve in God's Word. Not in a life altering way. But aren't all temptations soul altering.<br />
<br />
The story...<br />
<br />
Washing dishes, I glance up to notice a promising shape perched in the oak behind our house. Birds of prey enrapture me, and this shape looks very owlish, the most fascinating of the group. I grab my camera and sneak out the door, stalking my way around puddles and into the fort to catch a difficult picture with the light behind him. He watches me through half opened yellow eyes. A squirrel sits paralyzed {<i>except for the occasional sign of the cross as he prepares to meet his maker</i>}.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The stirring silhouette</td></tr>
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After observing the owl quietly sitting, I remember Gwennan. She's supposed to be napping, but I've heard her quietly interviewing the walls. I sneak back inside and signal to her to follow me in stealth mode. Outside, we stand together observing and quietly discussing owls {<i>something this sacred produced a real whisper in Gwennan</i>}.<br />
<br />
Then without warning, the owl's great head bobbed and dipped. He lost his balance, and with a vain attempt to right himself, withered and fell from the tree with barely a glide to the ground. <i>Did you see that?!!!</i> Gwennan and I exchanged shocked looks.<br />
<br />
<i>Mommy, Why did he do that?? Where is he??</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
Thus began the quick scramble for rain boots, the wade through ankle deep water to the back fence and the team climb up the compost bin to peak over the extra tall privacy fence. There was the owl, sitting on the ground, trying to maintain his dignity. His eyes half closed in that all-wise pondering position.<br />
<br />
I finished the lectures on birds of prey, but I left school a couple of days before the rapture lab. I have no experience handling large birds with talons and sharp beaks. Especially when they fall on someone else's property.<br />
<br />
So I called parks and rec. They required permission from the home owner, our neighbor who I've never seen. The best I could offer was to walk over and ring the bell after Afton and Carrick woke up.<br />
<br />
We waited the 30 minutes or so for nap time to finish and everyone to complete their wake up process {<i>Afton sprang out of bed upon learning that we were going to rescue an owl with the ranger doctor - I'm surprised neither of the girls thought to ask for the vet kit</i>}. Before tying Carrick on and pulling out the scooters and helmets, I figured I'd check on the bird. No sense disturbing the neighbors or pulling out all the gear if the owl had flown away. I peak over the fence to discover one very dead owl, head thrown back at a spectral angle.<br />
<br />
Now you know my dilemma... <i>What do I tell two very excited children? </i>The truth, that the owl died, then field questions all day about how the owl died or tears over the dead animal or worse, demands to see the dead owl. Or do I tell the smallest of lies, that the owl flew away. No one will be any wiser. No questions. No scooter voyage. And no dead owl to inspect.<br />
<br />
You can land where you will on this one.<br />
<br />
I chose to tell them the truth.<br />
<br />
It seemed simpler in the long run. When do I start telling them the truth if I start with lies now? Where is the line between shielding and reality? It was too blurry for me. Best not to be attempted.<br />
<br />
Upon hearing the news, my two junior pathologists insisted they see the evidence that the owl was dead. Mommy could have missed some important sign of life. Amidst vision of nightmares and sleepless nights, we perched on the compost bin again and peered down at the specimen. Both specialists agreed with my original assessment: that was a very dead owl. Still beautiful with his barred feathers, but certainly deceased. They bowed their heads for one solemn moment.<br />
<br />
<i>Mommy, why did he die?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I guess he was old and sick.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Oh, like <a href="http://renaissancemomma.blogspot.com/2013/01/celebrating-life-well-lived.html" target="_blank">your red grandmother</a>?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Yep.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Oh.</i><br />
<br />
A minute later they were splashing through the small ponds in our yard, looking for treasures in the muddy water. The owl banished from the memory until Daddy came home to be regaled with tales of the planned owl rescue sprinkled with news from the morning's ballet lesson. No trauma. No tears. No nightmares. No undue questions. The owl was cool, then he was dead. That was kind of cool too. And they would have thoroughly enjoyed a good stick poking necropsy had he landed in our yard.<br />
<br />
As always, they are more durable than I believe. The truth of the universe that I assume will produce so much trauma is an acceptable fact of life. My 'slight' temper tantrum over the spilled glass of water, that sticks with them. I obviously have a lot to learn about life altering moments.<br />
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A tidbit of owl trivia courtesy of the Newport News ranger service: Raptors, including owls, do not know how to be prey. They have no defense systems against predators on the ground. If you approach a grounded raptor, they will stare at you so intently that they fall over. I find this hilarious and have added to my bucket list, "make bald eagle fall over."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-28918696896371686802014-01-07T16:05:00.003-05:002014-01-07T16:05:51.659-05:00Two SwansThis morning marked a new era for us... the <b>first ballet lesson</b>. My girls are officially old enough for dance class. Oh my goodness.<br />
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The class was a joy to watch. And even better to hear the retelling from the girls on the way home. They had such different experiences, neither of which exactly matched my outside view of the class.<br />
<br />
I saw 12 tiny girls flitting around the studio, vaguely following Miss Emma's instructions. Adorable, uncoordinated movements. Like a puppy tripping on its ears {<i>mine was the only child to fall over practicing first position</i>}.<br />
<br />
This morning might have been the highlight of Gwennan's 4 years on earth. Everyone in their black leotards and pink tights standing on their green X's, moving together. She swayed her arms dreamily side to side. She exulted in her toes as she pointed and flexed, pointed and flexed. The order and grace that Gwennan demands from life.<br />
<br />
From that description, you might be wondering why we signed up Afton at all. Because she loved it too. In a completely different, free spirited fashion. Her demi plie resembled a weight lifting squat. When it came time to skip around the room, she must have imagined a series of puddles to jump in. Even during stretches, Afton took breaks to shake her wiggles out. Her ballet was all her own, and she hasn't stopped talking about it.<br />
<br />
When we arrived home, they insisted on practicing. The first ballet lesson recital for an audience of Daddy is all scheduled. They even identified which pieces of furniture could substitute for the big mirror and the bar.<br />
<br />
Then they wanted to watch ballet, so I pulled up the final scene from my favorite, <i>Swan Lake</i>. Gwennan is going to be the princess swan {<i>Of course</i>}. But she won't fly away and leave the prince. That's craziness. Everything is so clear cut in her 4 year old world.<br />
<br />
Afton rebuts that she wants to marry the monster. Mommy, can you please ask Daddy if I can marry the monster tonight? She preferred his crunk style movements to the flitty prince.<br />
<br />
And I suppose that's how you have ballerinas to play the white swan and the black swan.<br />
<br />
Brother also thought ballet was wonderful. A whole room full of sentimental moms ooh-ing and waving to him. He sat in my lap, chewing on my hand thoughtfully as the women beside me noisily described her plastic surgeries {t<i>hat was a rough, hopefully unusual, introduction to dance mothers</i>}. Carrick deserves his own update post, so I'll save further comments until then.<br />
<br />
Happy dancing everyone!<br />
<img background:="" none="" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZEDckzdxYtQ/T4zJzSyV1vI/AAAAAAAABIc/F_UwN1dwEfQ/s300/blog%2520signature.001.tiff-001.jpg" transparent="" />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-28040442360034362232014-01-02T20:57:00.001-05:002014-01-02T20:57:01.855-05:00Happy New YearAfter my last post, I gather that no one questioned my absence from the blogosphere. Although you might have wondered if all three children survived 2013. I'm pleased to announce that they did. Maybe even left it better than we found it. <div><br></div><div>Truth be told, I didn't abandon writing because I was so busy. I had nothing to say. Life seemed a series of reactions, swinging in the dark. What is there to say about aimlessness?</div><div><br></div><div>The holidays, the busyness, the parenting challenges, all distractions from the real problem. I pushed God to a dusty shelf labeled 'things I wish I had time for.'</div><div><br></div><div>How did I have time to handcraft Christmas presents or workout or cook or breathe if I had no time for God? I don't have an answer.</div><div><br></div><div>After a prolonged spiritual drought (all my fault, not His, mind you), I find myself in major resolution mode.</div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div>Driven by self-consciousness over the candy I inhaled last week, I vow to eat nothing but salads and carve out an hour a day to workout.<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"> But I've been living on caffeine and refined sugar for a week. My brain wants chocolate while my hand provides a carrot stick. The hardest stretch of any diet change.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">At the same time, I've consumed a steady diet of social media. Any free moment, and my hands start itching to check Instagram, putting off prayer or meditation or study. I'm out of practice making Jesus a first thought.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">And my everything shows it, even more obvious than my crappy Christmas week binging. How I speak to others, the jokes I make, my general frustration, my posture. My selfishness is a garment, more like an emotional snuggy. Protecting my ability to indulge in further lazy behavior.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">That's our family right now. See why I wanted to hide that ugliness? My selfish snuggy wasn't suitable for public viewing.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><br></font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">As it is the season for transformation, we are praying for some of our own. Resolve to put aside distractions and retrain our minds. Yes, to look forward to cauliflower again. But more importantly, to seek his face again.</font></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-26423387310763323602013-11-06T12:21:00.002-05:002013-11-06T13:28:05.354-05:00Ice cream fixTrue confession time: I was into the chocolate ice cream before 11:30 today. Yes, 11:30 <b>am</b>. <i>Why</i> would an otherwise healthy person eat chocolate ice cream before lunch? Because we have no vodka in the house. <div>
<br></div>
<div>
It's that sort of morning.<div>
<br></div>
<div>
We just returned from our walk around the neighborhood so that Gwennan could deliver her "I'm sorry" card to the babysitter. Brother is bemoaning the time change, by far the most traumatic thing in his life since circumcision. His whole life's schedule has been a wreck since 2 o'clock Sunday morning. When I declined to fix lunch at 10:30, Afton threw a fit involving peeing on our carpeted stairs and using the basil we potted together as a hammer throw.</div>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
I earned that ice cream.</div>
<div>
<br></div>
<div>
The last spoonful hadn't dissolved on my tongue when I glanced out the window to check on my entirely too happy children only to find the little exhibitionists completely naked on top of the fort, well above the privacy fence, playing "go to the beach," the nudist beach apparently. {<i>Anybody else notice that my sentences tend to run on when I'm frustrated? Tim has, I assure you.</i>}</div>
<div>
<br>
Why even bring this up? Everyone has these days, these "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day" days. Gwennan, Carrick and Afton would probably tell you that they too deserve ice cream for putting up with their grumpy mother on a 5 day headache streak who insists that the babysitter was right, that daylight savings time is over, and that lunch must wait until closer to noon. Oh, and that you must pretend going to the beach with your clothes on, clearly an impossibility.<br>
<br>
I write out this ridiculous day so that on another bad day, yours or mine, we can say, <i>ah yes, we will get through this ludicrous day, might even laugh at it later.</i><br>
<i><br></i>
I write it out so that when all you see are cute pictures of my girls playing or catch a gummy smile from my prince charming son or hear me talk about practicing yoga and baking stuff you barely have time to buy, you'll know that this momma is losing her mind plenty.<br>
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My momma promises this too shall pass. And I believe her. I even believe the people who tell me I'll miss it. I also think that maybe when my kids are teenagers and still driving me crazy that I might find some courage reading their preschool antics, even the not so cute ones.<br>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-18297011420885172142013-11-01T09:24:00.001-04:002013-11-01T09:24:32.499-04:00Ciao OctoberApple week is complete. Golden quarts line shelves.<div><br></div><div>Halloween is complete. Only one meltdown over costuming.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTZFk56Ic6sJuYvUW-6mf1e3_DtUTBdv7pZPZzwXh2lCqcWMGK79BARHU6oN2pLz8VLkCZBV91f-iz97QQdCud6kZcPjA59_d6UwIHf82YXcoPnNmMQqVUTC61OjqBjD4rNZGvRR-eUaA/s640/blogger-image-1855804938.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTZFk56Ic6sJuYvUW-6mf1e3_DtUTBdv7pZPZzwXh2lCqcWMGK79BARHU6oN2pLz8VLkCZBV91f-iz97QQdCud6kZcPjA59_d6UwIHf82YXcoPnNmMQqVUTC61OjqBjD4rNZGvRR-eUaA/s640/blogger-image-1855804938.jpg"></a></div></div><div>4 month check up is complete. Brother is long and skinny with a giant noggin. The way an Ellis baby should be.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFaNe-bWBYft7j-IwtRYn2jh7_-LcIsUGxyZz01V77YCzEpwTepDyR0w3Qfl9kBbjq9mjVnEbSYc0IAtaoEbRnq0L19PktU1pEJzpCmj5pY4ET5omUje3701nXN1N0aslJr-rBA7rWCi4/s640/blogger-image-1744324347.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFaNe-bWBYft7j-IwtRYn2jh7_-LcIsUGxyZz01V77YCzEpwTepDyR0w3Qfl9kBbjq9mjVnEbSYc0IAtaoEbRnq0L19PktU1pEJzpCmj5pY4ET5omUje3701nXN1N0aslJr-rBA7rWCi4/s640/blogger-image-1744324347.jpg"></a></div></div><div>4(!) year old birthday is complete. Gwenny acted the princess all day, buried in books.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWGGWqRjV01fbxnK8IjoLkuNUTGGxVAe509Wj_GackrXZbDFNO2jmVwLFKNm_4r-JOfxYO59EaQeYS3jxeijqtfKSWLnbKLZAi5NjSo5ej9okwTS3H0nK28hICXQY7W7F2RHr_rKJx_8/s640/blogger-image-258943825.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDWGGWqRjV01fbxnK8IjoLkuNUTGGxVAe509Wj_GackrXZbDFNO2jmVwLFKNm_4r-JOfxYO59EaQeYS3jxeijqtfKSWLnbKLZAi5NjSo5ej9okwTS3H0nK28hICXQY7W7F2RHr_rKJx_8/s640/blogger-image-258943825.jpg"></a></div></div><div>My sister's pregnancy is complete. Baby Margot is anxiosly awaiting the arrival of her Auntie Kate and Uncle Tim.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_bJsDUcbcjQVhXPmRMhvF9aAg_RpQH0Zq1mp1xDYwhDqecQb3Z1TtGJCG2qIhg_ZYwiE7QYU7kWkUWf2LtEtYRr5uy2F5HlbO42dx8FD40bY7dU4fwgRtfwvizOSXD0Z_3LLhIBj8Sc0/s640/blogger-image-174960303.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_bJsDUcbcjQVhXPmRMhvF9aAg_RpQH0Zq1mp1xDYwhDqecQb3Z1TtGJCG2qIhg_ZYwiE7QYU7kWkUWf2LtEtYRr5uy2F5HlbO42dx8FD40bY7dU4fwgRtfwvizOSXD0Z_3LLhIBj8Sc0/s640/blogger-image-174960303.jpg"></a></div></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">When I write it out, I see the Fall is all but complete. Just another baby born, Afton's birthday and Thanksgiving to go (all of which should occur within a 3 day window).</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">With the 70 degree weather and still green trees, part of me believes the calendar is lying. We can't possibly be 4 weeks from Christmas season. But here it is anyway.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif">While she didn't get an officials milestone this month, Afton has made the biggest growth of all. She's becoming a little girl, no longer a quick toddler running behind Gwennan. Our little girl is becoming the big sister, a role she claims with pride. Sweet Afton.</font></div><div><font face="Helvetica Neue Light, HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif"><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9-I2i8nyeGKvfz0xXd6o1SQ-tNdcpqAqyG4jKWX1QqyWSJCO9ddDxMLKrQWBRREigh9UpMI75huN4Pp9lxXw9brTxEreioc63d0JXXcluejmrhxmirPKzEomEfH5FyqXjYfXp2asLr1c/s640/blogger-image--1029621879.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9-I2i8nyeGKvfz0xXd6o1SQ-tNdcpqAqyG4jKWX1QqyWSJCO9ddDxMLKrQWBRREigh9UpMI75huN4Pp9lxXw9brTxEreioc63d0JXXcluejmrhxmirPKzEomEfH5FyqXjYfXp2asLr1c/s640/blogger-image--1029621879.jpg"></a></div><br></font></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-40949295117153957572013-10-04T10:07:00.001-04:002013-10-04T11:22:02.945-04:00If I could speak to your little girls...Mommas,<br />
<br />
My heart is burdened to the point of distraction. <i>How great is the loneliness of the teenage girl who is earnestly trying to please the Lord, adorn herself with the imperishable beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit. How despairing to realize that every guy you like can have Miley Cyrus or Rihanna naked in the palm of his iPhone, thank you Vevo.</i><br />
<br />
Not that most girls want to suggestively lick strange objects or dance naked for the masses. But we want to be <i>noticed</i>.<br />
<br />
<i>What can we Mommas do when our little girls feel broken because no one follows them?</i> Empower prudishness? Help them acquire a subtler sexuality? Encourage them to surround themselves with friends? Promise them attention and belonging once Mr. Right finally appears? Be their best friend?<br />
<br />
Here I sit with all I dreamed of... husband, kids, family, friends, church. The connectedness I prayed for as a teenager. Belonging to a group and being comfortable in my own skin.<br />
<br />
<i>So why do I still feel lonely?</i> Me, who cannot go to the bathroom by myself. And it's not lonely because the house is quiet or Tim is out of town or because everyone is too busy to call. I'm still washed with bone loneliness in a crowded room just like my teenage self walking around those blue and gold halls.<br />
<br />
Loneliness exceeds human relationships. Even my husband, and he's my best friend, who knows me through babies and hard times and long nights, still can't know me like I want to be known.<br />
<br />
A husband isn't the answer.<br />
<br />
Neither is a best friend. Or a Mom. Or a sister. Or a daughter. Or a son.<br />
<br />
But the Son.<br />
<br />
I am lonely because I need my Father, his Son, the Holy Spirit. My deepest longing to be known is only satisfied in Him.<br />
<br />
Loneliness is the human condition passed down with that first errant bite. Our walks with God were over, and the desperate search to be known began.<br />
<br />
From the 'innocent' flirt to the brazen wrecking ball swinging wildest child, we are all buying fools gold. Believing attention from one person or the nation will make up for the one broken relationship. But it won't. From one who has every earthly relationship I ever hoped for, it won't.<br />
<br />
Why leave adopted children lonely? Unless that loneliness serves us for good. A daily reminder that we're not home. We are strangers and exiles in this land, seeking a better homeland, that is a heavenly one. And we are walking among the dying.<br />
<br />
But He hasn't left us wandering around a foreign land. The Lord God is with us wherever we go.<br />
<br />
I can't talk to every daughter, young and old, but I can talk to mine, and you can talk to yours. To dispel the lie that loneliness is solved by human relationships. That women who are happily married are never lonely.<br />
<br />
To encourage that loneliness might be recurrent, but it is not permanent.<br />
<br />
To teach ourselves to be satisfied by the spiritual, not just the physical. As children, we require a face to look at or arms to hug, but part of maturing is training our hearts on the subtlety of God.<br />
<br />
For though we might feel alone, we are never alone. God is with us, always. Reminding us that a better home awaits where we will never feel lonely.<br />
<br />
I couldn't bring myself to look forward to Heaven or the returning of the Lord when I was a teenager. I too badly wanted the family I now have. Maybe my young ears couldn't hear that what I really wanted was Heaven. But we mommas plant a lot of seeds that must overwinter before they germinate.<br />
<br />
So let's plant. Speak the truth to your girls in the face of their need to belong, on the playground or on Friday night. What Miley Cyrus has isn't enough. What the popular kids have isn't enough. What full grown mommas have isn't enough.<br />
<br />
Only God is enough. Only He takes away our loneliness. And we <i>must</i> train our hearts to believe. We <i>must</i> train our minds to pray before texting our besty. We <i>must</i> train our bodies to seek God not attention.<br />
<br />
For the daughters belong with their Father.<br />
<img background:="" none="" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZEDckzdxYtQ/T4zJzSyV1vI/AAAAAAAABIc/F_UwN1dwEfQ/s300/blog%2520signature.001.tiff-001.jpg" transparent="" /><br />
<br />
A music video to build you up...<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="480" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/MwONvf6k_-Y?rel=0" width="853"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-59522331083969253112013-10-02T15:31:00.000-04:002013-10-02T15:31:00.692-04:00A pattern for busy livesI can't count how often I'm told to treasure these days with my little ones. Now, I'm pretty sure those parents are misremembering why 'these days' are also known as the 'terrible twos' and 'even more terrible threes.' But I also get that this period is short, and babies grow fast.<br />
<br />
Maybe that's why I feel guilty when life runs, well, like Afton. She doesn't walk. She sprints, her slow speed a brisk jog. She doesn't sit. She squats. Even in her high chair, she crouches, all tight coiled muscles. A lot of days, our whole family paces with her, hopping from project to lesson to errand and back.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFY_-2BM8tpoZhM4hBjG2qg4eNOLVP7hbcz8V-zBVB14tzcmyXNpxojJzXPikXLAJtB1kxkKzNTy1JIm5jH6HbwC-KPUL_VCZFWMAmv7Uqra0HFZh3ThydoJZZb8-owlh_Z2H5KHbeiKw/s1600/IMG_7784.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFY_-2BM8tpoZhM4hBjG2qg4eNOLVP7hbcz8V-zBVB14tzcmyXNpxojJzXPikXLAJtB1kxkKzNTy1JIm5jH6HbwC-KPUL_VCZFWMAmv7Uqra0HFZh3ThydoJZZb8-owlh_Z2H5KHbeiKw/s640/IMG_7784.jpg" width="426" /></a></div>
<br />
I feel like I'm supposed to artificially slow time so we can make the most of these young years. The uber-spiritual me begins equating slowly with Godly. As if I'm not really a good Christian momma unless I'm taking slow, deliberate steps. Some homeschooling monk-life figure.<br />
<br />
Is it stupid guilt? <i>Yes</i>. Most of my guilt is. Just one more weight to carry while I try to keep up.<br />
<br />
During a true slow time, I'm reading Mark. He must understand the whoosh of time. 'Immediately' is his favorite adverb. As in 33 times, his favorite adverb. Makes me think life with Jesus moved pretty quickly too. Rushing through miracles and boat rides and feeding thousands. Then Jesus presses [pause]. <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark%208:11-9:13&version=ESV" target="_blank">He pulls his disciples aside. Warns them of his death. Tells them who he is. Takes a deep breath.</a> Then <i>immediately</i> takes over, <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark%209:14-29&version=ESV" target="_blank">they're off to heal a boy.</a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Mark%209:30-10:45&version=ESV" target="_blank">Pause again. Warn again. Teach again.</a> Back to <i>immediately</i>, ministry frenzy.<br />
<br />
<b>Work, pause, teach.</b><br />
<br />
The physical slowness accents the importance of the teaching. Quieting the body to let the mind wrap around something huge.<br />
<br />
Slow moments to teach and emphasize.<br />
<br />
But not all slow moments.<br />
<br />
If we're all quiet moments, the emphasis is gone. A flat symphony no one remembers.<br />
<br />
The rush isn't bad. The <i>immediately</i> is part of this earthly ministry where much and more hangs in the balance, and many people hurt, and many need to hear some good news.<br />
<br />
If we're only slow, we might not cover all the ground. Jesus walked thousands of miles, touched ten thousands of people during his three year tour. It can't be done if we pause under every tree.<br />
<br />
<b>Work, pause, teach</b>.<br />
<br />
A pattern to reach the world and build disciples. Meeting immediate needs for many. Imparting a Godly understanding to a few. Sounds like the parent's job description.<br />
<img background:="" none="" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZEDckzdxYtQ/T4zJzSyV1vI/AAAAAAAABIc/F_UwN1dwEfQ/s300/blog%2520signature.001.tiff-001.jpg" transparent="" />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6970046291293078695.post-49440489940117719672013-09-25T15:53:00.002-04:002013-09-25T15:53:28.687-04:00Our month in the sunHowdy!<br />
<br />
I knew it had been a while since I last typed out my thoughts, but I didn't realize how long. Life is zipping along, stuffed with Fall fun.<br />
<br />
Maybe you expected <a href="http://renaissancemomma.blogspot.com/2012/11/in-leu-of-coffee-date.html" target="_blank">this disappearing act</a> from me since I seem to pull it <a href="http://renaissancemomma.blogspot.com/2012/11/in-leu-of-coffee-date.html" target="_blank">whenever the weather cools</a>. We start cramming in end of season of beach days and beginning of season hikes. The garden needs attention again. School starts up.<br />
<br />
I owe a catch up post. Here's a bit of where we've been...<br />
<br />
We left off at the beach, a beautiful day to celebrate 30 years spinning on planet Earth.<br />
<br />
And we end at the beach. And spend part of the middle at the beach.<br />
<br />
Basically, we made up for the lost month after Brother was born. Now that October is near, the Ellises finally have freckled noses and sun-kissed hair, a couple pounds of sand and several empty cans of sunscreen in the trunk of the van.<br />
<br />
The camera has been the chronologist. Snap shot of fun times when a pen is too cumbersome. So many pictures, and I'm not sure I narrowed it down enough. Oh well. I'm sharing them anyway.<br />
<br />
First, a family photo shoot with my awesome SIL. She mostly shoots in Key West, but she's happy to travel to Virginia and stay with her nieces and nephew. Just saying.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-SoOjqfeaNb9HruMAhFxrZivE88lrs37BgkpILLPVOM3fhhbZHS7t0MVdcg80_gHhA2Ye9zA7EJNzrc3GzaNo8NInG3dY7DhCTq0XLkxPnMZbh7SowL0PSlVfEj4rnOCUr9cimBmx9c/s1600/Ellis-16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs-SoOjqfeaNb9HruMAhFxrZivE88lrs37BgkpILLPVOM3fhhbZHS7t0MVdcg80_gHhA2Ye9zA7EJNzrc3GzaNo8NInG3dY7DhCTq0XLkxPnMZbh7SowL0PSlVfEj4rnOCUr9cimBmx9c/s640/Ellis-16.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">courtesy of <a href="http://www.megan-ellis.com/" target="_blank">Megan Ellis Photography</a></td></tr>
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<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qje4SUZb8eog2Y0gIE06YYpyhYTQSqKXufLFGjug2SnNyaO_bs8Ipb-JOGWRTsDkCs8699NaIfUOwYPuoBQA8i5TnrbUeB1Umkzmdp5mLuTxlEucoWM1jndr0OkG5UM9cfwP_M1nOkc/s1600/Ellis-63.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qje4SUZb8eog2Y0gIE06YYpyhYTQSqKXufLFGjug2SnNyaO_bs8Ipb-JOGWRTsDkCs8699NaIfUOwYPuoBQA8i5TnrbUeB1Umkzmdp5mLuTxlEucoWM1jndr0OkG5UM9cfwP_M1nOkc/s640/Ellis-63.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">courtesy of <a href="http://www.megan-ellis.com/" target="_blank">Megan Ellis Photography</a></td></tr>
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Speaking of my SIL, here she is...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAg3SoDaZF9DS5Fk0FymbwOsOJsuKLMtgeUCSCCtqtYUIDj1LkuLc-e84XNzRM-1sVlXnWmEK-5oIgREBxdsN0JtFN1i3QXv86rTcWS8i0rGDu6yW_9uazGyeXX9V6LmzZ2HbzbKD7gKQ/s1600/Ellis-131.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAg3SoDaZF9DS5Fk0FymbwOsOJsuKLMtgeUCSCCtqtYUIDj1LkuLc-e84XNzRM-1sVlXnWmEK-5oIgREBxdsN0JtFN1i3QXv86rTcWS8i0rGDu6yW_9uazGyeXX9V6LmzZ2HbzbKD7gKQ/s640/Ellis-131.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">courtesy of <a href="http://www.megan-ellis.com/" target="_blank">Megan Ellis Photography</a></td></tr>
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And my bohemian princess. Ensemble compiled completely by herself...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfcPspB1z6UPBA-qeR-b1OVJShELIlHsPY7PDonftBC7eQeKOhESEyEq8Ic-dKIFlP6NCd5ryHbsoo3nYc4iGIEfD0LLVn7vZ4nM0cE4te16Qz6IDBLSjl_lyyqwAvIdrFG9buzaaymms/s1600/Ellis-140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfcPspB1z6UPBA-qeR-b1OVJShELIlHsPY7PDonftBC7eQeKOhESEyEq8Ic-dKIFlP6NCd5ryHbsoo3nYc4iGIEfD0LLVn7vZ4nM0cE4te16Qz6IDBLSjl_lyyqwAvIdrFG9buzaaymms/s640/Ellis-140.jpg" width="426" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">courtesy of <a href="http://www.megan-ellis.com/" target="_blank">Megan Ellis Photography</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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In our tiny bit of down time, we nap...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9NHMjiCE-bC5eJnR6nAd6fUwHd6uOSrPMtH-_vue1jExuS5qORq7CytfdMKt3lciYhqqaPtZuT64cUc1x8l6tGzWcshsF1MFRAAOCzcs3K3UFHgN4A2oQoPK449XfS-vkEZNRTtKqdKw/s1600/IMG_7204.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9NHMjiCE-bC5eJnR6nAd6fUwHd6uOSrPMtH-_vue1jExuS5qORq7CytfdMKt3lciYhqqaPtZuT64cUc1x8l6tGzWcshsF1MFRAAOCzcs3K3UFHgN4A2oQoPK449XfS-vkEZNRTtKqdKw/s640/IMG_7204.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<br />
and start school...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5XSBdRCJX_zx3aoe1yYhPAuqK3xI-qcF_k4ajmezstUHzSMeOHnidSSZMzdtLPU1HJhNHZhpy9mOJmdVdR0-CGgaOzwcYI9_R6bS0HKpXdt7lzu89wMNFxj5ex84nhe5FenaJeaqaKhs/s1600/IMG_7236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5XSBdRCJX_zx3aoe1yYhPAuqK3xI-qcF_k4ajmezstUHzSMeOHnidSSZMzdtLPU1HJhNHZhpy9mOJmdVdR0-CGgaOzwcYI9_R6bS0HKpXdt7lzu89wMNFxj5ex84nhe5FenaJeaqaKhs/s640/IMG_7236.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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Then sis is back, with her husband this time, and we head to yet another beach, Kiptopeke State Park. The boys fish the reef while the girls {and Little Man} enjoy the sand.<br />
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Wave goodbye and we're off to, where else, the beach!<br />
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Afton chases seagulls {<i>or </i>flying rats}...<br />
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My sweet mommy and daddy...<br />
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Ponies on the dunes...<br />
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seashells that sing the sea...<br />
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<i>Wait! Wait! What have you done with your son all this sunny time?</i></div>
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Big chillin' under the umbrella...</div>
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This little family needed a break. Carrick is 100% blessing, but the process around his arrival was a huge disruption. It took two months to feel like we were connecting as a family. The last couple weeks were a respite from the daily grind of wrangling disrupted preschoolers. It wasn't all smooth sailing {<i>I left out the pictures of crying girls; there were many</i>}, but it was an encouragement.<br />
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But now we're home. Back into the fray.<br />
<img background:="" none="" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ZEDckzdxYtQ/T4zJzSyV1vI/AAAAAAAABIc/F_UwN1dwEfQ/s300/blog%2520signature.001.tiff-001.jpg" transparent="" />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02140685713911136242noreply@blogger.com0