tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-79179309276910846492024-03-13T20:03:07.227-07:00idontbelieveingrammarmichellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.comBlogger729125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-50543674183939740842022-01-26T05:16:00.006-08:002022-02-06T07:47:28.429-08:00Canceled<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I inhale books. So much so that I’m occasionally embarrassed by my intake.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t want anyone to think that I don’t work or pay attention to my family. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m just a fast reader and I don’t watch a lot of TV or play any games on my phone. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Well – except for Wordle of course.</span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-8e2f6a77-7fff-9ad4-f9b1-fe9b811bb9cc"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My library card get a lot of miles.</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">However, I still probably spend an embarrassing amount on books. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even though I often put books in those cute little free libraries – I still have more books than shelves. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Today I did something tragic. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I did not renew my book of the month membership. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And let's be honest, it is more like three books a month. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am not unhappy with the customer service, quality or selection. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Book of the Month, I promise …it’s not you - it’s me. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I want to invest in my writing and I realize this going to cost me. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t want to take that money from my family or my kid’s college funds. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Instead I had to evaluate what I was willing to give up. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What financial choices impact me but not as many other people in my house.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is a hard thing to quit things you love.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Or to brew my own lattes. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Or paint my own toes.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Or to pack a sandwich for lunch rather than picking something up.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But it is a small sacrifice (and yes I realize a very much entitled one) to go all in on my dreams.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Every yes is a no to something or someone else.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In this case, this no is a vote for my pursuits. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It might seem trivial, but investing in yourself is scary.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It says this dream is worth pursuing.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is worth giving a few things up for.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I love those blue boxes that show up in my doorstop.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They will stop coming. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Instead. I will put that money (and some others) into myself.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It feels selfish and scary. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But also exciting as helI. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was supposed to write this essay based on the prompt renew. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And instead I found myself writing about what I was canceling. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That isn’t completely true.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sometimes it requires canceling one thing to renew another. </span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-26982468019439108832022-01-17T11:17:00.002-08:002022-01-17T11:17:39.550-08:00slow<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Recently I went to the local running store and let them charge a ridiculous amount for a new pair of running shoes. I used to run. Just like I used to do lots of things, but lately I have been slow to get off the couch. Let’s be honest. This season has been a long one, and I’ve been slow to do a lot of things that are good for me. My old shoes are wearing thin and nothing motivates like a new pair of kicks. </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-5f92e02c-7fff-12f4-1081-d15f4530c5ec"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I quickly found my brand and style of choice and asked the worker to bring them in my size.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The owner spoke up from the back, “So you are picking your shoes out based on how they look?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I pulled my own foot into her view. I showed her a similar pair in teal, well worn, with the big toe scuffed all the way through. The model was a few years old and I needed a fresh start. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Nope. These are my brand, but I’m open to your suggestions.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Runners are very particular about their shoes. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I tell her I need something to absorb a lot of the impact. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I tell her that I overpronate just a little. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I tell her that my knees suck, but I never mention the hole in my head.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I tell her I’m a distance runner, not a speed runner. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even though, the furthest I’ve run in a year is two miles.. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Currently, I can’t even do one. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They fit. Of course they do. I’ve bought this same brand, same size at least a half dozen times. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The price tag should make me hesitate, but I gave her all my money without flinching.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Buying these shoes feels a little ridiculous. They are a luxury I can’t really afford. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I barely run, I probably don’t need these fancy shoes.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m too slow for the shoes of a serious runner.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I could go to Academy and buy two or three pairs of shoes for this price. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But these shoes, or at least similar ones have carried me hundreds of miles. Across finish lines. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My heels have bled. More than one toenail fell off. I’ve pushed myself when I wanted to quit. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve done really hard things in shoes like these. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These are the shoes of a runner. Albeit a slow one.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I am hopeful still. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Maybe I can’t run far, but I am still in the damn race. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They are beautiful shoes. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wore them yesterday to the store and got two compliments. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But even better I laced them up, grabbed my headphones and hit an actual trail. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can’t tell you how many times I’ve restarted the couch to 10K app. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In the last year alone, four times. The furthest I’ve made it is week 6. I have not quit for lack of motivation or discipline. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some might say that is four times I have not met my goal. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some might say it is four times that I have given up. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I say it is four times I’ve been hopeful. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is four times that I’ve listened to my body even when I didn’t want to.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And four times I’ve started over again.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is four times I’ve slowed down. Four times I’ve listened to my body. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is four times I’ve done what I loved, despite all the reasons to stay on the couch. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m not so sure, finishing is even the goal anymore. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In a bottom drawer I have medals and a few trophies from races I used to run. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was never fast, but I always finished and I occasionally even won.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Then several years ago, I had brain surgery and a chronic pain condition that made even walking painful. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I put the medals out of sight. I recycled all the race shirts. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">They were just a sad reminder. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But I never stopped buying running shoes. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I never stopped hoping. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Today I am slow. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But I still run. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then I walk. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then I run again. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My head starts to tingle. Not the best sign, but it could be worse. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I slow down. Heck, I can barely breathe anyways. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I do it again the next day. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">These shoes are worth every overpriced penny that I paid. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because they remind me what I can do. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because they remind me that it doesn’t matter if I run or walk as long as I keep going. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Because they remind that I can always begin again. </span></p><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6fQ3oGMJNk-L7FfU6MMArwdi2yYkPchdmWgoWaVBc9QSy0hzG8fkZu2PRZZmesT5PtJ-97FKfqt3GR-Ne43FD-ckGojQ1oZzbscPkFC5OqFicmLn-tGLQKOf4Oxb8G0-Kw4zWQ8EHPjMALJGLH21Pw5uhbZT3GWhG6ICvd7ZizhW_8DjYdocg6cv9eA=s2073" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1555" data-original-width="2073" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6fQ3oGMJNk-L7FfU6MMArwdi2yYkPchdmWgoWaVBc9QSy0hzG8fkZu2PRZZmesT5PtJ-97FKfqt3GR-Ne43FD-ckGojQ1oZzbscPkFC5OqFicmLn-tGLQKOf4Oxb8G0-Kw4zWQ8EHPjMALJGLH21Pw5uhbZT3GWhG6ICvd7ZizhW_8DjYdocg6cv9eA=s320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-73916738976384124282021-12-18T15:09:00.004-08:002021-12-18T19:41:49.786-08:00The annual REAL Christmas letter: 2021 edition<p> </p><span id="docs-internal-guid-238d0dd4-7fff-13a9-14dc-0a39e448ab09"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-OHSbS3LSP5Y/Yb5jspRsUnI/AAAAAAAAGn0/CpHkUbPwgYYqrtDNlJknj8hwoYQK_vd-wCNcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="664" data-original-width="922" height="288" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-OHSbS3LSP5Y/Yb5jspRsUnI/AAAAAAAAGn0/CpHkUbPwgYYqrtDNlJknj8hwoYQK_vd-wCNcBGAsYHQ/w400-h288/image.png" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One of my favorite traditions for over a decade has been to sit down and try to write a REAL Christmas letter. Not just the highlights, but a few honest moments as well. It started as a joke with one of my friends, thinking how refreshing it be for people to share more than just their perfect lives that we are used to seeing on Facebook and Instagram. It would be way more truthful and a whole lot more entertaining. So here goes…</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">2021 I had such high hopes for you. Well, actually the bar was pretty low but clearly not low enough. If I have learned anything from 2020 it is that even things that are difficult, the days are still a gift. It is a gift to gather with family without a Covid test or a worrisome 5 days after. It is a gift to go to the movies or a concert. It is a gift to go to work, school and sporting events. It is a gift to get vaccines, to board an airplane to sit in a pew at church. It is a gift to be allowed back to visit someone in the emergency room. It is a gift to show up every hard day. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My first clue that 2021 would be a doozie was more snow than I ever want to see again, unless I’ve paid money to ski down it. In Texas, at least this portion (I can’t speak for my panhandle family members) snow days are rare and magical (I smell snow!)..But then after your fifth day in a row of praying that the heater doesn’t give out of the pipes won’t bust or the electricity doesn’t go out (like so many of our neighbors) the magic fades. Bring on the sunshine. I’ve never been so glad to have a handy husband, a car with 4 wheel drive and not own a swimming pool. I will not pray for any snow days this winter (or possibly ever again). That being said, we found our ski clothes, the biggest hills we could find and some old skis fashioned into a sled. We shoveled drives, dripped faucets, turned our thermostat down and hiked paraded around our neighborhood covered in white. What made it hard and burst pipes, also made it a beautiful new adventure. The rest of the school year went by quickly and Owen was only quarantined once. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">With vaccines finally available, our summer went back to our normal routine. Mountains and beaches. First we made it to Colorado Springs where we hiked and climbed and enjoyed the non-Texas heat. Then we went to Galveston where my kids did their usual beach things, crabbed, played games and burned bad enough to blister. But we ate good food and I read all the books. I was raised on beaches and lakes, my husband fishing and hiking in the mountains. I need the sun and salt, my husband needs the thin quiet air. My kids don’t know how good they have it, getting healthy doses of both each summer. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Most people in education will tell you that this has been their hardest year. Some will say that is because of the disappointment. The hope for “being back to normal” that didn’t quite happen. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I will say that maybe that is because normal wasn’t quite working. People kept talking about gaps in learning, but no one was quite prepared for the gaps in all the other things schools provide. To top it off, our district had a shooting at a campus in the fall. All those drills paid off and everyone was able to respond quickly and efficiently. No lives were lost but many were changed. Mine included. This week we had a holiday luncheon at work and despite my efforts I couldn’t quite fit any more on my plate. This means I went back for seconds (and maybe thirds - no judgement)...but eventually I couldn’t quite fit anymore in my belly. I was at capacity and needed a rest. Maybe we could take a lesson in education from our holiday meals. 2021 has shown us our limits and most of us (or at least me) could do a better job of listening to them. (Unless you ask me if there is room for pie because that answer is always yes). </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Previously, Tess has been hard to get involved or committed to any activity. I have literally dragged her kicking and screaming to practices or to try new things. This year, however, she has doubled down . She has decided that she wants to play both competitive soccer and compete at barrel racing. This means that I am both broke and busy. I know zero things about horses, and plenty about soccer, but as far as Tess is concerned I know nothing about either. My previous child who hated to sweat and work hard has been replaced by a moody thirteen year old who smells like horses or shin guards in desperate need of washing most nights of the week. She is confident in the arena and has brought home multiple cash prizes (there are no trophies in the rodeo - just checks). Her soccer team has had less success, but she has improved by leaps and bounds. I keep reminding her that there is plenty to be learned in loss, a lesson I myself hate that 2021 has brought me. She is every bit thirteen and has all the looks and smart comments to remind anyone who forgets. She has her own fashion sense that mostly involve t-shirts of 80s bands she has never heard of and ripped jeans. There is a constant request to do something crazy to her hair so far this year it has been blue but I’ve said a hard no to the mullet. She loves Asian food (but not sushi), Italian food (mostly the bread) and only a few things I actually cook. If you are my friend on social media, maybe you have seen a lack of pictures of her this year. That is because she insists on “consent”. I think she might be using this wrong - but I still try to respect her boundaries. I knew from the moment I heard the doctor swear as they tugged her from my body that this was my strong willed child. Nothing brings it out more than thirteen. I try to just take each eye roll and argument as proof that I am raising an independent, justice seeking, empowered human. I love her, but would still pay her an unlimited sum for her to just to be kind to her brother for 24 hours. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNUJKPnPQymQQ8QhYofsA85vwvxJJJgZuEPezHHhMySYU0vPVFgFkhexU-oQJ_j-iqtZt8cSlN4LlICWmJBA1QS6BIgW-9yu1o60_oXmQv_0CEqNnh_mWAKyV-JF8gWyrBBwT-kFRculXWRgiiDABnPNshtCEMtRMNZ1eTgMaHhc0GbKL245yQLGnIqg=s1080" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiNUJKPnPQymQQ8QhYofsA85vwvxJJJgZuEPezHHhMySYU0vPVFgFkhexU-oQJ_j-iqtZt8cSlN4LlICWmJBA1QS6BIgW-9yu1o60_oXmQv_0CEqNnh_mWAKyV-JF8gWyrBBwT-kFRculXWRgiiDABnPNshtCEMtRMNZ1eTgMaHhc0GbKL245yQLGnIqg=w320-h320" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Owen can drive. Like an actual car. Legally. Y’all this is a game changer in our house. For starters I do not have to take him to school at 7 a.m. or rush to pick him up. Now, getting a permit and a license was a small miracle, not because his driving skills were lacking (although they do give me pause) but because it takes every piece of paperwork your child has ever been given and a small miracle to get your license. Owen passed his driving test on the first time, but his mom failed to bring the right paperwork the first two times. Watching him pull out of the driveway the first time was as much a celebration as it was a glimpse at my future. He will be forever driving off from now on. This is exactly what I wanted, but can still mourn it (and constantly check find my iphone to make sure he makes it to his destination). It also makes for a much less fun game of driveway Jenga each night so the right people can get out in the morning. He is sixteen and knows things I have never heard of. He is still playing tennis and his team made the second round of playoffs. We have gone on a few college visits and thanks to his great teachers -- he received multiple college credits as an underclassman. This year he is taking three AP classes and PreCal and I won’t lie that sometimes I check his grades and pray that he is passing (spoiler alert, the answer isn’t always yes). He can out-science both his chemical engineer father and science coordinator mother, but can’t for the life of him turn in his History or English homework. I’m not sure if he has had a hair cut since 2020 either, but his locks are enough to make most grown women jealous and he steals all my ponytail holders. He gets all my jokes and makes plenty of his own. He has started swearing more regularly than I’d like, but I’m pretty damn sure he gets that from his father. He can out-fish almost anyone and can beat me at most board games. He is funny and quick witted, and is still the kid that will laugh at my goofy jokes (unlike his sister). I’m most proud of the fact that multiple times this year, adults we do not know, have stopped Shaun or I at tennis matches or church and praised my kid, not for sports or academics, but on being kind or thoughtful and accepting and that counts more than any A on his report card or W in the win column. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi26B0_xB9mfsRyllx53euhUkDL9mH-fbNM_8eyj23F7QWG9sr7DKbPmucLgFhAG-2p4cEmfgbaLu_KwPeoD5lqugaWuHjj6s3CLDO9IULCPDkyY0qTkMfdkogY00f7vEBLsdp0oSk74XGKgwTcIHvFqB2LjqL6fTmTQk6OQuIcghSb_o0yIoj_rhnPtg=s1440" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1439" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi26B0_xB9mfsRyllx53euhUkDL9mH-fbNM_8eyj23F7QWG9sr7DKbPmucLgFhAG-2p4cEmfgbaLu_KwPeoD5lqugaWuHjj6s3CLDO9IULCPDkyY0qTkMfdkogY00f7vEBLsdp0oSk74XGKgwTcIHvFqB2LjqL6fTmTQk6OQuIcghSb_o0yIoj_rhnPtg=w320-h320" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Shaun is now the boss and has the blood pressure, stomach aches and unread emails to prove it. He rescued my phone from the woods and humors most of my adventures. He has spent less time in making things in the garage, but has perfected his gumbo recipe and can smoke a salmon that I've yet to see anyone turn down. He used to curse all my Starbucks purchases and now he orders more regularly than I do. This summer was our twenty year anniversary. We’ve been a couple longer than we’ve been apart. Twenty years has felt like forever and a minute. I don’t often write or talk enough about my husband and it is mostly because he is the best and most true thing I know. We fight plenty, but also we are a team. I wrote about it (and made a cheesy </span><a href="https://spark.adobe.com/video/fOxmTgMqLaTQX?fbclid=IwAR1eHcI9SQRQ4MHTmTmWEE1ydoH2pdRdC7JXT4QUe0ltaVPG2yAlAWsSGMc" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">video</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">) this summer….so feel free to read it </span><a href="https://idontbelieveingrammar.blogspot.com/2021/07/home-this-is-twenty.html" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">there </span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">-- but know that as we approach twenty one I feel so damn lucky. That I married a man who steadies me, who is a great father, who can fix all the things and who will drive Tess to soccer because I hate her shin guards stinking up my car. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkQQPCqPvidoflih6QJG4wdMt3dswWeZ0fOzTNIgDJZBapn_uOicXqnzgwvPzEv-BkfCm51lz-nSRIjXQI8gahKxnDBr5gp3cump-_oV_FasIQo5MbFrDrCrHPeFQBpObx-IqcXQ4k27L-7jYPTACJt1dQR0oi0NZaU1eBruQVYTmmRPBC0nwjArO7Xg=s640" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgkQQPCqPvidoflih6QJG4wdMt3dswWeZ0fOzTNIgDJZBapn_uOicXqnzgwvPzEv-BkfCm51lz-nSRIjXQI8gahKxnDBr5gp3cump-_oV_FasIQo5MbFrDrCrHPeFQBpObx-IqcXQ4k27L-7jYPTACJt1dQR0oi0NZaU1eBruQVYTmmRPBC0nwjArO7Xg=w200-h200" width="200" /></a></div></div><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Like most people 2021, wasn’t quite what I hoped it would be. I did not especially meet any goals but I have learned and grown in ways that I never knew I wanted to but have been so necessary. There have been times I feel like I am barely making it and other times I’m so proud of what I’ve been able to do. The doing doesn’t look as important as other years. I did not get a new job or new degree or run long distances. I did however, show up in important ways for others and myself. I may not write as publicly as I used to, but I certainly write as prolifically. Recently I was reading some old essays -- and I couldn’t put my finger quite on what was different….although so much was. My themes were the same. I wrestle with faith, I want to be more, I manage physical pain. Years late, I still struggle to see God show up in the ways I often pray for, but I can look back and see where he has been. I still see my neurologist and get breakthrough pain more often than I want to admit. I eventually came to this conclusion, the person I was -- was strong and could push through some pretty hard things: pain, goals, discomfort. The current person I am is much better at sitting in those hard things. It may sound the tiniest of distinctions, but I assure you it is huge. I am a list-maker and a goal-meeter, but I’m starting to mark progress in different ways. My mother was sick and spent most of October in multiple hospitals. I learned who my family was under stress and what we were capable of tackling together. I have done some hard things in my life, but this was one of the hardest. I learned that sometimes all the things that should help (money, education, insurance, preparedness, prominence)… don’t always matter. Instead, what does matter is showing up, hope and maybe a bottle of Tylenol PM. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My year ended with a dream trip with two of my closest friends to Hawaii. It was beautiful and dreamy, until there were blizzards and flash floods. We hiked, snorkeled, boogie boarded, sailed, explored, learned to make a mai tai, learned that I shouldn’t drink more than one mai tai, learned that pineapples do NOT grow on trees, ate amazing food AND set off fire alarms (more than once), had things canceled, got rained on (inside and out), sunburned and froze. We saw whales, sea turtles, sunsets, but no sunrise (even though we got up at 2:30 am and drove up a volcano to watch it). Even paradise had its moments to test our patience (like when our plane was overbooked and we were downgraded or our jeep flooded). But we laughed and didn’t check email and spent some much needed quality time together. It is a trip I will remember forever (and not just because I needed an IV just to make it on the plane -- thank you stomach bug for getting me beach body ready) but partly because it wasn’t perfect. Even Hawaii, required a few moments of disappointment and reframe. And we had to remember that it was all a gift. That beautiful moments sometimes come after a flash flood. That even the fanciest villas leak. And that as much as I enjoyed my time on the island who you are with that trumps place every time. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Despite its challenges, </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">2021 wasn't short on memories. Click </span><a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/1hNjnbwlgbXkHsqHG2j2kyfjRScoYFETM/view?usp=sharing" style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">here</a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;"> for pictures of some of my favorites. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Many people I know are being careful about setting expectations for 2022. They are more cautious with their intent and hope for a better year. It seems like almost everyone I know had some kind of major life crisis in the last few years. Loss after loss, troublesome diagnoses, wreckage and hard decisions with no good answers. Many of us, for at least a portion of the last year or two, have been running on empty. We’ve given and received even in our emptiness. I’ve been emptied out and filled up. I’m not about to start rationing hope now. I’ve always loved a challenge. Doing the hard thing (or living through the hard year) forces growth. So I’m going into 2022 with bigger bags under my eyes and bigger pants but I’ve also grown in wisdom, gratitude and capacity to tackle whatever 2022 brings. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">
My 2021 Playlist
<iframe allow="autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; fullscreen; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="380" src="https://open.spotify.com/embed/playlist/11O5CvCrYPEvHDbHvBzlet?utm_source=generator" width="100%"></iframe>
</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>An archive of some of the previous letters and playlists....<br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">2020 </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><a href="https://idontbelieveingrammar.blogspot.com/2020/12/the-annual-real-christmas-letter-2020.html"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">letter</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3tULOHoqtjKK5BfZ5DWgaG?si=7cce4681ee234421" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">wish i had a river</span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">2019 </span><a href="http://idontbelieveingrammar.blogspot.com/2019/12/the-annual-real-christmas-letter.html" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> letter </span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/63zdnCU8YyylEYfJooId8A?si=uAClHCp9QquVQqy2O_-i_Q" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">gingerbread</span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">2018</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><a href="http://idontbelieveingrammar.blogspot.com/2018/12/the-annual-real-christmas-letter.html" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">letter</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kHEP3zYW4aqTJbaUTYeV1?si=PhTGGN1RRz2i5wWrhXD9PQ" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> christmas lights</span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">2017 </span><a href="http://idontbelieveingrammar.blogspot.com/2017/12/my-annual-real-christmas-letter.html" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> letter</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2bZ9pOcaqOypFyEBjIYV8J?si=UogHsAXzRsiM9lnP_y7enQ" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> eggnog</span></a></p><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></span>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-20821266932820395812021-07-07T15:40:00.003-07:002021-07-07T15:40:40.571-07:00home. (this is twenty)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cgfOjg5PNAc/YOYrxZZbvlI/AAAAAAAAGlU/lmQyrx29iCoWIcAy17pkCm9gC8QdJE3EQCLcBGAsYHQ/s959/porchtrait.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="959" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cgfOjg5PNAc/YOYrxZZbvlI/AAAAAAAAGlU/lmQyrx29iCoWIcAy17pkCm9gC8QdJE3EQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/porchtrait.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span id="docs-internal-guid-36ce689c-7fff-45af-9c5f-047daf186555"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I was a mess at 19. I knew who I (thought) I wanted to be, I just didn’t have the discipline to get there. I did very few things whole-heartedly. I skipped class. I semi-committed. I could never remember to take my clothes out of the wash and put them into the dryer before they got that weird moldy smell (ok sometimes I still struggle with this). I drank too much. I went to church sporadically. I worked out, but then ate my weight in chips and salsa. I listened to rap and country and Christian “rock”. I changed my hair color about as often as I changed my sheets. I got tiny tattoos that I thought I could hide. I changed my major. I didn’t make many good decisions when I was 19, but I did make at least one. I said yes when a shaggy haired guy who desperately needed to shave asked me to a soccer game. He forgot to ask for my number or say how we’d get to this soccer game. But it was enough. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">From the beginning, it felt different. Mostly </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I just tried not to screw it up (and I did a few times). </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were both 19. And had no idea who we were. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We thought we were grownups. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But we were babies who were barely old enough to vote. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our hardest decisions were what to eat, whether or not to study or watch a movie. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But I knew he was home. That is the only word I have ever been able to describe him. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ve been a “we” longer than I’ve been a “me”. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And at 19, I wasn’t quite ready to settle down but three years later, he asked me to marry him, anyways. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">In a proposal that was a little awkward and confusing. And maybe that is only fitting. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were 23 when we were married. This time we really thought we were grown. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I had an actual teaching job with health insurance and dry cleaning. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He had a job offer in Arlington. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">But we were babies who were barely old enough to drink the champagne at our wedding (and there was lots of champagne). </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I packed a U-haul and moved East. Home. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We promised all the things that are written in traditional marriage vows. I think my 23 year old self heard all the good things. To have and to hold, for better, for richer, in health. And those things are true. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But at 43, and hopefully at 83 I cherish the other halves to those promises more. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Forever feels different to a 19 year old. Or a 23 year old. It feels like honeymoon forever. Wedding gifts to unpack, thank you cards to write and airplanes to catch. Warm feelings filling your chest. Adventures. From this day forward feels way less romantic than forever. From this day forward is more like hitting the snooze button, or morning breath or lost keys or soccer games or who is going to take off because one of the kids is sick. Again. But here is what it also means. Moving forward together. Big decisions and emergency rooms and funerals. Celebrations and budgets and first days and last days and a million in between. It means choosing you over and over again.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For worse. No one gets to see your faults like people you live with. Ask anyone with a teenager. Or in a marriage. Sometimes you save your worst. for the people you love the most. It isn’t fair. But it is because you are secure. You are loved. Even at your worst. Even if I will have to apologize later. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For poorer. In college poorer meant I had to go to the used CD place and cell music so we could eat out. As an adult it means I’ve have to borrow money from my elementary age son. Or ask for a loan when my child has some medical expenses I can’t cover. It means watching the bank account balance dwindle. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">It means not getting the things I want. It means making financial decisions that aren’t just about you. He is the saver. I’m the spender. There have been plenty of fights over money. And even when our bank account didn’t show it, we have always felt lucky with all that we have been given. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In sickness. It means dropping your husband off at the ER. It means multiple covid swabs. It means food poisoning on your honeymoon. It means getting older. It means copays and fighting with the insurance. It means living wills and ICUs. It means someone being there when they are wheeled off and when you wake up. Sickness is scary and vulnerable. And marriage means there is a hand to hold and someone to help fight the insurance company with. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><br /></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We bought a puppy. And then a house. We cashed in some old stocks and traveled. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We had a baby. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And then another. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We fought and we danced and we wept and we watched TV.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We made hard decisions and easy ones. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We feasted and we overdrew our accounts. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We painted and mowed the lawn and took out the trash. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Five years turned into ten and now into twenty. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We made a home. And my handy husband built many of the things inside it. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Like bookshelves and places to hang out keys so we aren’t forever losing them. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But he also built a supportive place to become that person my 19-year-old self would be proud of. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We are no longer babies. Our babies are no longer babies. One of them can drive. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our hair is starting to gray. Shaun’s hair is no longer shaggy, but our son’s is. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We have gained weight. And lost it. And gained it again. (repeat for the rest of our lives). </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some days we mostly talk logistics - who has what practice when. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Some days I go to sleep early. (most days for me).</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I have read thousands of books. He has spent that many hours in the garage. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But some days we laugh or encourage or go for a walk together. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We fight. We make up. We forget to put out the trash. But we do it together. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Twenty years feels like forever and a moment. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We are completely different people than we were at 19. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We have grown and learned and read and experienced so much more life. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our faith has changed, we have new hobbies. Our musical tastes have shifted, our palates have adjusted. Our titles, priorities and our blood pressure- all new. Some better. Some worse. But we have navigated those changes together. Sometimes sloppy and awkward. Sometimes with grace. Sometimes with yelling. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our marriage is literally older than we were when we met. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is the only home I want. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Being married to someone for twenty years means you know things I didn’t know at 19. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know that he smells of hair gel, deodorant and sawdust. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know his cough three aisles away in the grocery store. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know that when he says he is going to the store, that he means Lowes and not Kroger. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know that when we fight, we mostly just need time. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That we will make up. That we will try again. I know that he will be there when it matters. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That we will always be home. </span></p><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #202124; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-14043532461094237432021-04-19T05:28:00.002-07:002021-04-19T05:28:46.537-07:00DNA test<p> <span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">My daughter has been asking for a DNA test. She looks just like me and has many of my husband’s traits...so I doubt she is questioning her paternity. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I suspect it is because we recently ordered one for our new puppy. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">The Australian Shepherd that looks nothing like a shepherd. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">She is half the size of our previous dogs and has mostly short hair rather than the lengthy fluff of a normal Aussie. Her ears are just a little too pointy and snout too narrow. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">We were curious so I ordered a kit on Amazon. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">I feel like we waited forever for the results to come in. I stopped strangers in public when they had dogs that looked like mine and asked what kind they were. I was afraid we’d get answers like chihuahua. And the results were surprising. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">She is mostly what we were told. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">With a hint of some other similar breeds. None of which really account for her looks or temperament. </span></p><p><span id="docs-internal-guid-4ec32edd-7fff-ee01-e4a9-f826777bcd3b"></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-REz4qu5ewC0/YH13GA_fxOI/AAAAAAAAGi4/GFIL11-uloAlRMgGYsNGP8anxx0rey6HACLcBGAsYHQ/s1440/confirm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-REz4qu5ewC0/YH13GA_fxOI/AAAAAAAAGi4/GFIL11-uloAlRMgGYsNGP8anxx0rey6HACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/confirm.jpg" /></a></div><br /><p></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-4ec32edd-7fff-ee01-e4a9-f826777bcd3b"><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Tess asked again for a DNA test, maybe for her birthday, she suggested. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Her birthday is not until September and so I found myself ordering the most unlikely of Confirmation gifts. I figure someone else will give her a cross from James Avery or devotional, and I ordered a swab. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And I thought about what this will tell her. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Like, our pup, Tess will swab her cheek and we will mail it off and wait a few weeks to find out about her genetic ancestry. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">It might tell her what side of the family her fair skin and freckles come from. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">If she has an Irish temperament. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What percentage her make-up is. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The company we ordered from claims that </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 9pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“our DNA test offers you the powerful experience of discovering what makes you unique and learning where you really come from.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">And well, as much as I love science. I don’t think it can deliver on that promise. Or even come close. So I’ll have to tell her the truth. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That... sure, some of your genes come from my side of the family and some comes from your father..but it is not what makes a person unique or where you come from. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That you have stumbled through in confirmation. That bible, that you mostly leave on the floor of my car has more than a few words to say about who you are and who you come from as well. My favorite is in Psalm 139</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For you created my inmost being;</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">you knit me together in my mother’s womb.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">your works are wonderful,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know that full well.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My frame was not hidden from you</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">when I was made in the secret place,</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Your eyes saw my unformed body;</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">all the days ordained for me were written in your book</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: "Courier New"; font-size: 5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #4c4e4d; font-family: Roboto, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">before one of them came to be.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Your DNA can only tell you so much. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">God knows more than your nucleic acids will reveal. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The church has taught that you are a child of God. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That is written on your heart and not in your DNA.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">But. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">There is more. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You still get to choose. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Who you will be. And not just once, but every day. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When you will choose to be kind. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When you can choose community or independence. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When you will offer help and when you will give it. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When you will stand up. And be silent. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When you will forgive or hold a grudge. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Your DNA test won’t tell you what we have known since you were knit together in my womb. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That you are known and loved and enough. That you have been named and chosen. And that so much is still left up to you. </span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-25769725559464971002020-12-21T16:20:00.002-08:002020-12-21T18:33:52.773-08:00The annual REAL Christmas letter 2020 edition<p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2h1gg9Sbb1g/X-ESQTzIShI/AAAAAAAAGfU/71IOX4QyoYki47qpNx5-q94MqNslzdZpACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Tess013.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="266" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-2h1gg9Sbb1g/X-ESQTzIShI/AAAAAAAAGfU/71IOX4QyoYki47qpNx5-q94MqNslzdZpACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h266/Tess013.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Usually, this annual “real” Christmas letter starts with the premise of sharing the good and the </span><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">bad rather than just the traditional picture-perfect Christmas letters we used to get in the mail. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">That is probably unnecessary this year. Frankly, I can’t remember a single thing before March. </span></div><div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">We went on a trip at the beginning of Spring Break and I feel like I fell down some kind of rabbit hole </span></div><div><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">and returned to a whole new world. One that has been hard to escape. </span><span style="white-space: pre;">We skied. It was perfect. And </span></span></div><div><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: arial;">then we came home. There was no toilet paper. I waited for my phone to ring. For schools to close</span></span></div><div><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: arial;">for two weeks. I worked in pajama pants. I checked the numbers daily. I was not worried. </span></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And then I was. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Two weeks turned into the rest of the school year.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The cities literally burned. The death counts climbed. But in some weird numbness, we watched it all </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">happen from the comfort of our living room. With food that was delivered and left by the door. I spent</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">more time in online meetings than I ever thought possible. We wore our masks. Or we didn’t.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And somehow even this became a political statement. It was a complete dumpster fire. Except for the </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">moments when it was perfectly lovely.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And I suppose it can be both at once.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Owen got sick. We lost income. We had to rehome our dog which was absolutely gut-wrenching. We</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">canceled trips. </span><span style="white-space: pre;">We all had to quarantine. But, we also have never had so many meals around our</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">table (or in our </span><span style="white-space: pre;">backyard). We’ve gone for hikes, played games, skied through perfectly powdered </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">mountains, </span><span style="white-space: pre;">had beach bonfires, and paddled forever on the lake. Our busy calendar suddenly blank </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">gave us </span><span style="white-space: pre;">room to breathe and be together. Which would be great except we missed everyone and </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">everything else.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">2020 had so many things to feel strongly about. Tiger King. Harry and Meghan. Masks. </span><span style="white-space: pre;">Race. Elections. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">All polarizing and the last three especially important. 2020 seemed to create </span><span style="white-space: pre;">false dichotomies that we</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">had to fit our views into, except I can not think of a year more in need of </span><span style="white-space: pre;">nuance. Of seeing people </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">instead of just policy or even worse- their twitter feeds. How I feel about the </span><span style="white-space: pre;">pandemic, people of color </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">living in this country, vaccines, schools and churches opening (or not), first </span><span style="white-space: pre;">responders, and who I vote</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">for all feels so incredibly important. Lives are literally on the line. My views </span><span style="white-space: pre;">are often tangled with my faith</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">and relationships. More than ever, I have learned that people I care </span><span style="white-space: pre;">about, often feel just as strongly, </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">base </span><span style="white-space: pre;">their views on their own faith and relationships and can sometimes land </span><span style="white-space: pre;">on other side of the issues</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">as me. </span><span style="white-space: pre;">The temptation here is to avoid the conversations or simply unfriend, </span><span style="white-space: pre;">but I’m trying to be more </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">like Ted </span><span style="white-space: pre;">Lasso (and Walt Whitman) and “be curious, not judgemental”. That </span><span style="white-space: pre;">being said, I’m still extra </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">glad for the </span><span style="white-space: pre;">“hide for 30 days” feature on Facebook this election year. I’m </span><span style="white-space: pre;">trying to make my choices </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">and actions line </span><span style="white-space: pre;">up with what I feel is the best way to love my neighbor. To </span><span style="white-space: pre;">me this has been wearing a </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">mask, holding up </span><span style="white-space: pre;">a protest sign, casting my vote, dropping off food, </span><span style="white-space: pre;">showing up in hospital parking lots,</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">listening when I’d </span><span style="white-space: pre;">rather talk (so hard), and trying to assume best intentions when I</span><span style="white-space: pre;"> don’t agree.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">What I </span></span><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre;">haven’t been good </span><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre;">at is meeting my actual neighbors. So there is clearly room </span><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre;">to grow. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4eQGgdlNHqM/X-EUIyF1OxI/AAAAAAAAGfg/PN6BMnk23NAi6fgBDRBmUMJv7ewRNEXnwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1440/tess%2Bbarrell.jpg" style="display: inline; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4eQGgdlNHqM/X-EUIyF1OxI/AAAAAAAAGfg/PN6BMnk23NAi6fgBDRBmUMJv7ewRNEXnwCLcBGAsYHQ/w200-h200/tess%2Bbarrell.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Tess is twelve and in the sixth grade. But puberty hit early in the year and she seemed to</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">immediately disappear into her room. Coming out only to find some snacks, Gingerale, pick a fight </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">with her brother or the XBox. Everything I suggest (food, clothes, music, words) is now humiliating to</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">her. Her grades are amazing but I never see her do homework. There are lots of video games while </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">simultaneously </span><span style="white-space: pre;">facetiming friends. I kind of hate it. But, must admit I like this stage just slightly better </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">than the </span><span style="white-space: pre;">watching you tube videos of other people playing video games. We went ahead and let Tess go to rodeo</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">camp again this summer...even though it was like passing through the Hot Zone to drop her off. I </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">watched her speed through the barrel patterns and cry and liten to her gush on the way home and knew </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I had made the </span><span style="white-space: pre;">right decision. She started a new school. Making friends in virtual school is tough...but</span></span></p><div style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: arial;">after a few weeks, she went back in person and found her people. My job occasionally lands me on her</span></span></div><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: arial;">campus where I have been given very strict instructions not to speak to her or even make eye contact. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: arial;">She forgot to mention this to my co-worker who danced behind her recently in the cafeteria. We are</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: arial;"> saving up for her future therapy. In the Spring - she wanted to go play soccer almost daily and work on </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: arial;">her shot. When the soccer season finally started again, she went from a timid player to an aggressive </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: arial;">top goal scorer. She still needs to be reminded to shower or wear clean clothes, but she paints her nails </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: arial;">daily to match her outfits. She has handled the quarantine with hair dye and carbs and also sewed </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="white-space: pre;"><span style="font-family: arial;">masks and clothes out of most of our old sheets. She is a maker like her dad….and also just as moody. </span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h6h1kbDrIc8/X-EUghaWKmI/AAAAAAAAGfo/Gec_iFvo4ckyAGEYkWUdBw_pPxyq1y_xgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/Tess002.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1365" data-original-width="2048" height="213" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-h6h1kbDrIc8/X-EUghaWKmI/AAAAAAAAGfo/Gec_iFvo4ckyAGEYkWUdBw_pPxyq1y_xgCLcBGAsYHQ/w320-h213/Tess002.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DvvhNqyvlDc/X-EVCbzsi4I/AAAAAAAAGf0/IlEBV3q5YN8TtnFbwsDiswxVaCEskkcXQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1875/owen%2Btennis.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1875" data-original-width="1500" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DvvhNqyvlDc/X-EVCbzsi4I/AAAAAAAAGf0/IlEBV3q5YN8TtnFbwsDiswxVaCEskkcXQCLcBGAsYHQ/w160-h200/owen%2Btennis.jpg" width="160" /></span></a></div><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br />Owen has been learning to drive. And. Holy hell it is terrifying. Despite the procrastination of online school he still managed to ace his first AP exam and we are walking out of this pandemic with some college credit ($$). He had to sit out for several tennis matches due to Covid, but his team made it to the second round of playoffs and Owen got an All-District Honorable Mention. I’m sure he misses lots of things pre-Covid, but crowds, pants, and busy schedules are not on his list. Like his dad, he is happy to social distance, even without a pandemic (especially if there is a place to fish nearby). It is hard to believe that I have a kid old enough to have a driver’s permit and take the PSATs, but I do. It is also hard to believe that he could make a 100 on his preAP Chemistry final but forget to turn in his homework (or bring his lunch). I love having big kids that can do the dishes, beat me at trivia, and make me laugh. I can only handle one angsty kid at a time so I'm happy for his willingness to go places with me and not complain about the radio (that might be because he had earbuds permanently implanted in his own ears). </span><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7XYkXSAoO9g/X-EVB5UxG-I/AAAAAAAAGfw/4T6-i7wWhTIn7ZN9jilNBJHeF0BGi4qUACLcBGAsYHQ/s1757/oroux.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1757" data-original-width="1406" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7XYkXSAoO9g/X-EVB5UxG-I/AAAAAAAAGfw/4T6-i7wWhTIn7ZN9jilNBJHeF0BGi4qUACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/oroux.jpg" /></span></a></div><p></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Shaun has had a busy year. His work has never slowed down and Home Depot/Lowes never closed. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">We are so thankful to have jobs that are secure even when the world shuts down. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">He spends as much time in the garage as he does in the house. He is our maker, fixer, and personal</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> soccer coach. His beloved Liverpool won the championship so our Saturday mornings were in good </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">spirits. He was promoted at work and discovered that there is a direct relationship between leadership</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> and the number of meetings, carefully worded emails, and heartburn. I can relate but am proud of the</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> way that he has stepped up, dug in, and shows the character at home and in the lab. I can’t think of a </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">better person to be stuck at home with. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6HaUyhEXv_I/X-EVVyuFGUI/AAAAAAAAGgE/dIO0GC8D_dQ8owTljRIhTS7cInK-TbJfwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1440/love.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1233" data-original-width="1440" height="171" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-6HaUyhEXv_I/X-EVVyuFGUI/AAAAAAAAGgE/dIO0GC8D_dQ8owTljRIhTS7cInK-TbJfwCLcBGAsYHQ/w200-h171/love.jpg" width="200" /></span></a></div><p></p><p><b style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /></span></b></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Some days this year I feel like I am barely making it. I have always wanted to be the kind of person </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">who excelled in struggle. Who chose quarantine to write a book, run a marathon or organize my</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> kitchen cabinets. The truth is I read a lot of books. I watched TV. I walked a lot.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> I did not get in shape. I did not do any home improvement. I didn’t organize a single closet. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">But I got up everyday. I read. I prayed. I walked. And I showed up the best way I knew how.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And I somehow managed to occasionally give myself grace. I bought the expensive wine. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I wore the softest comfiest clothes. I stopped even getting on the scale. </span><span style="white-space: pre;">And I’ve decided that 2020 is </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">not the year for anyone to get their shit together.</span><span style="white-space: pre;"> It is the year that we find comfort where we can. Mostly</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="white-space: pre;">in each other, but also in some really good </span><span style="white-space: pre;">take-out.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Work was hard. It still is. March to now has been a doozy for anyone in education -teachers, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">administrators and students. Virtual learning is no fun unless you like saying “you are on mute” </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">over and over again or making sure that your own child is actually paying attention and not just logged </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">in and playing Minecraft in the other room. In April and May one of the few things that required me</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> to leave the house and wear real pants was serving meals at local schools. I handed out lunch after </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">lunch in white plastic bags as tired parents drove through often in tired cars. The most important</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> educational question at the time had nothing to do with the lesson plan, but was simply, “white or </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">chocolate milk?”. The car line that snaked around the building reminded me that basic needs must</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"> be met before anything else. That schools and cafeteria workers have jobs so much bigger than what </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">is tested on state assessments. In August, Instead of normal school supplies we bought a chrome </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">book, wine, sleeping pills, more sweatpants and chocolate. Props to every teacher, school nurse, </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">janitor, and administrator out there making the most out of this year. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Just last week I cried in the middle of the card aisle at Walgreens while shopping for sympathy</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">cards. It </span><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre;">is hard to feel hopeful. Except it is the only way I know how to move forward This has </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre;">been a long year - </span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">one of loss, </span><span style="color: black; font-family: arial; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">division</span><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre;">, anxiety, shifting, separation, and exhaustion. The </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre;">calendar will not move </span><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre;">to 2021 and magically all </span><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre;">will be better. I suspect it will stay hard for a </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre;">bit longer. But one thing I have seen is that we can do hard </span><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre;">things. We can pivot. We can clear</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre;">calendars, redo the lesson plans, create protocols and vaccines in </span><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre;">record times. We can show </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre;">up in really creative ways. </span><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre;">I am certain I will have to buy more sympathy </span><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre;">cards. Most likely at </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial; white-space: pre;">least one of my kids will need to quarantine. Again. Plans will be canceled. Again. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">But eventually, most likely in 2021…..</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">The masks will come off. We will gather again. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">And we will be so thankful for the smiles and hugs and noisy meals around crowded tables. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Our calendars will fill up. But maybe I will do better this time around. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Maybe I will still choose others before my own comfort or privelage. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Maybe I will still take long walks. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Maybe I will continue to find places to worship other than the church walls. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Maybe I won’t take the opportunities to hug people I care about for granted. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">But mostly I have learned to be thankful. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Thankful for sunny days in December so we can find a patio. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Thankful for long hikes, walks around the neighborhood, and around the building. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Thankful for a new puppy.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Thankful for finding relief in the truth. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Thankful for friendships and any time we spend together.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Thankful for a decent night’s sleep. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Thankful that Kroger sells a gluten-free version of Red Lobster's cheddar biscuit mix.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Thankful for people trying so hard to celebrate in new ways - from Easter egg lawn bombs, to birthday </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">parades to outside worship. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: arial;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Thankful that we can be together in lots of ways, even when we are six feet apart. </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Thankful that we can show our hearts, even when faces are covered.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">This year has been hard. Really. Hard. But still filled with things to be thankful for and I am hopeful for the year ahead </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">2020 feels in so many ways like this ongoing emptiness. Empty calendars, empty restaurants. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Empty classrooms. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">But hope allows us to be filled up, anyway. To look ahead. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Hope is a vaccine. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Hope is a friend. Hope is a walk. Hope is a patio. Hope is laughter. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Hope is a text when you need it. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Hope is a soft blanket and a puppy asleep on your lap.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">Hope is the opposite of emptiness. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">I read recently that only a weary world could recognize the thrill of hope. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: arial; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;">So I step into 2021 thankful, weary and full of hope. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: arial;">(And here is my also annual Christmas playlist ....always light on the actual Christmas music) </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-5924c2da-7fff-2216-5562-5ef179df667a"><span style="font-family: arial;"><br /><br /><br /></span><br /></span>
<iframe allow="encrypted-media" allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="380" src="https://open.spotify.com/embed/playlist/3tULOHoqtjKK5BfZ5DWgaG" width="300"></iframe></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>In case you are new here....these are the last few years: </div><div><span id="docs-internal-guid-f1201859-7fff-e373-7d38-7531a2cc5b46"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">2019 </span><a href="http://idontbelieveingrammar.blogspot.com/2019/12/the-annual-real-christmas-letter.html" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> letter </span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/63zdnCU8YyylEYfJooId8A?si=uAClHCp9QquVQqy2O_-i_Q" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">gingerbread</span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">2018</span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span> </span><a href="http://idontbelieveingrammar.blogspot.com/2018/12/the-annual-real-christmas-letter.html" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">letter</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0kHEP3zYW4aqTJbaUTYeV1?si=PhTGGN1RRz2i5wWrhXD9PQ" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> christmas lights</span></a></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">2017 </span><a href="http://idontbelieveingrammar.blogspot.com/2017/12/my-annual-real-christmas-letter.html" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> letter</span></a><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> </span><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; text-decoration-line: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2bZ9pOcaqOypFyEBjIYV8J?si=UogHsAXzRsiM9lnP_y7enQ" style="text-decoration-line: none;"> eggnog</a></span></p><div><br /></div></span></div>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-69609614356880070752020-08-08T07:27:00.005-07:002020-08-08T07:31:29.757-07:00Learner's Permit<p><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">No one I know that works in education right now is sleeping. Like most people, I have tackled some hard things in the last several years. I have had brain surgery. I have a chronic pain condition that is better now, but likely to return. My father had cancer. I finished my doctorate. It’s been a while, but I have run several half marathons. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">My track record says that I can do hard things and I just keep telling myself that. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Our hard things are different, but they often make us cry, question ourselves, and want to quit. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">Right now, on the cusp of a new school year….it feels the exact same. </span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">It is August, usually, a time mixed with exhaustion and eagerness, now feels as hard as a hole in my head, defending my dissertation and running 13 miles. Only this time no one is showing up with a casserole, a high five, or a cup of coffee. I look around and my peers all seem to be feeling the same. That is somehow encouraging -- because the only way I know how to get through this is together. </span></p><span id="docs-internal-guid-50eec800-7fff-b86b-ded1-cf4149ca8308"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We are all kept awake at night or chained to our computers for different reasons. Funding. Anxiety. Impossible scheduling. New protocols and procedures. Completely revamping every system we know. And then doing it again. And then again. I am in a cubicle and I recognize my privilege in that. I also recognize the weight of decisions that are landing on the shoulders above me. The weight on my own feels crushing, but I can see that others are still having to carry even more. But one of the things that have kept me up is how do I face my teachers in a time such as this. How do I talk about curriculum and pacing guides without acknowledging all the things that also feel so heavy? How do I attempt to carry some of their load without sinking myself? Like so many things these days, I don’t have a good answer….but this is where I landed: </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Learners Permit</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uIoc5PUQDL8/Xy604jCbdUI/AAAAAAAAGZo/TfAWDGRi2Lon3lQkRhSgd45QXmdg82-aQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1440/dmv.jpg" style="display: block; padding: 1em 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1439" data-original-width="1440" height="512" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uIoc5PUQDL8/Xy604jCbdUI/AAAAAAAAGZo/TfAWDGRi2Lon3lQkRhSgd45QXmdg82-aQCLcBGAsYHQ/w512-h512/dmv.jpg" width="512" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My son turned 15 this summer and we have been teaching him to drive. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This summer I have also been googling phrases such as:</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">How do I know if I need blood pressure medicine?</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Am I having a panic attack?</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Calm breathing exercises.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Coincidence? No. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He desperately wants the freedom of a car and I desperately want to stop being his unpaid uber. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He is afraid to drive on busy roads and going over 50 mph. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I am scared as hell of him just driving down the driveway. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He wants to go, I want him to go, but we are both apprehensive.</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When he is driving - I sit in the front seat and try to pretend to be calm so he will feel that way too. However, inside my heart is hammering and I am imagining 100 things that can go wrong. I am not usually a worrier, but sitting in the same car as a kid with a brand new learner’s permit can change that for you fast. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He does not have much experience. He can barely see over the steering wheel and he doesn’t quite have the lay of the land. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He hesitates to changes lanes and does it with a jerk rather than a smooth transition. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">He goes too fast and he then goes too slow. He is so focused on the car in front of him, that he sometimes doesn’t take in the bigger scene.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can relate. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">School starting feels a little bit like teaching my son to drive. I want some control - that wheel or at least that extra brake that my driver’s ed teachers had in the 90s. It is hard to know when to stop or start or what to expect. It is often frustrating - knowing where you want to go, but unsure of the best way to get there. I have already occasionally lost my cool. I am white-knuckling it the entire way. Both in the passenger seat, and in my office chair.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t care how experienced an educator you are -- this year -- we all have about as much experience as my 15-year-old with his permit. And there are only get other people with permits teaching us to drive and making up the traffic rules as we go along. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You will literally have hundreds of backseat drivers. And most of them like to post on social media. This school year has no google maps. There are no practice runs. There are some rules and safety features --- but not nearly as many as I would like. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">People want us to go faster, or slower, in different directions or stay home altogether. </span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My dad taught me to drive. There was a lot of yelling and tears involved. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A lot of yelling. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">(In his defense, his life was literally on the line). But, I’m here to tell you that I would have loved a calm voice. Some encouragement. Some guidance. Or at least a better radio station. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I can’t anticipate what the road will look like this school year -- but I do know that so many people are counting on you to show up.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I know we will sometimes make wrong turns. Go too fast. Too slow. Hit roadblocks and detours. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">All I can do is this - Sit in the seat next to you. Promise not to yell. Offer you the same grace we would offer to someone learning. Help you watch the road and share maps when I have them. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’ll even let you control the radio. </span></p><div><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div></span>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-70723678942188759672020-04-11T18:16:00.000-07:002020-04-11T18:53:19.788-07:00Easter longing<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br /><br />My family usually sat in the same place. A hard wooden pew near the back on the left-hand side. <br />My mom made me wear a dress, wrangle myself into pantyhose and wear nice shoes (not Keds). <br />We would go to Sunday school. The kids would wait in hallways for our parents' class to end.<br />Hoping that there would be donuts leftover. More often than not, we skipped “big church” visited family and picked up Church’s fried chicken on our way home. <br />Church was pews, pipe organs, air hockey in the youth building, polite conversations and boxes of chicken. <br /><br />At summer camp. Church was at the top of what felt like the highest hill in Hill country. <br />We sat on dusty stone benches in our sweaty Sunday whites. Someone strummed a guitar and we all sang along. <br />Church was aching legs, BBQ down by the river and clumsy chords. <br /><br />In college I made it to church on Sundays about half of time. <br />Occasionally hungover. Always tired. I would still find a dress but had long ditched the hose. <br />We shopped around but my favorite Sunday church was in an old BBQ resturaunt. <br />The old dance floor, transformed into a pulpit.<br />Church was still dresses and folding chairs and often followed by cheap tacos at Rosas. <br />Real church in college happened on Thursday nights in a basement of the Wesley foundation with watered-down Koolaid and day-old donuts. <br /><br />We struggled to find a church after we got married. But eventually landed in one twenty minutes away. Too big. Too fancy. Too conservative. But the perfect group of friends for us at the time. <br />Eventually, we moved to another. <br />And then another. To one that felt more like the ones from home. <br />Back to hard pews and stained glass. Sundays and eventually Saturdays. I go as I am, but usually, at least take a shower first. My kids ask if we are eating with friends after. Because we usually are. <br />I occasionally serve the bread and wine but more often I help with the small row of youth that show up on a Saturday night. I have been here for years. Sometimes in the chapel. Sometimes in the loft. But these days in the sanctuary. I have felt nothing and I have also felt full. I have longed for and looked for. I have been emptied out and filled up. I have doubted. <br />I have sang loud and off-key. I have mouthed the words. I haven’t even bothered. I have listened closely. And I have written to-do lists in the bulletin.<br />Church is wooden pews. Familiar songs and faces. Teens sharing about their week. Jeans and t-shirts. <br />Full tables. Broken bread and grape juice and an honest heart. <br /><br />Today as I walk around my neighborhood for the third time today I long for a sanctuary.<br />Stained glass and guitars. And I feel all the things I have grown used to inside them. Doubt and fire and fullness and emptiness. <br />I miss the feel of a hard pew or folding chair. <br />I miss the scratch of pantyhose. <br /><br />Tomorrow I will sit on my couch. And watch church on my computer screen. <br />And I will say “He is risen” while wearing yoga pants. <br />Later I will Zoom with my family. <br />No Easter brunch. No flowers tucked into crosses. No lilies lining the altar.<br />My heart will ache but I expect it to also be warmed.<br />Because God has never been pinned down to pews and steeples.<br /><br /><br />There was no church on the first Easter. Only friends gathered and grieving.<br />Full of loss and uncertainty. Which sounds awfully familiar. And a few women who ventured out to find an empty tomb. Christ’s first words to them, “Do not be afraid” are words I still need to hear. <br />Church will be my couch, fuzzy socks and all the schoolwork pushed aside to make room for a meal. <br />Church will be a longing for each other.<br />Church will be worshiping alone. Together. <br />And I will find sanctuary in my living room. <br />Holiness on my couch. <br />Pantyhose completely optional.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/t1EOIWp9Efk" width="560"></iframe>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-13091417676861869742019-12-29T14:42:00.003-08:002019-12-29T14:42:56.287-08:00The annual REAL Christmas letter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vPTGNjS1syo/Xgkqp0xie9I/AAAAAAAAGKg/GHx7mLW5ewcbznNdA2yYBW8PjZodskFLgCEwYBhgL/s1600/o4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-vPTGNjS1syo/Xgkqp0xie9I/AAAAAAAAGKg/GHx7mLW5ewcbznNdA2yYBW8PjZodskFLgCEwYBhgL/s320/o4.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #292929; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One of my favorite traditions for over a decade has been to sit down and try to write a REAL Christmas letter. Not just the highlights, but a few honest moments as well. It started as a joke with one of my friends, thinking how refreshing it be for people to share more than just their perfect lives that we are used to seeing on Facebook and Instagram. It would be way more truthful and a whole lot more entertaining.</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Last year was full of big and new things. This year has been mostly settling into them. Boring, but only in the best ways. It has been hard to write and wrap up my year because in some ways I feel like I don’t have much to say. Over the last year I have read, literally, hundreds of books but struggled to find my own words.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jRH1ZIHaHDI/XgkqqjYGl-I/AAAAAAAAGKY/ovij190wjWw8PH98yHXrMnPmVnNFaHq3gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/owen1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jRH1ZIHaHDI/XgkqqjYGl-I/AAAAAAAAGKY/ovij190wjWw8PH98yHXrMnPmVnNFaHq3gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/owen1.jpg" /></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Owen has started high school. High school. I feel like I have blinked and this tiny blond toddler has turned teen with a deep voice and shaggy greasy hair. Something magical happened between 8th grade and 9th grade because he turns in his homework, hasn’t lost an ID (we went through at least 20 over the last two years) and even occasionally showers without being reminded. I was worried about the transition, but so far so good. He is on the high school tennis team and holding his own. I am realizing quickly that he only has a few more summers and holiday breaks at home. I’m trying to find that balance where I give him independence, freedom and still make him hang out with us (and unload the groceries). He spent a week at fishing camp at A&M Galveston and knows more about marine life than I ever will (or care too). He has grown a ton over the last year in knowledge, maturity and even a few inches. Despite being relatively chill and often indecisive, he occasionally has strong opinions. Owen would like to set record straight that baby yoda is not actually yoda but they are of the same species. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ntcUv5Vmdcc/Xgkqqt7VkuI/AAAAAAAAGKc/nMFNrFu1okEftDehYy-sDw5Ro97Bv3LoACEwYBhgL/s1600/o6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="200" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ntcUv5Vmdcc/Xgkqqt7VkuI/AAAAAAAAGKc/nMFNrFu1okEftDehYy-sDw5Ro97Bv3LoACEwYBhgL/s200/o6.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Tess also started a new school. Goodbye elementary, hello intermediate. Basically, this means no more pickup lines or school parties for me!! I have helped make the last Valentine's box ever and I am not sad about it. Other things, I miss….like control of my car radio. I have gotten to stop worrying about Owen’s grades just in time for Tess to learn to procrastinate and forget all the things. She is only eleven, but I swear can sleep in and sass like she is seventeen. She loves Chinese food, pizza, Bob Ross, chai tea lattes and is still riding horses. She spent a week at rodeo camp and switched from English to Western styles. Once a week and all my money go watch her lope in and out of poles or around barrels. This fall we started watching Gilmore Girls together. So far we are on season three and I have loved sharing Rori with her (although not all of her choices). Things I’d like to share less of….middle grade moodiness. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We took our usual trips to the mountains and the beach. My kids truly get the best of both worlds with that setup. Shaun’s family goes to Colorado every summer and my extended family usually spends a week at the beach. We hiked, fished, caught crabs in the bay, played kubb on the beach and cards around the lodge table. It was my first year to not have any kind of true summer but we traveled enough that it still felt like a great break. The four of us spend several days traveling all over Oregon. We hiked up breathtaking waterfalls (with Tess complaining most of the way), explored tidepools at Cannon beach, watched the kitesurfers on the Columbia River and took the ski lifts up Mt. Hood (and halfway up remembered my huge fear of heights!) and caught a soccer game in Portland. The whole area was beautiful and I would go back in a heartbeat. When I asked my kids their favorite part of the trip they said watching Spiderman in a Portland theatre. Ughh. Next time I will save some money and send them to the movies and Shaun and I can travel.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shaun is still making beautiful things out of wood and sometimes selling them. He has taken up the mandolin. I can recognize most of the songs he plays. He woodworks, makes music and recently made a kidney stone. He has a new level of sympathy for all laboring women in the world. He drinks local beer, eats whatever I cook and is game for whatever adventure I ask him to come on or plan. We have spent more life together than without and I can’t imagine it any other way (except with maybe less snoring and soccer injuries). </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I am used to bells and grading periods marking my days and seasons. There are clean beginnings and ends and middles. But now, bells don’t ring. Students aren’t lined up at my door and papers are not waiting to be graded. This is often a relief. People often ask me if I miss the classroom. The truth is that I do not, but I miss the connections. The clear purpose written on my board, but mostly on faces. The bells and semesters telling me when to start anew. </span></span><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; white-space: pre-wrap;">This year has been about finding those things for myself. Looking wider for connections, finding beginnings even when to-do lists and projects never quite end and fulfillment outside of a cubicle. Like most things, I am still figuring it out, but at least now I can use the restroom whenever I want. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">The older I get the smaller my world becomes. The more certain I am of what I love and what I want no part of. My own children are getting older, more independent and need me less (except when they need money or cereal or a ride).</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">It has been a slow year. A year spent in a cozy blanket reading on the couch or hiking on a trail. Part of me feels like I don’t have any accomplishments or things to say, but this letter has always been about more than proud moments. This year I gained weight (and kept it). Last January I made a list of 19 things I wanted to do in 2019 and I think I only accomplished 4 of them. My kids fought almost every single day. I wore a lot of yoga pants and did zero yoga.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I had friends move, and fight cancer and fight for their marriage. I ached for them and wondered how to help carry just a little bit of their load. I said a lot of f-words. I occasionally skipped church. I occasionally went to counseling. I am writing this letter late and so far have yet to mail a single Christmas card. I drank coffee across from my friends. I celebrated 18 years of marriage to a man I still like to be around. I have let things go. I crushed some presentations and I bombed a few. I watched hours of TV and movies next to my kids. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">We made it through junior high (one down, another to go). I drank in writing and words from books and podcasts. I played board games and card games but still refuse to play video games.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I logged hundreds of miles on the trail….often with great conversation. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I spent time away with my favorite people -- ones I am related to and ones I am not. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">My year has been calm. Maybe that means a storm is coming. Or maybe it just has been a gift of rest. I am excited for whatever 2020 may bring, but I plan on spending the last little bit of my 2019 in a fuzzy blanket on my couch. </span></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2019 Playlist </span></div>
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michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-73561015487327629412018-12-26T12:52:00.005-08:002018-12-26T12:58:46.024-08:00The annual REAL Christmas letter<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ORC9Vt4IfGA/XCPm99KVAnI/AAAAAAAAEQ0/Ul5E5CGpPC4z7AUk5uaUdkycdJYj6SgfwCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/31BB3F66-9D45-47AC-89B9-DC47EA69F766.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ORC9Vt4IfGA/XCPm99KVAnI/AAAAAAAAEQ0/Ul5E5CGpPC4z7AUk5uaUdkycdJYj6SgfwCPcBGAYYCw/s320/31BB3F66-9D45-47AC-89B9-DC47EA69F766.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">One of my
favorite traditions for a decade has been to sit down and try to write a REAL
Christmas letter. Not just the highlights, but a few honest moments as
well. It started as a joke with one of my friends, thinking how refreshing it
be for people to share more than just their perfect lives that we are used to
seeing on Facebook and Instagram. It would be way more truthful and a whole lot
more entertaining.</span><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Last new year, I had a friend ask me to come up
with a word for 2018. I joked that my word was just going to be “done”. I was
partly kidding, partly serious. The year ahead seemed daunting rather than full
of promise and resolutions. I had so many things to finish in the
upcoming year that I needed to be “done” with: my degree, my job and my
thirties. A few weeks later, my friend showed up with one of those string
bracelets with the metal word “done” hammered in the middle. I wore it often,
especially in those home stretches. Not taking it off until I had my last
chapter written. Until I passed my defense. Until my paper cleared the
dissertation office.</span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It wasn’t just gradschool. I loved my job, but
was ready to move on to something new. I needed a push to get me to fill out
application after application and apply for new roles rather than the
comfortable place I was in. Throughout the year I continually reminded
myself to be done with the daunting tasks, hard things, draining relationships,
the car I hated and extra pounds I carried. Of course, some of those things
were harder to get through and break up with than others (and many I am still
working on)….but it was a great one word reminder to tackle the hard things. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">It wasn’t just school that has consumed me for
the last four years, but chronic pain. This year has brought me a huge
reprieve. I have been able to cut the meds way back I have parts of my life back that were lost. My body occasionally reminds me of it’s trouble, but for the most
part I feel like the old me. I don’t know if that part of my life is done or if
we are just on a break. Either way I will take it as an amazing gift. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">One of the weirdest things to be done with this
year was Saturday soccer games. Owen is on the tennis team and Tess played her
last game in the Spring. I have spent ten years of Saturdays trying not to yell
at refs and looking for matching shin guards. This new Saturday freedom is
bittersweet. Tess has decided that horseback riding was her true calling (for
now). Owen is doing great on the tennis courts. I am less than sold on the
riding lessons partly for the price and also for the smell. Owen has also
joined yearbook. I am not sure he ever gets his pages turned in, but he loves
to check out a camera and take pictures at school events. He is not afraid to
move around and get the shot….which occasionally makes him just as entertaining
as whatever he is photographing on stage. I considered getting him a fancy
camera for Christmas, but since he has lost three lunch bags and left his phone
on the bus twice this year -- I think we will let him fund that one himself.
Eighth grade is a huge improvement over last year. That being said, I still
have to remind him to brush his teeth and wear deodorant almost daily. He is
acing math and science but I think it might take a miracle to find anything in
his backpack. As I type Owen is fishing. He could fish all day, every day and
not even miss the dumb videos on his phone that he watches. Mansfield isn’t
exactly know for our “fishing spots”....so most of the time he doesn’t catch
anything. He is persistent, patient and content to be doing what he loves. I’m
not that into fishing...but those are good ideals for all of us to catch. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">He is small, the smallest, but rarely goes
unnoticed in a room, and not just because his shirt doesn’t match. He is smart
and funny and always moving. I remember when I was his age that I always wanted
to stand out. To be the smartest, prettiest, best athlete, best musician. The
anything-est, at least the kind that doesn’t get you made fun of. I wasn’t of
course, even though I had it pretty easy for middle school. Owen is the
small-est. We’ve been to all the specialists. He has passed out from blood
work, had xrays, biopsies, full body bone scans and exams he’d probably like to
forget. All of them turned out fine. Normal. He is just small. I’ve watched him
handle this with a mother’s concern. Wondering if he has people to eat lunch
with, if he gets shoved in lockers or bullied. I’m sure that junior high is no
peach for a barely 80lb teen, but he seems to handle it with grace. He stands
up for himself when I wonder what to say and who to say it to. I still worry,
try to shove gluten-free food down him and silently cheer when his jeans turn
into high waters. I am learning from him that growth (and an organized binder)
don’t look the same for everyone. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Tess is very much the opposite of her brother
and almost the same size. She also aces math and science but just brought home
an “amazing author” award. (Maybe someone in this family will get published).
Like every other preteen girl, 2018 brought us a lot of homemade slime. She
would write me shopping lists that included shaving cream, glitter, borax and
gallons of glue. Everything she could get her hands on was covered in goop.
Thankfully, we have moved on from the slime and are waiting to see what the
next phase will be. So far not much as stuck (except for all that glue). She is
trying to figure out who she is and what she loves (other than horses). Tess is
ten, but sometimes I look at her and see her at seventeen. Sometimes I look at
her and see me. The emotions are all over the place and I am afraid of what is
to come. Ten is hard. I am not sure I will be able to navigate thirteen! She is
quiet at school but fiesty at home. She often disagrees just for fun and has a
response or an excuse to everything. Last week she said she might want to be a
lawyer when she grows up….so I will count all these fighting words, debates and
and verbal strategy as career practice. For her birthday we went to New York
City and it was all the things. It would have been a dream or cheesy tween
movie except for the food poisoning bit where I spent all night cleaning up her
puke. The Crowne Plaza did not know what hit them….and I have never been more
thankful for housekeeping. We did a tour of Central Park, ate pizza, dumplings,
candy, cake from Carlo’s bakery (ok, well now I am starting to see why maybe
she got sick) ...went to the top of the Empire States Building, took the ferry
past the Statue of Liberty, went the wrong way on the subway, had great seats
for Wicked, and toured the NBC studio at Rockefellar center. We did our best to
get on the Today show. We missed our moment of fame, but she now asks to stay
up and watch Jimmy Fallon - so I call that a win. What it comes down to was
this - I took a trip with my kid and had a completely enjoyable time. I My kids
have hit ages where they are fun. They can carry on conversations, get some of
my humor, sing along to songs a like and watch movies that do not involve
talking animals. I still ground them, yell at them (and then feel bad about
it), make them do chores, get so frustrated that I occasionally have to walk
around the block, but they are turning into pretty fun people that I want to be
around. Like the musical Tess and I saw, they are both changing me for the
good. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I never traveled in college, so when A&M
offered a writing intensive in Costa Rica I packed my bags. I hoped the trip
would help push me to graduate a bit sooner and I could say I had been to the
rainforest (biology teacher bragging rights). We stayed in the middle of the
forest, the howler monkeys waking me up each morning. I typed and analyzed
data, but I also hiked up a volcano, took a raft trip under the trees
constantly looking up for sloths and snakes. I toured cocoa and coffee farms. I
ate the best bananas pulled straight from the tree. I hiked through the forest
to an amazing waterfall and back to my bunk at night through the clouds (always
on the lookout for vipers). It was beautiful and noisy and full of adventure.
My own family didn’t make it out of the country, but we spent time at our
favorite places - the beach and the mountains. My kids are rooted in each of
those places -developing equal tastes for salty water and fresh mountain air. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;"><br />
Shaun’s woodworking hobby has only grown. I’ve caught him during his lunch
break covered head to toe in sawdust. His smells permanently of wood stain, our
home is filled with beautiful things -- all with his personal touches. Last
night we had some friends over and all the chairs at our new Shaun-made kitchen
table were filled. The table (for a brief time free of any marker, paint or
glue stains from our youngest maker) was littered with paper plates, cups and
laughter. This table, just a bit bigger than the one before ...making even more
space in our home for anyone who wants to gather there. Lately without papers
to grade or write, I have noticed the amount of time he spends staining,
sawing, shaping. He is continuing to shape our home and I am inspired by his
passion and attention to the craft. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I left the classroom and took a job as science
coordinator. Which mostly means that a good portion of my fall felt like I was
doing something new and scary every day. I’m still learning, but the
overwhelming newness is starting to fade. It is a big shift that has been hard
in many ways - but one that I am loving. It is weird for after eighteen years
in the classroom to not have a first day of school. I miss the students, but
praise Jesus that I do not have to ever grade another paper. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">Just a few weeks ago I officially graduated. It
felt like running a really long race that was never going to end. In all
honesty, there were several times I wasn’t sure I would make it. The first few
years I struggled through papers and articles in deep chronic pain. Reading
through a haze of medication that made my brain feel thick, slow and oh so
tired. In the middle I felt behind my peers. I wondered if maybe my best wasn’t
going to be enough. But here is the thing - the chance to go back to school was
a gift from my parents. And this time around I understood the cost of this gift
and opportunities it could provide me. I wrote paper after paper. I edited and
cracked the spine on my APA manual. I sent emails, I checked in and I made it
through only with the help of a few friends in my same program who pushed and
encouraged me (oh -- and my husband holding down the fort while I locked myself
in my office). Only a small handful of my cohort has finished. More than
anything I say I got a degree in perseverance. Not too many years ago I
struggled with hope. It felt slippery and loose despite my best attempts to
hold onto hope in Christ as my body seemed to betray me. Romans 5 talks about
suffering produces perseverance, perseverance, character and character
hope. Well...I’m not sure Paul was talking about grad school….but I think I
have found my hope. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">2018 was one of the best years, but it wasn’t
all cake. My father had surgery to remove cancer and struggled to recover. A
friend moved on. My own kids struggled in their own ways and I wasn’t sure how
to best help them. But it has mostly been a dream. Birthdays, travels,
graduations and a new job. So many things have finished. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">I have thought of that tiny word I started with
this year - done. <br />
I have used it to remind me to work, push, strive, end, say no. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif;">This year may be almost finished and had felt so
big and daunting -- but in retrospect so full of accomplishment, adventure and
new. I may have clung to the word “done” in 2018…. but in so many ways things
are just beginning. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Here’s to 2019 and what is to come. </span><span style="font-family: "times new roman" , serif; font-size: 12.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FZRV4pNf0tk/XCPoYI8VNkI/AAAAAAAAERE/VjgWiojt0WootbVU3Vi54XvaHH7b__FOQCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/AD305C74-FD91-417F-9B70-4C114D3E0E7E.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FZRV4pNf0tk/XCPoYI8VNkI/AAAAAAAAERE/VjgWiojt0WootbVU3Vi54XvaHH7b__FOQCPcBGAYYCw/s320/AD305C74-FD91-417F-9B70-4C114D3E0E7E.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></div>
<iframe allow="accelerometer; autoplay; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/WvXotQEGGD4" width="560"></iframe>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-36429350481032423502018-09-17T18:34:00.001-07:002018-09-17T19:06:24.602-07:00preachers and parades.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KR3yegYxpkk/W6BUSpQsvnI/AAAAAAAAEQM/XdUq0I8CrR0aOLI_zRGBw6Z1XWx6OK18gCLcBGAs/s1600/hug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="1334" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KR3yegYxpkk/W6BUSpQsvnI/AAAAAAAAEQM/XdUq0I8CrR0aOLI_zRGBw6Z1XWx6OK18gCLcBGAs/s320/hug.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
Months ago, I sat in a pew and tried to not think about the fact that you could count on one hand the number of white congregants in the room.<br />
And I was one of them.<br />
I did not want to draw attention to myself, but despite the fact that I have been to church most Sundays of my life, I had no idea what to do. When to sit, stand, pray or the lyrics to any of the songs.
The rules here seemed so different than my own church, just a few miles away. Filled with people who mostly looked like me.<br />
A few elderly African American women were seated next to me and were kind enough to attempt to make me feel welcome and tell me what to do. At some point Eunice, in a bright purple dress, slid her arthritic hand on top of mine, squeezed and tugged me to the front to pray.<br />
I let her lead me, because I didn’t how else to respond, and because she seemed so genuinely glad that I was there, singing off key next to her.<br />
<br />
It was not lost on me, that my slight discomfort was one of choice and ended just as quickly as I got in my car and drove home.
That discomfort is one most people, in that same sanctuary, probably feel all the time.
I wondered how often they were one of the few people of color in a white sea.
I wondered if there was anyone kind enough to take their hand, welcome them and patiently show them what to do.<br />
<br />
Some of my friends invited me to go to the Dallas Pride parade and join them giving out free mom hugs. Painting signs and making shirts of welcome and acceptance to a group that can often feel strained relationships with their own parents. We hoped to be stand-ins.<br />
We pulled up in a minivan. I looked more like I belonged on a Target aisle, than in a pride parade.
I had not ordered a mom hug shirt so I looked in my closet until I found some rainbow tie-dyed t-shirts in the back.
We found a place along the parade route, right in front of a church that was doing it right-- giving away water and opening its doors and restrooms.
The lawn was full of spectators dressed in all kinds of things and the fanciest of shoes.
Music blared, drinks flowed and I quickly started to sweat through my tie-dye.
Even with my long history with the Indigo girls, I still couldn’t help but feel out of place. Like I didn’t fit. And despite the fact that a guy behind me had on a blue wig, 3 inch heels and fishnets, that people were looking AT ME.<br />
Yet, no one told me to leave, or questioned my morality, motives or even my footwear.<br />
<br />
Two college age looking girls to my left, hesitantly asked if it was really ok to ask for a hug.
Another obnoxious guest, who had overserved herself and yelled in our ears, saw the signs and said she was likely almost the same age as us, but could really use a mom hug.<br />
We obliged.<br />
There were plenty of hugs. Some shy. Some sweaty. More than a few with glitter. Some people literally ran to us with open arms and hearts.<br />
Kind of like Eunice’s open hands.<br />
<br />
I went to a black church to learn and because I believe in unity (and for the music, duh).<br />
I went to the parade for many of the same reasons.<br />
<br />
In both places I realized that I, in all my privilege, was suddenly the other.
Even if it was only for a few hours.<br />
I stood out. I was uncomfortable.
I wondered what people would think.
I worried if it was ok to be tagged on facebook.<br />
And I was only treated with love.
Hugged a hundred times.
Dragged to the altar.
Welcomed and asked back by people who were not always treated as kindly by people like me.
The same as me.<br />
<br />
That discomfort is not an easy outfit to put on.
But it is an excellent teacher.
And the best hugger and hand-holder I know.
<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe width="560" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/DCSUfGJjwVY" frameborder="0" allow="autoplay; encrypted-media" allowfullscreen></iframe>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-52803815928802060512017-12-19T17:28:00.000-08:002017-12-19T17:32:57.604-08:00My annual REAL Christmas letter<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://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ys_gMEMCmpU/Wjm5_wcDzYI/AAAAAAAAEO8/Z4u8BlZw7DA7pfTobPcCeI1pFLneN6sKQCLcBGAs/s1600/2017Hurst001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1065" height="640" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Ys_gMEMCmpU/Wjm5_wcDzYI/AAAAAAAAEO8/Z4u8BlZw7DA7pfTobPcCeI1pFLneN6sKQCLcBGAs/s640/2017Hurst001.jpg" width="425" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(things to note...I make super cute kids, but they don't wear shoes and we don't rake our leaves...win some, lose some)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">One of my favorite traditions for a decade has been to sit down and try to write a REAL Christmas letter. Not just the highlights, but a few honest moments as well. It started as a joke with one of my friends, thinking how refreshing it be for people to share more than just their perfect lives that we are used to seeing on Facebook and Instagram. It would be way more truthful and a whole lot more entertaining.</span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 36pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I don’t set true New Year’s resolutions, because I know that I will eventually break them, but I always reflect this time of year and set a few goals. In this case, “few” might mean dozens. Last January, however, my only goal was to make it through the Spring semester. I had my first internship, my last true graduate class (that seems to be a lie because I keep having to turn in papers) in addition to my normal day job, two kids and a condition that can set me back for weeks at a time. I bought a calendar and used it religiously. I crammed extra hours into my work day by eating lunch while walking down the hall, during passing periods or occasionally even skipping it all together (and I am not known to miss a meal). I went to more meetings than I ever have in my life. I took notes and I did my best to listen even though I am a girl that only wants to talk. I made it through only to repeat the same thing (sans class) in the fall. This internship has in many ways engulfed my year, free time and perspective. I spent an entire year learning to be someone that I am not quite yet. I constantly felt in between who I am now and who I eventually want to be while trying to figure out who that even was. I tried to make some professional changes, such as using an iron and keeping my mouth shut (of course I am still working on both of those), but there are personal lessons in that as well. We often find ourselves in a state of becoming and it is hard and awkward and unsteady to see who we want to be but haven’t managed to figure out all the way. Getting a grade for it somehow makes it easier to pursue, ask questions, to seek and to stumble. I occasionally wish there were those formalities in my personal becoming. Permission to figure it out and learn instead of the expectations I put on myself to already be.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My husband turned forty in October. These next few months are my only season to tease him before I join him in June. The truth is that I am looking forward to it. I have made forty out to be this decade of permission to give up expectation. To wear house shoes into Starbucks, to say no when I want and to stop buying jeans with holes in them. To stop caring about the things that I think other people care about when I doubt they are even paying attention. I know those things have very little to do with waking up some magic day a year older and suddenly wiser, so I am trying to ease into it earlier. Giving myself extra permissions and nos and certainly buying a better moisturizer. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">As I tried to sort out what to write, so much of my year seems like the last. I have the same job, the same address, went on the same vacations. It sounds almost boring and disappointing at first, but there is thankfulness in that sameness. The goodness and steadiness that this year has brought me when I see so much disruption in some of my loved ones lives and the world around me. All I have to do is watch the news or check the weather and it seems like everything else has gone off the rails. I do not expect so much steadiness in the year to come and am glad for this year to catch my breath. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My husband practically lives in the garage and has taken on an entirely new scent of saw dust and spray paint. He makes amazing things that hang on my walls and are given to friends. He has been trying to sell some of them, mostly to buy new tools and pay for ER bills when he skills saws his thumb instead of the wood. His sales are slow, but I love the extra inventory to give to gift and that fact that my husband is putting himself out there in my own season of retreat. I often come home from an errand to find his car gone, and my kids tell me he has gone to the store. Great I think and text him a list of five more groceries we are running out of, turns out to my husband “going to the store” means….going to Lowes, which unfortunately, does not sell cereal or coffee. Our kids can mostly stay home alone without a sitter, which means I manage to see more of this guy and have meals alone with him even if it is just across the street because we are too tired to go North of 20, much less into Dallas. </span></span></div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qeGaPanVNMU/Wjm6TfADjuI/AAAAAAAAEPE/xcA4TGeCbvM-uMdoojcRywy2SBuSjgzQQCLcBGAs/s1600/2017Hurst014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1065" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-qeGaPanVNMU/Wjm6TfADjuI/AAAAAAAAEPE/xcA4TGeCbvM-uMdoojcRywy2SBuSjgzQQCLcBGAs/s320/2017Hurst014.jpg" width="213" /></span></a></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Owen started junior high and the transition has not been the smoothest. He loses all the things, his lunch, his jacket, his homework and often his shoes. He has started taking drum lessons and praise Jesus for electric drumkits with headphones. I think he is holding out for a lead singer and guitar player before he starts booking shows. Junior high does not have a soccer team, so he has started playing tennis instead. I think he has found his sport, at least for the next two years. He medaled at his first tournament - even if I did have to tell him not to rub in the score. In addition to his sportsmanship and organization, we are working on his grades. Despite my desire to jump in and organize his notebook every night, lay out his clothes and email his teachers when I disagree with something, we have really given him the lead and stepped back. Just like the rest of us he stumbles and forgets a deadline, but mostly he has managed to navigate all of his changes. This last six weeks he had a random acts of kindness project. We have been spending time at the food bank, picking up trash, busing tables, opening doors and returning shopping carts. It has been my favorite way to spend time with him and such a reminder of this kind almost teenager that occasionally smells funny. In addition the manager of Chick-fil-a noticed him cleaning tables and offered him a job. At least we know he has options if those grades never go up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">This summer I pressed his pediatrician to look into his growth (or lack thereof) and after X-rays, biopsies, blood work, passing out and bone scans, we came back with a positive for celiac. He has no other physical symptoms but it makes sense that he would grow so slowly if he is not absorbing nutrients properly. The great thing about celiac is the easy fix - give up gluten and be super vigilant of cross contamination. Celiac is genetic and I have always had stomach issues, so I gave up gluten with him. That is easier said than done, and my son is handling the lack of donuts much better than I am. I am still grieving my glazed friends. My son just had to write a memoir for a class, the idea of my twelve year old writing a memoir is hilarious to me. He wanted to write about a not so great kindergarten year….but fell short after only being able to remember about two sentences worth. Instead he wrote about this diagnosis and change. Other than the occasional blood work and huge fear of needles it does not seem to be that big a deal to him. To me, it feels like just one more thing to give up (or a million things if you count all the pies). They said it would take about 3-6 months for his gut to heal and hopefully then he would start growing. It has only been about two since he has been on his diet and I measured him yesterday just to see. The sharpie mark has already moved up a bit. It was a good reminder that sometimes we have to give things up to grow. Up doorframes and in our own hearts.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YQzWw7mGwKE/Wjm6RMQqv6I/AAAAAAAAEPA/xR7MQblx_HoDs700h8pXPIEVykWuGQ3swCEwYBhgL/s1600/2017Hurst012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1065" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YQzWw7mGwKE/Wjm6RMQqv6I/AAAAAAAAEPA/xR7MQblx_HoDs700h8pXPIEVykWuGQ3swCEwYBhgL/s320/2017Hurst012.jpg" width="212" /></span></a></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My Tess is having a slightly less eventful year. Last Spring her soccer team lost almost all of their games, this season they were undefeated. Same coach, same team, same fields - sometimes all it takes is making it through one season and entering another. Off the field we are rushing off to drama class, or choir practice, or UIL. She works on her accents and writes plays in all her free time, despite the fact that I have to bribe her to read books. She is her own person who is hardly influenced by my tastes in food, clothing or music. We almost had a knock down drag out in the clothes section of Target last week based on my shirt suggestions and she still holds firm to her dislike of cheese and guacamole (I am considering genetic testing to see if we are really related). She prays every night that she is not gluten free because cupcakes are her favorite food group. She loves horses and blue jeans but shares my love of the beach. We have finally learned how to tame her wild mane, which involves embracing the curl, rather than brushing it down. I have a feeling we will be embracing some form or another of her “curl” for the next dozen or so years. Who knew there were such life lessons in her fine locks? She is my creative child, “making”all the time, just like her daddy, with words, markers, boxes fabric or even Q-tips (like the brand new box I purchased and hunted all over for). Some days it is hard to remember that she is nine because she feels fifteen. All of her emotion is too much and sometimes just explodes in tears or screams and I do not have a clue how to handle it. I know well the too much, just not how to get across to a third grader that this is normal, that you will feel it your whole life. I tell her to breathe, to count to four, to cry it out, or even to go scream in her room - just not to draw blood on your brother or yell in my face. I tried to tell her cleaning her room (or heck, even my room) would make her feel better but she didn’t buy it. We are still working on this. It is hard. What isn’t hard, having her crawl into bed and watch a movie, getting frozen yogurt, watching her score a soccer goal, hearing how smart she is and seeing how proud she is to learn something new. This girl hates to back down and she hates to be late, both of which come straight from me, just like her freckles. I think both will serve her well, but currently the refusal to back down is getting her grounded on a weekly basis. Some mornings I think we should seriously rethink the acting classes. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The highs: Owen was confirmed and baptized (all the tears). I passed my prelims (all the tears). Less pain. I had the biggest snow cone in all the land and finally found a place within a 20 mile radius that makes gluten free donuts (on Sundays, if you can get there in time). Owen pulled off the best Halloween costume ever. Tess rocked her school performance with a leading role as a seven legged-octopus. Renting a pub bike to celebrate 40 years of my husband on this planet, even if it was ridiculously cold. Hearing some of my favorite authors and speakers and bands (even if I did wear earplugs and complain about how late it was). Less wine and more laughter. The beach, the mountains, the lake and at least once or twice managing to hang up every single article of clothing in my house. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">The lows: Since this is an “honest” Christmas letter - I will tell you that there were plenty. Just at the moment, as I reflect on the year….they are not the ones that stick. They are the ones that I have to think harder about to remember. They are the ones that I don’t plan on carrying with me into the new year so I won’t waste time typing them here. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 11pt; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Unlike this past year I expect very little in the new year to stay the same. As I look at 2018 and I look at 40, I look forward to giving myself even more permission, change, travel, new roles and relationships, to let go of things as I reach for new ones and to constantly outgrow myself. I expect it to be hard in all the best ways and unavoidably a few of the worst ones. This has been a good year, but there is so much more waiting for me in the next. </span></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(look how cute and happy my kids are.....just know that my friend paid them 20$ to let her take this photo)<br />
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michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-25706834249036218112017-01-29T14:16:00.001-08:002017-01-30T14:46:23.744-08:00voice<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I remember waking up the day after the election tired and stunned. When I got to work I went downstairs to make copies and make some tea and did not make it back to my classroom until right before the tardy bell rang. I have a large class, full of all kinds of students from all kinds of backgrounds. I had not even thought about how they would respond to the election and that since we begin school so early that I might be the first adult they saw that day. </span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Immediately an African American on the front row told me that she was disappointed in our country. I teach science, not government and thought that I needed to turn the conversation as quickly as I could safely back to the objectives on the board, but I could not ignore her hurt and the rest of the quiet in the room. I told her that regardless of what candidate she supported that this country is run by more than one person, that very soon she would be able to vote, that she had a voice. Behind her, a student that also has different color skin than me, asked with an honesty and an ache in her voice that did something to my gut, </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>“But do <u>I</u> have a voice???”</b></span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I did not know what to say. I wanted to have a great reassuring adult answer, but all I had was a new ache. So I did a terrible thing and moved on to the lesson, even though there was a more important one being asked of me that day. Throughout my morning I heard my Hispanic students joke about walls and being sent back to Mexico. They joked, but there was still some fear in their laughter.</span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I wanted so badly to reassure them, but I did know what I could promise or offer. My own relatives and address were not on the line.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Months later, no matter what is on CNN or Fox News or posted on social media …. I still see my 5th period class. I try to filter it through their 62 eyes.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">The jokes and questions and discomfort. The ones that I know where glad about the outcome and the others who felt uncentered, unheard or afraid.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I hear the question, “but do I have a voice?” in their voice, when I read my friends’ opposing opinions, when I read a new executive order and even when I read my Bible.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">They wear boots.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">They wear hijabs.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">They wear hand me downs.</span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">They wear rainbow pins.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">They wear clothes I can’t afford.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Some of them still struggle with the language.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">And a few of them aren’t in dress code.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Until recently I have shied away from talking about politics, publicly and even privately.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I often felt confused, bored and disconnected from it.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I never imagined that I would be watching Senate sessions on you-tube. </span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">That I would tell my husband who used to never vote to stop watching CNN and go do something about it. And that he would.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">That I would paint posters.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">That I would march.</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">That I would call senators and write letters.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">That I would be explaining immigration polices and the electoral college to my elementary age children.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">And that I am not the only one.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I have seen so many people who usually just post pictures of their cute kids or pretty food on Facebook and instagram, post articles and petitions.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">That people on both the right and left would do all they can to promote public education. (keep doing it!!)</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">That many people disagree and that sometimes even a few do it with class and while seeking understanding.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I have learned that I think differently than some of my friends….and yet we can still be friends.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I have learned that there are all kinds of ways to have a voice. And that to really be heard that voice should be followed with action. And spoken in love.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">That there are all kinds of voices.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">And that everyone.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">EVERYONE should have one.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">This is, in fact, what democracy looks like.</span></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">So to my fifth period class,</span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I didn’t tell you that I snuck into my storeroom as soon as I could to wipe tears away.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">I didn’t know how to answer your questions on November 9.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">But I do now.</span></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">Yes, my students, my own children, my friends, immigrants and neighbors, Badlands National Park Twitter guy, people I agree with and even to the people I do not:<br /><b>
You have a voice. </b></span></span><br />
<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">USE IT.</span></span><br />
<br /></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span class="s1"><span style="font-size: small;">( I can not tell you how much that picture made my heart swell.)</span></span></div>
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michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-1921613701499455802017-01-22T13:30:00.002-08:002017-01-22T13:30:16.936-08:00different<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B7nYdqWrH3A/WIUhMBKxXBI/AAAAAAAAEMg/0kUnvbSJhWEyqeSVC2oAOupPas_lNvOrwCLcB/s1600/purple.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-B7nYdqWrH3A/WIUhMBKxXBI/AAAAAAAAEMg/0kUnvbSJhWEyqeSVC2oAOupPas_lNvOrwCLcB/s320/purple.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Someone recently sent me a meme about tattoos. I reminded them that I have over half a dozen, although none in such obvious places as the picture. I thought about it while I washed my hair, and how once my hair was also purple, and what kind of memes could be found about that. And also, my nose was pierced. Other than the first two tattoos, none of these were things I did in my youth. All were in my thirties. </span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-45089a38-c7f9-1f75-da13-5bb614d0beaa" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Currently my hair is a plain brown in a sensible cut. My tattoos all easily hidden with most clothing and only my ears are pierced. As this decade closes I have made efforts to dress more professionally, drink less, stay on top of the laundry although I still refuse to make my bed and talk at an appropriate volume level. Yet, I only looked back on my purple-haired days with longing rather than regret. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">See, I used to do those things to be different. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sometimes I’d feel just a little trapped by my suburban life although perfect, felt a little too predictable. I felt like I was going to lose myself in Starbucks cups, Target bags and privilege. Other times I just wanted to feel different. I didn’t know how, so I’d at least find a way to mark it. I’d mark it on my wrist or the top of my foot with a symbol to remind me. I’d go buy a box of just a tad too red hair dye and hope that looking different would be the same as feeling it. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">In either case, I was no different than before...I just had some new ink or a bad dye job.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I’m glad for every permanent mark, I have and I’ve learned that hair always grows back as you are not who you want to be. Marks, be it tattoos or scars, always tell a story. This I know. I can’t promise to never get another tattoo or always keep my hair close to my natural color, but I will tell you that I feel very differently about wanting to be different. I don’t need to feel that way anymore.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">People who want so desperately to be different, never really have been.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When you actually are, all you want to feel is just like everyone else.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">At least that has been the case for me.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">A year and some months ago I remember feeling isolated in so many ways. I don’t know anyone in real life who has the diagnosis I have and could have really used a friend to sit down and have coffee with an ask a million questions to. I hurt physically and emotionally in ways I never had before. All I wanted was for someone to relate. I felt different and isolated in the worst way because I actually was. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My differences were actually easier than most because for the most part no could spot them on the outside. No one could judge me for them. No one could kick me out of church or deny my rights. I found groups of people like me online. It is no cup of coffee or hug, but occasionally I have a forum to ask questions to or just scroll through when I feel pain. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Growing up there is a such a tension between wanting to be different, but not so different that we weren’t like everyone else. Wanting to be you, but wanting to fit in. To still have a place. To still feel accepted and included. Teenagers constantly walk in this tension. I guess I took a little longer to grow up than most. I don’t mind. You have to be at least 18 to get a tattoo anyways. And I probably needed to be at least 30 to be able to afford it. </span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Not always, but for a long time now, I have made an effort to love people who are different than me. To include them. To march for them. To learn from them. I actually prefer it and the more I listen the more I realize how un-different we are. I’m pretty boring and can use all the perspective I can get. I still think it is a place where I fail all the time. I want so desperately to be different, but am sometimes afraid of it. Afraid of what to say. Or do. Or doing it wrong. That it will rub off on me.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Afraid that other people will judge me as different as well.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">God, I hope they do.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Even if my hair is brown.</span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/gYaAsUL_exA" width="560"></iframe>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-9582464002587920092016-12-21T15:02:00.000-08:002016-12-21T15:02:24.643-08:00the annual REAL christmas letter<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">One of my favorite traditions for almost a decade has been to sit down and try to write a REAL Christmas letter. Not just the highlights, but a few honest moments as well. It started as a joke with one of my friends, thinking how refreshing it be for people to share more than just their perfect lives that we are used to seeing on Facebook and Instagram. It would be way more honest and a whole lot more entertaining. <span style="background-color: white;">Now, every year I look forward to sitting down and reflecting on what I have learned, what is still a struggle, what is funny and of course the things that still make my heart want to burst in the best and worst ways. I even tried to reflect that in my Christmas card this year (well....the ones I was together enough to get out). The front is a tight shot of my family looking oh so cute on the couch....but zoom out and ...well. Truth. Laundry to hang, empty cups and of course...pajamas. It is meant to be funny, but there is also some perspective here. We usually only see just a little bit. I am tempted to compare, just like everyone else, but there is usually more to the scene. This is my attempt to zoom out just a bit.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BBK_TaR-siE/WFsEOiGrdiI/AAAAAAAAELs/A3w8n5ygN1E8lf-xBqJkcic7WOXSpPiCwCLcB/s1600/Screen%2BShot%2B2016-12-21%2Bat%2B4.35.49%2BPM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="268" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-BBK_TaR-siE/WFsEOiGrdiI/AAAAAAAAELs/A3w8n5ygN1E8lf-xBqJkcic7WOXSpPiCwCLcB/s400/Screen%2BShot%2B2016-12-21%2Bat%2B4.35.49%2BPM.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">As much as my personal life changed in 2015 -- moving, starting grad school and surgery, this year stayed the same. Same house, same job, same school, same meds. The biggest decision my family seemed to make was whether or not Tess would get bangs. The world around us may not have followed suit - it seemed to be a year of violence and a shocking election. Humanity, or at least social media, somehow showed both its worst and best. I have decided to choose the best even when the news does not always show it. I suppose my year looked a little like that. Pain that resurfaced again in the Spring, this time without the hope of surgery. In the past I have always worked hard to push through and on and anyways. This little strategy seemed to stop working for me. I needed a new one. So, I started listening, resting and giving in. I take my meds, I mostly don’t do the things I am not supposed to do and I get plenty of rest. Miraculously, most days I am back on my game. I have tried to apply these same lessons to other places in my life. The idea that physical pain works much like the heart version. It is managed so much better when we listen to it, give it room and feel it when we would rather ignore it. It is such a damn inconvenience, but still better than being flattened. </span></span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-6afee4ca-2384-f157-a059-dafdebef49d5" style="font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">My graduate school work is still going strong. People keep asking me when I will be finished. When they can finally call me doctor. So let me clarify for everyone, I have forever left. This program is no joke and a finish line is hard to see. I have no idea when my weekends will be back to being my own and when I will help my husband do laundry again, but there will be at least two or three more of these yearly letters in between. I am loving like the things I am learning, as long as you don’t make me cite that in proper APA fashion.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">These little people of mine keep growing, learning new things and losing things and losing teeth. I slipped earlier this year and Tess overheard me on the phone telling a friend how I forgot to put money under Owen’s pillow. I am sure Owen has known for years, but Tess was surprised to hear the news. I felt like a mom failure for a minute, but it has worked out quite nicely ever since. I just hand over a few dollars and we call it a day. Santa, she is not quite ready to give up on and I will try to let them hold onto as much magic as I can. I will keep those lies coming, as long as she thinks she has to stay off the naughty list. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I have always wanted to live a big and loud life, but this year I have moved towards a smaller one. (As for volume, I still only have one setting). I haven’t given up on dreams or anything like that, I have just learned that I have to do less. And by less I mean I can’t cook dinner grade papers, check my own kids’ homework, meet friends for coffee, write a 20 page paper, hang out with my family and binge watch The Crown on Netflix. Each year I seem to have to make more choices. Say more Nos. Let things narrow. There is some mourning in that. </span></span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.6667px; white-space: pre-wrap;">I still secretly hate the fact that I have to walk instead of run, but walking has its advantages too -- like good conversation along the way. </span><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.6667px; text-indent: 36pt; white-space: pre-wrap;">The narrowing is a loss, but I am choosing more intentionally and healthier when I really still want to choose all of it. This means I should know when to stop or turn back or that I will have to find that little voice inside that governs all the things. The one that I have been telling to shut up for decades and decades. My knees might sound 38, but that voice just isn’t quite there yet. It is getting louder though. Many of my text messages go unanswered. I go to bed early. I wake up early. Instead of dozens of people...many days I only want just a few, some days only the three I share an address with. Don’t worry, I can still find that loud obnoxious version of me and bring her out for special occasions….but the rest of the time, this girl is going to be in bed before 10 o’clock. (ok 9:30...especially on a school night). </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">A few weeks ago I went on a whirlwind girls trip to NYC (thanks Rhonda!). I spent a weekend in the cold watching ice skaters, standing on top of skyscrapers, eating hot dogs from carts, riding around Central Park and having every hair on my body stand up when they hit the right notes on Broadway. My summer I found hope on the beach, floated the Comal and tasted as much wine as I could in Fredricksburg. So obviously my slightly smaller life is still overflowing and only boring when I want it to be. I mean there are some days you should never get out of your pjs (it is very possible that today might be one of those days!).</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">This is my yearly review, but I am not the only one in the story. Tess changes clothes, future careers and looks by the minute. She is quiet at school and more than makes up for that volume at home. She constantly has to be reminded to shower, brush her teeth and sleep in actual pajamas rather than the clothes she wore that day. She quit dance but is still playing soccer. I am begging this girl to take piano or violin or anything musical, but all she wants is to make things and ride horses. Give her a few boxes and a roll of tape and she will have built herself a new bedroom downstairs. I suggested that maybe she make a cardboard horse…..She makes great grades, has won awards at school but I still have to battle her nightly to do her homework. Her room is a disaster and she would eat Easy Mac every night for dinner if I let her. (sometimes I do). But she is kind and fierce and trying to find her way in the world. I let her. Sometimes in overhauls, sometimes in sequins, rarely with hair that looks like it has been brushed. </span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It is a miracle that my husband is letting my son (the one just like him) see 2017. He loses everything. EVERYTHING. His homework, his gym clothes, money and all electronics. The more expensive it is --the faster he loses it. He is only in the sixth grade but some days it feels like he is older, mostly because he marches up stairs and only comes down only when I yell for him the fourth time. But he still looks so small and young and I can count all his freckles, embarrass him and make him laugh at inappropriate jokes. Recently he marched downstairs for church wearing plaid shorts, a long-sleeved striped shirt, both so wrinkled that they were barely recognizable. I told him to rethink the wardrobe choice. He responded by telling me that he was “unlucky” today. Stumped, I had him elaborate. He explained that when deciding what to wear each day he just grabs two things from his closet and hopes they go together, some days he is lucky and some days he is not. He wears them either way and likely doesn’t know the difference. Lord, help him. He doesn’t have a clue what he wants for Christmas and I am sure it is because he thinks he is too old to ask for Legos, but I know for certain he isn’t too old to actually play with them. If he is, someone please tell my husband. He is getting old enough to pull away and talk to his parents less. I am trying to make sure I listen when he does, which means I hear way more about video games than I ever wanted to know. This is a complete foreign language to me, so I pray there is a special place in heaven for moms who can tell you all the Pokemon. (ok, Pokemon Go is pretty fun and I suspect responsible for me losing a few pounds this summer….I mean those eggs don’t hatch themselves). And have I mentioned that this forgetful, mismatched almost tween may not have the best fashion sense, but he opens doors for women, has a thankful heart and can flip a water bottle with the best of them. I, on the other hand have banned water bottles from my house in 2017.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-size: 14.6667px; font-style: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Shaun has put the running on hold and these days only runs to Lowes. Nightly. He has more new tools and ideas than I can keep up with. He spends his night scribbling designs on graph paper and making things in the garage. He has taught my kids how to do the dirty work (sanding and staining). He has made some amazing things, some of which are for sale. What else he has made, like every year, is this family work. He does more than his share of dishes and laundry, and the worst job of getting kids up and off to school since my school starts most days before the sun comes up. When he is out of town, I have to make sure they don't miss the bus, eat breakfast and don’t wear pajamas to school. It is exhausting. I need a nap after Tess tells me how to do a ponytail thirteen times and eventually does it herself, and trust me everyone can tell she did it herself. This year marked 15 years of marriage for us, and we celebrated with a return trip to Boston. We spent our honeymoon there, where I spent most of it puking from food poisoning...which is not exactly the honeymoon anyone dreams of. Round two was much better and puke free. We had dated for what felt like ever before getting married, but we were still strangers who had no idea how to share a room much less a life back then. Fifteen years later, we know how to share a life, just not the covers.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Despite the fact that I have not written many words publicly this year, it has still been my most reflective one ever. In some ways that has been hard, but it has shown me hope, thankfulness and progress. I’m thinking those are things we could all use more of heading in to 2017. </span></span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LIODr_RWwEc" width="560"></iframe>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-18334868904281785912016-06-17T11:43:00.007-07:002016-06-17T11:44:55.566-07:00break a leg<div style="font-family: helvetica; line-height: normal;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ugM1AVHDY1Y/V2Q1-9C7_HI/AAAAAAAAEKI/ehjjwUdlM3IiV7MFa4i1XHwLDSNmg4-RgCLcB/s1600/dance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ugM1AVHDY1Y/V2Q1-9C7_HI/AAAAAAAAEKI/ehjjwUdlM3IiV7MFa4i1XHwLDSNmg4-RgCLcB/s320/dance.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: 11px;"><br /></span> <span style="font-kerning: none;">I do the math on my hand. This is my 5th end of the year dance recital and you think by now I’d know to remember to pack hair spray and snacks. Someone hands my daughter a bag of chips and I want to hug her. I want to tell her that I am not a total failure, that we did not lose the wristbands, we wore the right color tights and that I do at least have a few bobby pins in my pocket. I can not handle the crazy that is backstage. It is a whirlwind of squealing girls in sequins, lycra and tulle. Moms wielding curling hours and more eye makeup than the entire MAC counter, I start to sweat in my ponytail. I quickly look away as an entire row of dancers peel off EVERYTHING for a quick costume change. I was not made for this. I unashamedly let an eight-year-old I have never met teach me how to get my daughter’s hair in place and I make the fastest exit I can.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><br />We sit in the balcony. Where we have been for hours. Dance recital day is all consuming. Rehersal, hair and finding the right tights. My kids are number 41 and 46 in a very long program. I joke with my husband and ask if anyone would mind if we had a pizza delivered. He watches soccer silently on his phone. I watch the stage, despite my discomfort backstage, I like the music and the art that someone has gone into to show me what it looks like. Song after song. I hear it differently because now I can see it. </span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">My son is up first. Yep, you read that right - my nerf gun shooting, goal scoring, video game addicted son takes the stage in what is usually only his sister’s dance recital. His hat is to the side, his Jordans laced up, his pants I swear — I wore in the early 90s. Well, I just wanted to wear them — but I wore boring Jordache instead. Kriss Kross starts to tell them to jump. And he does. How high - he almost hits the sky. And my heart has that familiar swell. The one where I think it is trying to bust out of my chest and down my cheeks in pride. I watched him at dress rehearsal just two days ago. Catching errors and uncertainty, eager to get home and take care of all the things I needed to do, but on stage, all I see is my kid out there kicking ass in front of an absolutely packed auditorium. They strut off the stage and the crowd claps louder than usual because these have been the first boys they have seen all day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">A few acts later, my girl in her sequins prances out. Like my son, I saw her dance in costume so recently, but it is a different thing entirely on this huge stage. Under the lights. A few counts in she practically does the splits. The splits. How in the….When did she learn that? I must have been watching it through the lens of my phone rather than with my big teary eyes the other day. We miss a lot like that. All this. The hours in my seat of a program that seems to never end and the million bobby pins. I’d do it again, for that feeling of watching my kids out there.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Tess has told me week after week that she is done with dance. That she wants to quit. WHY DID I EVEN SIGN HER UP, she whines. I remind her, sometimes at the same volume, that it is because she asked me to. I remind her that she told me assuredly at the recital last year that she wanted to do it again. I tell her each week as we struggle with tights and finding the other damn jazz shoe that this is what she signed up for and we are not quitting until after the show. Secretly I wish she would. It is not cheap and I’d love one less thing to chauffeur her to and from. </span></div>
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<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sF4xoi7s0TM/V2Q2iRsgzzI/AAAAAAAAEKU/brZ6kfGouFI9fT1SBIBIRHHWk479q2vrACLcB/s1600/tdance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sF4xoi7s0TM/V2Q2iRsgzzI/AAAAAAAAEKU/brZ6kfGouFI9fT1SBIBIRHHWk479q2vrACLcB/s320/tdance.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="font-kerning: none;">At dress rehearsal, I see that my daughter, usually short and focused, is put on the front and that now she is in the back. I see her with new skills but less confidence and timing than the other girls. I want her to do well of course, but I tell her as we put on these tights for maybe the last time what I want her to do today. I don’t tell her the usual before recital things. Smile, watch your line, have fun, break a leg. Instead, I talk too much. I tell her how proud it makes me watch her do brave things. How nervous I’d be in front of all those people, but that she has done it so many times before. I tell her to go out there and be brave. I tell her to stop looking around at the people around her. To just do her thing as best she can. I ask her what would happen if she wasn’t there? She looks at me funny. She might want to skip practice, but she never ever wants to skip recital day. I ask her again, what would it look like if you weren’t in your spot. She gets the question and tells me that there would be an empty hole. Yes, Tess. When we don’t show up, when we aren’t brave….that sometimes it leaves an empty space. A Tess shaped space. That they need her out there. That it won’t be nearly as good if she isn’t there. That that isn’t true just for dance recitals. I tell her it is true at school. I tell her it is true on the soccer field. I tell her it is the absolute most true right in our family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I tell her that she is needed.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I tell her that she is important.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I tell her that she is brave.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">And since I can’t tell her what I am really thinking - to go out there and kick some ass, I tell her what everyone else does.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">I tell her to break a leg.</span></div>
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michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-68903785762552307202016-05-26T11:34:00.001-07:002016-05-26T13:36:58.702-07:00fourth <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">No one would ever mistake me for a dance mom. Most men these days can do a better bun than me and I can’t tell the difference between a leotard and a swimsuit. Tess has been in dance for over four years now and I’d still rather vacuum than help her put on tights (which is saying ALOT). Her debut was at a Junior League Christmas shopping event where they had squeezed a stage in the corner and invited local dance studios to perform while women shopped for all things Santa and rhinestone. Tess was barely out of pull ups. I didn’t want to start her that young, but….if she heard music ….she danced. In the aisle at the grocery store. In restaurants, she would “perform” while waiters dodged her dancing between tables. Occasionally she even got applause. The check-out clerks at Target would tell me, the table next to us eating would tell me and even my parents told me, “Get that girl in dance”. So finally I bought the tiniest of ballet slippers and the most annoying tap shoes and signed her up. Her class only had a few members, because only an insane person would put a three-year-old in dance. While lining up for her Christmas debut I learned that one girl in her class was sick, and the other had a death in the family. That was it. Her class had three members and quickly her trio had fallen to a solo act. I was so nervous for her. I wondered what she would do when she walked out on the now seemingly huge stage. Alone. In front of all these people and the music started. My plan was this, If she panicked or froze I’d climb up there with her and go through the motions. If any of you have seen me dance -- you know that this would be entertaining for all, but not for the right reasons. Instead my girl got up there. Looked wide eyed and nervously into the crowd -- and nailed it. I had made my way to the front, ready to rush the stage if necessary and instead I ended up weeping like the three year old.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">Tess is older now. She almost has enough hair for a bun, but I think this is her last season to dance (at least according to her). I don’t weep at recitals anymore (except maybe because they are soooooo long), but today as I walked out of her elementary school I felt the same feeling. My heart in my stomach. Love and pride bursting me wide open. Her school does an oratorical contest at the end of the year. Each year a single student is chosen from each class to compete. In front of the whole entire school, a bunch of parents who always get the good seats because they aren’t rushing from the middle of third period, and the most scary --- a panel of serious looking judges. For the last year I have found my seat in the back of the cafeteria, once for Owen and the last two years for Tess. My son is quiet and shy and so I was surprised that he was chosen. I asked him to practice and he wouldn’t even read his poem to me, but he got on the stage and said it in front of hundreds of people. Again my heart swelled and nearly broke me open. He took last place, but it is one of my favorite trophies. Last year Tess was so tiny, only a kindergartener and I wasn’t sure if she would crack. She shook a little and rushed her poem, but the thought of grown up me speaking in front of that many people makes my knees wobble. Today she was even better, a little quiet but more confident. She took 3rd place, which sounds impressive - but the truth is that is next to last. Still I felt that same feeling as I walked back to my car. It felt just like every time my son stood at bat and I prayed he didn’t strike out. Every time they spoke at a school play. How I feel everytime my son runs across a finish line in a race, especially now that I can’t run with him. How I felt when he said a speech in a library full of parents as Ross Perot. He kept going even when his fake ear started to fall off. When their teachers have read kind words about my students at awards breakfasts where few are chosen. Those words have always meant more than any certificate or trophy.</span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;">They are older, they have changed so much and so quickly, but my heart feels the exact same. Like part of it is walking around on the outside of my chest. (like the Elizabeth Stone quote).</span></div>
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"> It is awards season at the schools my children attend and my own. I will rush over between classes. Hug them and tell them I am proud of them. I will take a picture of them with their certificate. But the truth is my heart doesn’t feel the same rush. It doesn’t want to bust as each kid, mine included, receives a certificate. Getting an award, just like everyone else, doesn’t quite mean the same thing. My heart wouldn’t have felt any less proud if my kids had taken home 1st place trophies instead of 3rd or 4th. I realized that I am most proud of my kids when they do hard scary things. Things that require work, kindness or knocking knees. When they have the opportunity to fail. When they are brave, despite a panel of judges or roomful of peers or suddenly find themselves alone. In ballet slippers, soccer cleats or church shoes. Rarely do kids get awards for being brave. These days most awards are handed out for performance or participation. Sometimes the best </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; line-height: normal;">kind</span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"> </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; line-height: normal;">of </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;">trophies or certificates look more like </span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none; line-height: normal;">4th</span><span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"> place than 1st place.</span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/FyGUg9u_psU" width="560"></iframe>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-34378673749593477072016-05-08T07:18:00.000-07:002016-05-08T07:18:17.005-07:00a mothers day repost<br />
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The first time I posted this wasn't on mother's day or even close....but it seems to fit today. I have written a ton lately....but none of it seems ready for public consumption just yet. So --instead there is this:<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qHa7IoucNjc/TcYJQcOm3bI/AAAAAAAACwE/NzJvcLFTGhg/s1600/tessbaby.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="color: #424242; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-decoration: none;"><img border="0" height="265" j8="true" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-qHa7IoucNjc/TcYJQcOm3bI/AAAAAAAACwE/NzJvcLFTGhg/s400/tessbaby.bmp" style="border: 1px solid rgb(204, 204, 204); padding: 2px;" width="400" /></a></div>
<strong>My Favorite Scar</strong><br /><br />When I was ten I fell on a piece of glass and sliced open my left hand.<br />The scar is thick and a little lumpy because I waited too long to get stitches.<br />On my other hand is larger white scrappy scar from a bike injury. The involved me trying to beat the boys.<br />My knees are thick with scars. More bikes, tennis courts and plain old clumsy.<br /><br />My son has a few already and he gladly shows them off.<br />They are a testament to his toughness. The one on his back shows that he did in fact survive jumping (and falling off the bed). There is one on his chin that the ER doctors glued shut – we no longer practice diving in the bathtub.<br />And a little one on his hairline that received a few staples.<br />Scars show us what we have survived and we have healed.</div>
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But I have a favorite scar that shows me so much more.<br />It is about 6 inches across and marks a thin pink raised line across my lower abdomen.<br />My son’s delivery ended in an emergency c-section.<br />After all the pushing and blood I really didn’t care how he got here.<br />Even if it involved slicing across my belly and eventually 19 staples.<br />Every nurse that came in and checked me commented on the incision.<br />They kept saying how neat it was and that it would leave a nice scar, one nurse even said a pretty scar.<br /><b>A nice scar</b>. <b>A pretty scar.</b><br />I kept thinking they were crazy. That this was just their trained way to make people feel better. They kept saying that I could even wear a bikini if I wanted.<br />I wondered if they had been taking some of my morphine.<br />But the line was clean and neat and shrunk considerably even by my one month check up.<br /><br />The second time around it was a little more scheduled.<br />My doctor encouraged another c-section so that I wouldn’t repeat what had happened the first time. I didn’t need much encouragement.<br />My first birth experience hadn't been a fun one.<br />So I had another c-section.<br />This one, was planned but wasn’t so easy.<br />There was a lot of scar tissue and she had some trouble stopping the bleeding.<br />This time, no one told me that I had a neat incision or that I would end up with a pretty scar.<br />Instead they just billed me for extra ER time and gave me plenty of morphine.<br /><br />But still the staples came out and it shrunk down considerably. This time a little thicker, a little curved at one end and at least an inch longer.<br />I could still feel pain there for almost a year.<br />And sometimes it is still a little sensitive.<br />Occasionally I still trace my finger over this little pink line and amazed that my two children entered the world here. This little scar is where I became a mother not once but twice. Despite what the nurses said, it isn’t pretty. But it is still beautiful. It doesn’t say anything about toughness. If anything, my lack of. I don’t show it off proudly like my son does with his scars. (Trust me, no one wants to see me in a bikini).</div>
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But I treasure it.<br /><br />I believe that Jesus was fully man once.<br />That he scraped knees and chins like the rest of us.<br />I’m sure he had his share of scars.<br />I don’t even want to think about the ones on his back.<br />And I’m just speculating.<br />But I imagine, sometimes, Jesus probably looks down at his hands.<br />Where the nails used to be, touches them tenderly.<br />And treasures those scars.<br />And the life that came from them.<div style="clear: both;">
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michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-7352443059458178102016-03-16T15:27:00.001-07:002016-03-16T19:24:09.604-07:00around the bend<div class="MsoNormal">
I like to do things fast. Knock them out quickly. Before I get scared or tired or bored or distracted.</div>
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(What was I talking about again??)</div>
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This morning, in need of some reliable wifi and peace to work on homework, I drove into Taos. It was only 24 miles but took me a good 45 minutes.</div>
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You have to move slower when the road winds and twists and turns and the other side is a steep drop off. Down a giant mountain. Most of the drive is a no passing zone. You can’t see down the road far enough to get out ahead. You are just stuck. Winding and turning. And following the advised speed limit or the car in front of you. Occasionally feeling your stomach lurch with another turn.</div>
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It is easy to not care about the time because it is so damn beautiful.</div>
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My husband is all about the mountains. He breathes easier in this thin air.</div>
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I am a water girl. Give me a beach or a paddle board and I am in my happy place. Even if I have to put on a swimsuit.</div>
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But I get it.</div>
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I get how much easier it is to feel alive here.</div>
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My kids drop their devices and play in the snow until their toes and noses are numb.</div>
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I stare out the window instead of down at my phone.</div>
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I read by the fire.</div>
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My coffee gets cold.</div>
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My son skis just like these mountain roads.</div>
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He uses the whole mountain. He goes slow and cautiously back and forth.</div>
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Winding and turning taking his sweet time.</div>
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Because really what is the rush? And truth be told I like to keep him in one piece.</div>
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My daughter is more likely to point her skis into French fries and head straight down.</div>
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I learn from watching my kids all the time.</div>
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I learn who I was and who I am from the parts of me that I see in them.</div>
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Genetics is so much more than my daughter having my freckles across her nose and my smart mouth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also see so much of me in their questions, reservations and insecurities. They are often mine.</div>
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I see my daughter rush and fight and resist.</div>
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I see my son wind carefully down.</div>
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Taking it all in.</div>
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These days it all seems a bit slower.</div>
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My brain moves at a different pace.</div>
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I run slower. I do less. I sleep more.</div>
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There is frustration in that.<br />
Seeking a balance between what I know I shouldn’t do and will pay for with pain for days later and still living my life. Finding a difference between good healthy decisions and things that are worth the risk. I am sure that is probably a skill most people master by the age of 22, but it is still something I am working on.</div>
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This morning I hole up at a hippie coffee shop down a windy road instead of joining my family<br />
on the mountain. ( I have papers to write).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I try not to mind.</div>
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But I do.</div>
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<br /></div>
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On Saturday I ran a race. Well…I slowly jogged a race.</div>
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I told almost no one. I got in the car – headed there –changed my mind went all the way home and then changed my mind again and got back in the car.</div>
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I was crazy nervous. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I used to run 5Ks as my warm up, but I wasn’t sure I could finish. I have never not finished a race. The fear of not finishing almost made me not even start. Ironically the big inflatable starting gate was backwards.<br />
The first words I saw when I lined up to begin was “finish”.</div>
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I also cried for the first half mile. I was glad that it was raining a little so no one could notice. It is something I love and haven’t been able to do in well over a year.</div>
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Slow and steady. Paying attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Glad for my shortness of breath and stitch in my side. It probably wasn’t my best idea. My face went numb halfway through. It was my worst time ever – but after 3.1 miles I ran through a huge inflatable “start”.</div>
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And I couldn’t have been more ready for a new one.</div>
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<br /></div>
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This morning my daughter asked if I had ever skied (even though I skied with her just last year).</div>
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“Yes, Tess – last year with you and Owen remember?”</div>
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Tess: “Was it before your surgery?”</div>
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Me: “Yes”</div>
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This before and after that seems to separate so much of my life.</div>
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I’ve started making dumb decisions. That involve living instead of protecting.</div>
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Tomorrow I think I will hit the slopes.</div>
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I need to feel that alive.</div>
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I need my kids to remember me there.</div>
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I need my knees to ache and my cheeks chap from the wind.</div>
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I need to make my way down the mountain just like my son.</div>
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Slowly. Carefully.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Using the whole mountain. Soaking it all in.</div>
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I worry that I won’t be able to make it down or get my money out of my lift ticket.</div>
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I worry about the pain that it might leave me in.</div>
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But then again, it might not.</div>
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<br /></div>
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In a few hours I will drive back on those same roads.</div>
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Windy. A little dangerous. And slower than I usually drive.</div>
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I can’t see what is around the turn.</div>
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I have no idea if it will hurt or be fine.</div>
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I just have to go.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I will crank up my music.</div>
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And soak every damn bit of it in.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/pTOC_q0NLTk" width="560"></iframe>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-60879707862073050602016-03-04T09:15:00.001-08:002016-03-04T09:15:19.455-08:00choose courage<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kbYbFhnbmzI/Vtm_MRwKHhI/AAAAAAAAEJE/aK6-ozCuXQk/s1600/courage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-kbYbFhnbmzI/Vtm_MRwKHhI/AAAAAAAAEJE/aK6-ozCuXQk/s320/courage.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: 11.333333333333332px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">My friend Rhonda spent months and all her creative energy shooting 12 beautiful women who also happened to be victims of domestic violence. On the night of the big reveal of their photos, I couldn’t wait to see these amazing photos and real life women. Almost all models were present and we sat in folding chairs in her backyard and watched the photos roll across the screen as the wind threatened to blow us all away. Each woman was stunning. Each shoot seemed to show something different. Strength. Beauty. Fragility. Fun. Resilience. The photographer really saw them and wanted to make sure everyone else did too.</span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-96523f15-4291-28ad-3e87-bb643b0d17f2" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> Instead of talking about struggle and the past, we were looking at picture after picture of penetrating beauty. These portraits show that these women are to be admired not for where they have been or what they have survived, but for the courageous women that they are right now. Every one of these women had a different story, past and present. But they all had a common thread. They have survived domestic violence. Walked away and come out beautiful and stronger for it. It was hard to sit beside them, watch their images and know what to do with that. Sometimes I think we get stuck in the struggle as well. Trapped in our past and in the battles that we let that define us. Where we have walked shapes us, but it is not who we are. It is not who we should see when we look in the mirror. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I wanted what I saw in the photos. I just didn’t want the hard past that has brought them there. I think if you ask anyone they will tell you that they want courage. They want to be strong, brave and kind. I started to think that the best thing I could do to honor these women, to honor myself was to make some of those same choices for myself. I could start choosing the beautiful present over the struggle. I could let myself be seen and do my best to see the beauty in others. Not all of us carry bruises and scars on the outside, but somewhere in our past we have all been hurt and broken. We have all had to make choices to leave things behind and move forward. No matter what the cause, big or small, walking away from what we know is always terrifying.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">For these women, choosing courage meant calling the police or a women’s shelter, but for all of us - it means choosing the better. Choosing the uncertain. Choosing ourselves or are children. Choosing to walk forward despite paralyzing fear rather than staying stuck where we are.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Sometimes I think courage is this giant thing that only some people are born with. This super-hero power that allows the brave to risk their lives and show giant public heroics. These twelve woman sitting next to me in folding chairs might have told me a different story. That courage starts small and with knees knocking. That maybe choosing courage looks a little different than the movies. Brene Brown says this:</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Courage is a heart word. The root of the word courage is cor - the Latin word for heart. In one of its earliest forms, the word courage meant "to speak one's mind by telling all one's heart." Over time, this definition has changed, and today, we typically associate courage with heroic and brave deeds. But in my opinion, this definition fails to recognize the inner strength and level of commitment required for us to actually speak honestly and openly about who we are and about our experiences -- good and bad. Speaking from our hearts is what I think of as "ordinary courage.”</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Choosing ordinary courage might be</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">going first. </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">showing up.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">calling a counselor.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">saying yes.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">saying no.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">asking for help.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">signing up.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial";"><span style="white-space: pre-wrap;">saying you are sorry.</span></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">praying when the other end is silent.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">telling the truth.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">filling out an application.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">trying again.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">leaving.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">going home.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">being seen.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">putting it out there.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">moving forwards. and then backwards. and then forwards again.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Somedays I believe this. I believe that I am brave, strong, courageous. I believe that I am worth it. But there are also days that I forget. Sometimes for lots of days in a row, I forget. Ordinary courage is not a character trait that you are born with. That some people are just gifted with more than others, like a great metabolism. It is not a feeling you get, instead it is something that you choose and something that you practice. Every single day. Regardless of what happened yesterday or an uncertain future. You can choose to be brave right now. You can choose to have courage. You can choose to be kind. You can choose to love. You can choose to hold someone else’s hand while they choose it too.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Be brave. Have courage. Leave behind whatever is holding you back and find the beautiful.</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Want to know more?<a href="http://choosecourage.org/"> http://choosecourage.org</a></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/53GIADHxVzM" width="560"></iframe>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-1105002122265862142016-02-28T19:21:00.003-08:002016-02-28T19:47:06.127-08:00things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8uFf_xhmZzs/VtO04mMmNCI/AAAAAAAAEI0/8DlqD7XJxSw/s1600/parks%2Band%2Brec.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-8uFf_xhmZzs/VtO04mMmNCI/AAAAAAAAEI0/8DlqD7XJxSw/s320/parks%2Band%2Brec.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I have the best people.</div>
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I have people that save me seats at church, places at yoga and cupcakes.</div>
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I have people to work out with, not work at work with, talk Netflix with and not talk at all with.</div>
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I have people to drink coffee with, to drink tea with and to drink wine with.</div>
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I have people to eat sushi with, pie with and lunch after church with.</div>
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I have people to laugh with until my stomach hurts and people I can call when I want to cry. Usually they are the same people.</div>
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I have people that have seen my in my yoga pants, my pajama pants and even a select few who have seen me in a swimsuit.</div>
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I have people that I share good music with, good books with and good food with.</div>
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I have people to go on adventures with and people to do absolutely nothing with.</div>
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I have people I can count on — to show up, to bring coffee or to always be late.</div>
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I get to live with three of my favorite humans ever (except when they are fighting or snoring).</div>
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I could go on…but I think at this point I am just bragging.</div>
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I haven’t always. It takes time and intention to build and maintain this kind of community. Sometimes it even takes a while to notice. I know mine is there and I am so ridiculously grateful for it.</div>
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Yet.</div>
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The last time I went to the doctor, he asked me about symptoms and medications. He did some tests. My voice did not waver as I talked about pain and surgery. Just before I left my voice shook a little as I told him that it was isolating. That I don’t know anyone else. That I don’t know who to ask questions or commiserate with. He didn’t have a prescription to give me for that. Sometimes I fork over a copay of 52$ a session to talk to someone else. I say all kinds of things, but mostly it comes down to this: I feel alone.</div>
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I had surgery in July. It helped. Most days are good, but some days there is still a significant amount of pain and there are so many things that I have given up or am now afraid of. Even simple things like the wind. I rarely want to talk about it. Most of the time I don’t even want people to know.</div>
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<b>But I so want them to get it.</b></div>
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People can’t get what you don’t tell them.</div>
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I am only alone because I chose to be.</div>
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And the truth is I am not alone at all.</div>
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My thing is physical pain.</div>
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I know people whose thing is depression.</div>
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I know people whose thing is addiction.</div>
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I know people whose thing is body image.</div>
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I know people whose thing is singleness.</div>
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I know people whose thing is cancer.</div>
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I know people whose thing is a hard marriage.</div>
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I know people whose thing is fertility.</div>
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<b>We all have our thing.</b></div>
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Yesterday I saw video on Facebook that nailed my particular thing.</div>
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The first half of the video was a girl talking about how she spent the first half dozen years with her thing not telling people, of hiding it. How she was less afraid of excruciating pain and more afraid of not being able to do things she loves. I wanted to, but I didn’t post it on my wall. Which is ridiculous, because I post all kinds of funny embarrassing things about myself. Part of me wanted to share it, but then some other part wanted to hyperventilate just thinking about it. </div>
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What I really didn’t want to do is own it.</div>
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What I really didn’t want to do is to admit the fear.</div>
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What I really didn’t want to do is burden others with my burden.</div>
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What I really didn’t want is for people to identify me with my thing.</div>
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My thing has enough power over my life that I feel like talking about it more only gives it more power.</div>
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But what gives our things power is silence.</div>
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What gives our things power is isolation.</div>
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I think I have been waiting on someone to have my exact same thing.</div>
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Everyone wants to hear “me too”, but maybe our “me too”s don’t have to be exactly the same to get it. To stop being alone.</div>
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We all have our thing.</div>
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If you are lucky enough like me, then you also have your people.</div>
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I am a girl that used to pride herself on going first.</div>
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So let me go first and tell you….</div>
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I have this thing. It eats at me. It isolates me. It exhausts me. </div>
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It is not who I am.</div>
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Yours is not the same, but I bet you sometimes feel the exact same way.<br />
I bet lots of people do.<br />
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(ok....I could not get the embed code to work for the video but click and watch it here<br />
<a href="http://www.msnbc.com/msnbc-originals/watch/living-with-the-world-s-most-painful-disease-631913539610"><span style="color: red;">msnbc.com/livingwiththeworldsmostpainfuldisease</span></a><br />
or<br />
<a href="http://www.msnbc.com/msnbc-originals/watch/living-with-the-world-s-most-painful-disease-631913539610">http://www.msnbc.com/msnbc-originals/watch/living-with-the-world-s-most-painful-disease-631913539610</a>)<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/npDEfH9xc7I" width="560"></iframe>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-23260604104114365672016-02-11T15:10:00.004-08:002016-02-11T15:12:31.335-08:00toes<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Every February I host a Valentine’s brunch where I ask my guests to show up, eat my favorite baked goods and bring something in return for a women’s shelter: nail polish, makeup, socks, lotion, conditioner – any beauty item they choose. And not leftovers or things they do not like, but things that could make someone feel new and pretty again. It is a simple thing – emails to my friends and co-workers but it is one thing I look forward to hosting every year and almost do not mind picking up my house for. I certainly don’t mind buying 4 kinds of creamer, bacon and every kind of scone. There are no committees or sponsors or stress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is totally unofficial, I have simply dropped off the items afterwards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People come. They bring their daughters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There is no speech or sales pitch or request for money, we just eat and laugh and our kids play outside. It has sparked conversation after conversation and it amazes me how people want to help and do things and donate but are often unsure how or where to start. To that I say, it starts with nail polish (and maybe a mimosa or two).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">I wrote the post below six years ago…and this morning the picture showed up on my T</span>imehop<span style="text-indent: 0.5in;">. I can’t help but repost.</span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8PGorSARphc/Vr0S_guMvfI/AAAAAAAAEIk/w8rCuJJq0G0/s1600/toes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-8PGorSARphc/Vr0S_guMvfI/AAAAAAAAEIk/w8rCuJJq0G0/s320/toes.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "corbel";">A while back I painted my daughter’s toenails for the first time. I know she is just a baby but I couldn't resist those little pink piggies. As soon as I set her and her new pink toes down on the ground she literally pranced around, beaming, and just stared at her sassy new toes. At 15 months old she already seemed to know what a fresh coat of paint can do for a girl.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "corbel";">Many spring breaks ago, the kind before kids, I went to Atlanta. I had a friend there doing some inner city mission work and I wanted to have my own pretend mission trip to the week. I played with kids after school. I filed paperwork. I painted a house. I ate some really good food. Stayed up late talking. On my last full day I went to a Women’s Shelter and met a women named Constance. She went every Thursday and told her story and then painted toes. And it may have been the best thing I did all week. Here is what I remember about that day:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "corbel";">Constance met me at the car. She was fifty or sixtyish African American woman who you did not want to mess with. She was dressed simply and elegantly. I suddenly felt a bit underdressed in my jeans and t-shirt. On the ride to the shelter she briefed me on what to expect. The kinds of people I would see. What to do if someone asked me for money. I was pretty nervous about what to do when I got there. These days I am well versed in how to behave at a shelter or homeless park, but this was my first trip. I was unsure how to engage these women in conversation, unsure how to love on them without pity.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "corbel";">The inside of the facility is really nice and it is kind of hard to tell the difference between the women working there and the ones living there. I am not ready to see all the kids. And they break my heart. They are cute and clean and missing front teeth and playing and totally normal. And homeless. And bruised –either on the outside or on the inside. The women are talking in groups, listening to their cd players, picking out clothes for interviews and playing cards until Constance began to talk and sing. Then some of the women begin to listen. Others just carry on their conversations louder and crank up their music. But the crowd starts to grow and a few people began to notice the tubs of nail polish sticking out from under the table.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "corbel";">Constance finishes up her story and you can tell a few women are really getting it. Because you see she had been here. In their very shoes. With sore and tired feet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "corbel";">And then it is my turn. I am supposed to give pedicures to anyone who wants one.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "corbel";">I have a small plastic tub to soak tired feet in, some lotion and about a dozen assorted colors. Alice. A six year old with thick braids and a toothless grin is my first customer. She wants each nail a different color and I oblige while a line grows.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "corbel";">Before Alice I don't think I had ever painted anyone’s toenails before...except mine and I am really bad at it. Spots of pink end up on skin in addition to nails, but no one seems to complain. After Alice, I do about a dozen or so grown up feet.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "corbel";">Some of them are really gross. They smell and are rough and tired and yellowed and aching. Just like these women and so I smile while I lotion and rub them.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "corbel";">But I have to try and not think about it and breathe through my nose because these feet are so bad from living on the streets in the same pair of socks day after day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "corbel";">As I soak and rub I wonder what the apostles feet must have looked and smelled like. And I paint toe after toe and wish that I was better at it. Because these women deserve something good. I take my time and try and paint a little love and warmth and encouragement into each toe. I know that painting toenails wasn't a very practical service. I wasn't feeding or clothing or training these battered and bruised women. But Constance was on to something. For at least a few minutes that day these women got to feel normal instead of afraid. Beautiful instead of bruised. Seen and cared for instead of invisible. Hopefully after we left they felt a little bit prettier and ready to take on the day with a fresh coat of nail polish and a clean pair of socks. Because sometimes, that's really all a girl needs, no matter how old you are.</span></div>
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In all the ways I have gone small...my friend Rhonda has gone big. Watch this video and check out her event http://choosecourage.org/<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/xr5TkQx8Uzw" width="560"></iframe>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-32159087449498976532016-01-13T17:08:00.000-08:002016-01-13T17:08:17.145-08:00savasana<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 11px; line-height: normal;">
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); -webkit-text-stroke-width: initial; font-family: Times; font-size: 16px; line-height: normal;">
Right now in my physics class I am teaching about conservation of momentum. My students struggle with these problems because their are so many variables to identify and solve for. To solve those problems you have to be able to clearly separate the before from the after.</div>
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A year ago is the before.</div>
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This is the after. A lot of people have worse afters, but I have never looked at my life so distinctly in those two halves as I do right now.</div>
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It has been nearly a year since I have gone for a long run. I was cleared to run months ago, but e<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">ach time the pain comes back. Like coffee, running is just something I have had to have an ugly break up with. Unlike Taylor Swift, I am still holding out hope for us getting back together. But for now, my running shoes are retired. </span><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">The cold and the wind are also an issue, and turns out this thing called winter happens every year. For months at a time. So I have had to take my physical activity indoors. Until recently, I assumed this meant Netflix marathons, but then I ran out of pants that fit. So I decided to go back to yoga. I love yoga but I haven't been in years. The hot kind. The impossible planks and poses and balances. I have the flexibility of a brick, so even in my best shape I am terrible at it.</span></div>
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These days I am far from my best. My muscles haven’t been worked hard in a year. My yoga pants spend so much more of their time at Target and my couch than in an actual gym. I dig a mat out of the bag of the closet and promise myself that I will go anyways.</div>
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I have been meaning to go to yoga for almost a full year now. </div>
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I am afraid to and first class back I almost talk myself out of it.</div>
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I know I am bad at it. In the past I hate to modify or rest and once I nearly passed out in a class. And that was when I was running 20 miles a week. I worry about what happens if I have an attack now. But I go anyways. Everything going in is a disaster. I forget my hair tie and my mat. I get shocked long and hard from the brisk walk from my car to the gym door. This should be enough to make me turn around and go home, but I don’t. I attempt to put my hair up with a grocery store produce twisty tie, the gym attendant takes pity on me while hand typing my membership number into her system…because I also forgot my gym card…and pulls a rubber band from her office drawer. I shove my jacket and shoes in a cubby and grab one of the community mats that smell like feet.</div>
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I breathe.</div>
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I lay there.</div>
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I fall out of poses.</div>
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My weak arms shake, my legs wobble and my stomach muscles don’t want to get on the boat.</div>
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At the end, my legs up in an inversion — all my body weight is on my head and electricity jolts through me. <span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">The class is all lying on their mats. Everyone is breathing loudly. No one notices and eventually it passes. I breathe out.</span></div>
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What I miss so much about running is how it clears my head. How it makes me feel strong. How there is always a goal. Further. Faster. Push through.</div>
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I go back to class after class. Yoga is hard for me. The goals are less clear without distances or times to aim for. Clearly there are still things to strive for - not fall on my face, one day be able to touch my toes, get the pose right, hold it for the full count. I have found new ways to be strong and still.</div>
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The difference is this. I went for runs. I ran races.</div>
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Yoga is called a practice. As far as I know there are no yoga competitions, awards or medals. </div>
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: initial;">You just breathe and try to get better.</span></div>
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I miss running. I miss new tennis shoes, good playlists, the sound of my feet on the pavement, race day jitters and the burn in my legs and my lungs as I carry myself further than I thought I could.</div>
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But for now, I like the idea of just breathing and getting better. Of finding my strength in different ways.</div>
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Recently I listened to an old podcast by Rob Bell called “Changing the Tapes”. The whole thing was about the things that run through our heads and how to have a healthier version. For a girl who loves a mix tape…..the one in my own head is usually pretty terrible. And on repeat. It is better than it used to be…but sometimes the old tracks find their way back in. One of Bell’s suggestions was to write “student” on a notecard and place it somewhere where you will see it often.</div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XWjxt2EcdRs/Vpb027oGHOI/AAAAAAAAEIU/ou0yit1ggWg/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XWjxt2EcdRs/Vpb027oGHOI/AAAAAAAAEIU/ou0yit1ggWg/s320/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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That we are all students. Students get a kind of grace and patience that we do not always allow ourselves. That maybe we are all learning and figuring it out….and aren’t expected to have all the answers or get it right on the first try. Or maybe even the sixteenth try. Even Jesus called his friends and followers disciples. A disciple just means student. Like my own students struggling through their before and after problems.</div>
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Like me on my mat and in my mind and my own before and afters.</div>
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That kind of grace and patience is something I could also find a way to practice. Hopefully also while wearing yoga pants.</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/oyEuk8j8imI" width="560"></iframe>michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-78820436551178186552015-12-29T08:47:00.002-08:002015-12-29T08:47:52.024-08:00the tooth fairy<div class="MsoNormal">
Last night, with blood smeared on her cheek, Tess finally came
downstairs with her top tooth in hand. I have been eagerly awaiting that gap
toothed grin, since the last one fell out 10 days ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Tess is a little self conscious of her spacious smirk, but they are
probably my favorite smiles. Three years ago I wrote about the exact same thing
(below)…and it is all still true. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wm8nGZigk6Q/VoK380DYxgI/AAAAAAAAEIE/EtZqZTvhoNY/s1600/tess%2Btooth.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wm8nGZigk6Q/VoK380DYxgI/AAAAAAAAEIE/EtZqZTvhoNY/s320/tess%2Btooth.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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My son has been working on it for weeks. Wiggling, pushing
his tooth back and forth with his tongue sometimes even until it bled. And I
couldn’t have been more ready for it to fall out. His first top tooth fell out
about a week ago, and the lone one left was hanging on by a thread. Pointing
the complete wrong direction. I sent him to school day after day with this
crooked snaggletooth praying it would be gone by the time I picked him up.
Until finally, yesterday he pried it out and came running triumphantly to my
room before 7 am, tiny tooth in hand. On a Saturday. It is hard to fake
excitement before I have had coffee and he has lost enough teeth by now that
the tooth fairy is ready to take on a second job just to keep up. And even
without my contacts in, I could see the Grand Canyon of gaps across the top of
his mouth and I suddenly couldn’t<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>get
enough of his gummy grin. <o:p></o:p><br />
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And I know that soon, this big empty space will be filled
with 2 giant grown up teeth that he will have forever, (hopefully, assuming, he
doesn’t take up hockey any time soon). Little kids with grown up teeth look
different. Always a little bit funny until they grow into them. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The last few days I keep asking him to smile for me, and
occasionally snapping photos. I am in love with these gaps. His grin is for
sure the cutest, but when it comes to my kids there are plenty of places that I
leave room. I buy their shoes just a tad too big, and their pants a little too
long. I know that eventually they will fill them. At some point I
stopped giving myself this luxury. I’ve bought shoes in the exact same size
since about the 8th grade and if anything I buy my pants too small, hoping to
shrink rather than grow. And my heart isn’t quite as stagnant as my shoe size
or as fickle as my waistline, but I’m not quite sure that I have given it much room to grow either.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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Those things we all
need more of....<o:p></o:p></div>
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Time. Space. Margin. Rest.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Days on my calendar
without dots on them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Time spent on my
couch rather than to do lists or running around. Money left over at the end of
the month rather than the other way around. This season has seemed especially
busy. I seem to have more work than ever and less time to do it in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>God, who is always a bit wiser than I, left a
few gaps. Pried a few things from me because He knew that I would never pull
them on my own.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was not like my son, triumphant over each loss. Instead I
grieved them. Whined about them. And quickly tried to fill them with anything
or anyone I could find.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But I am starting to see that maybe this space isn’t so bad.
That they are in fact gifts. That growth happens in the gaps. In the spaces
where we leave room for it. Not in plates that are too full or calendars that
are doublebooked or even in pants that are too tight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And although I’d like to keep all my teeth, I
will try to welcome gaps and space as they show up. Understanding, that things
will have to pulled and tugged loose to make room. Space created from loss for
something bigger and better and more permanent to fill.<o:p></o:p></div>
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</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q0O3TfbN19c/SrGlVrLpicI/AAAAAAAAAhk/7a6cpMMMeP4/s1600/DSC_4101.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-q0O3TfbN19c/SrGlVrLpicI/AAAAAAAAAhk/7a6cpMMMeP4/s200/DSC_4101.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZpmmTO_UvaI/UFaGKziilqI/AAAAAAAADm4/IYudARU0OSU/s1600/owen%2Bgrin.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ZpmmTO_UvaI/UFaGKziilqI/AAAAAAAADm4/IYudARU0OSU/s200/owen%2Bgrin.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, if I could just
get the tooth fairy to leave me a few bucks under my pillow….<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
<br />
And the last time these two had toothless grins --></div>
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michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7917930927691084649.post-89396947611950410332015-12-21T19:18:00.000-08:002015-12-21T19:49:19.280-08:00the annual REAL Christmas letter<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gcQyFUsbGDI/Vni_kt8vJhI/AAAAAAAAEGc/I0qljIGjv8s/s1600/DSC_4175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-gcQyFUsbGDI/Vni_kt8vJhI/AAAAAAAAEGc/I0qljIGjv8s/s400/DSC_4175.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";">Every year I like to write the kind of letter that people used
to send with Christmas cards but with a few important caveats. First, I do not
have it together enough this year for Christmas cards or even pictures of my
kids both smiling and with their hair brushed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Second, those old school Christmas letters are
mostly crap – so I started writing REAL Christmas letters about seven years as
ago as a joke, in response to all the fake and cheesy ones people send out
about how perfect their lives appear on paper. A friend and I laughed about how
refreshing it would be if people wrote real Christmas letters. Confessed to
filing for bankruptcy or bragged about their kid’s straight C report card. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What if those letters were a place where they
shared the highs, but didn't ignore the lows. It would be way more honest and a
whole lot more entertaining. Most people don't write Christmas letters any
more. These days we do not save our perfect lives for yearly updates; we post
them in our Facebook status and on Instagram 365 days a year. I am just as
guilty. I post pictures of all the fun places I go and eat, not all the nights
I am in pjs before the evening news. So now every year I try to rewind, reflect
and share the highs and a few honest moments as well. So here it is - my year
in review.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have learned a lot of
things this year, but brevity was not one of them….so settle in.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";">This year is harder for me to reflect back on than others because
it has been rough and at least a few months of it are a complete and total blur
or pain pills, hospital bills and Netflix.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Usually I find myself in this time of year writing about cool places I
have gone, races I have run and what my kids have learned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This year I haven’t gone to many places, I
haven’t need to buy new running shoes all year and I am pretty sure I have
learned more than my kids. Usually when I reflect, I feel like everything is
the same. Same job, same house, same pant size…it is only my kids that seem to
grow. This year has been nothing but change. Since this time last year I have
gone back to school, I have changed my address and added some hardware to my
skull. Currently no new tattoos – but there are still a few days left in the
year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XfqeuRjo4Fc/Vni_8tJdIaI/AAAAAAAAEGs/ghJH6HOqMD4/s1600/DSC_4193.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XfqeuRjo4Fc/Vni_8tJdIaI/AAAAAAAAEGs/ghJH6HOqMD4/s320/DSC_4193.JPG" width="212" /></span></a><span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";">Shaun has taught my kids to ski and they have totally caught
the bug. Owen zips down the mountain with young 10 year old legs that don’t
ache that put mine to shame.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He loves
the ocean like me, but he is still Shaun’s carbon copy and pouted all the way
home from the mountains this year pausing only to argue over Pokemon cards with
his sister. Owen has moved up from elementary school to intermediate school
complete with lockers, lock-ins and dances. He is still completely oblivious to
girls and never uses the deodorant I bought him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He knows way more science than me, but cannot
remember to turn in his homework. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shaun
coached his soccer team again. Owen managed to score a few goals and Shaun
managed to not get a red card this season. He is outgrowing all kinds of
things, like finally some of his jeans but also kids meals and the tooth fairy.
He is only 10 but can sleep late and disappear into his room for hours at a
time venturing out only for food. I love the extra sleep and my new ability to
go to Target alone….but sometimes miss the little kid that left Legos all over
the floor. (I take that back--- he still leaves Legos all over the floor!) <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fscaSEaAcH8/VnjAPTEVYHI/AAAAAAAAEG8/Nmf6PCITXbk/s1600/DSC_4171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fscaSEaAcH8/VnjAPTEVYHI/AAAAAAAAEG8/Nmf6PCITXbk/s320/DSC_4171.JPG" width="214" /></span></a></div>
<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";">Tess has lost a handful of teeth and some of her girly-ness but
none of her sass. She still loves a fancy new dress, lip gloss and doesn’t
think there is such a thing as too many Barbies, but she has also into Star
Wars, Minecraft and overalls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is a
“maker” and wants to create things all the time. Out of little blocks on my
phone, or cookies, or Legos or anything made from pipe cleaners and glitter.
She will not however make her bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tess
doesn’t love school as much this year unless they are doing crafty things or
serving chicken nuggets in the cafeteria that day because she also almost never
remembers to “make” her lunch…..which is just as well because last time she
made her own lunch it involved 3 bags of chips and some Oreo cookies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her hair is usually going in all kinds of
directions and her socks are always mismatched, this however does not seem to
deter her because on the way home from school recently she told me that a boy
kissed her on the playground. On an unrelated note, I think Owen is going to
start karate soon.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";">Shaun has been busy, running, traveling and picking up my slack
(and counting down the days until the new Star Wars came out).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The rest of his time he spends in his garage.
I love the fact that our new home has an actual pantry and that the yard takes
so much less time to mow (ok, for Shaun and Owen to mow). Shaun loves that he
has his own garage. To make things in. I guess he is a “maker” too, like
Tess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes he even makes dinner.
With my surgery and school, Shaun has had to step up and help out in all kinds
of ways that I am so grateful for. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";">Moving was a little traumatic for me. Leaving behind the place
that I brought home my babies from the hospital to. The first place where we
built a home and drew sharpie lines on the doorframes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We packed it up and emptied it out. I have
been to the old house a few times (because I forgot to change my address on Zulily
and they keep getting my packages).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They
have replaced all the floors, painted all the walls, wiped out the flowerbeds
and scraped the popcorn off the ceiling. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It looks amazing but feels empty to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Which is ok because it took us no time to
fill our new sink with dirty dishes, fill up the junk drawers, the clothes
hamper with laundry to wash and most of all fill this new address with laughter,
leftovers and dog hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are still
a few boxes to unpack, but this new place quickly went from our new house to
our new home.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";">School has always been easy for me. Unless
we are talking about waking up for 8 am classes, Calculus or these days
remembering to take attendance. I started school, as a student, again last
January after a decade, 2 dogs, 2 houses and 2 kids later.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And aside from lots of coffee, the experience
couldn’t have been more different from my last two degrees. I’ve been know to
say, only half joking, that I am getting a doctorate in humility. My degree
plan is in curriculum and instruction and I have learned a few things about
that. But mostly I have learned all kinds of other things I did not anticipate.
It only took me one week in to realize I was not going to be learning what I
thought. I was so eager for someone to teach me everything I wanted to know
about education. I wanted help finding internships and mentors and guide me
through my own research. Instead I quickly learned how much I didn’t know and
how little someone else was going to do for me. My first semester I learned
more life lessons than academic ones. I learned a little about how to budget my
time, how to ask and how hard it is to use punctuation properly. The last year
has really taught me to budget and use my time more wisely - to make
checklists, set timers and always keep a book or article in the car. I am a
procrastinator and an extrovert. I hate to say no to something fun or miss out
on an opportunity. I say yes even when I have stacks of papers to grade or
laundry to hang. Those quizzes can wait. Laundry can stay in the basket, but I
doubt my professors will understand that there was a concert I wanted to go to,
that my kids wanted to go swimming or there was a Gilmore Girls marathon on TV.
I still get to say yes occasionally but I had to be a whole lot more selective.
No is a struggle for me, but I have tried to recognize that every yes I say is
a no for something else. I am like the weight watchers of fun these days…saving
up my bonus points for the people and things that I love most (and naps). I am
learning that I can’t go to every birthday party, happy hour, concert or movie
and that I should use my yeses for things like my kids soccer games, queso and
not wait until the last minute to read 80 pages of journal articles. These days
I waste a lot more time with people and things that I love rather than just
things I like. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel1CxSpLast" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel2CxSpFirst" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
usually pride myself on being able to do things myself or figure things out (or
asking Shaun to do them) but becoming a student has given me far more questions
than answers. I am constantly asking all kinds of things to all kinds of
people. I have sought out some of the best leaders and smartest people around
me. I have taken notes. Sometimes I have listened more than I have talked (this
is a small miracle for me). I have caught myself saying, “I read and article
that said”…..about a million times to many to people who probably could care
less and others who should care but don’t. Regardless I have asked, for help,
for direction, for information, for whatever insight they can give me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not every one is thrilled with my ideas or
questions. One meeting actually left me in tears. Most people, however, like to
talk about what they are good at or experts in if I will just shut up long
enough to let them, whether we are talking about school, cooking or Gilmore
Girls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel2CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";">In many ways I am so ready to be rid of
2015.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The year has been expensive a
struggle and not my most fun. I ran no big races. I did not go to DisneyWorld.
Most of my pants no longer fit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone
recently plowed into Shaun’s car and he will probably be driving a rental all
the way into 2016. Balancing school, work and my shrinking social life only
gets more complicated while on bed rest or in pain. I have spent so much time
thinking and writing about pain this last year that I can’t bear to give it
more than a few lines here. I am so eager for a new theme, but it has taught me
about hope, gratitude, anger and doubt. To be still and to wrestle. I am tired.
Some days are easy, but some are still really hard. All I know is if I can
write a paper while taking heavy narcotics and still make an A then I can do a
hell of a lot more than I think I can.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel2CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";">This year has left me broke, tired,
hurting and out of shape.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel2CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";">But. I. Have. Never. Been. So. Loved.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel2CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";">By professors that give me As on terrible
papers.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel2CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";">By my friends and family that brought me
meals or unpacked boxes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel2CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";">By my husband that hangs up the laundry
and does the dishes.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel2CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";">By my God that lets me wrestle.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel2CxSpMiddle" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoteLevel2CxSpLast" style="margin-left: 0in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: none; tab-stops: .5in; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; font-size: large; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";">So I am glad for my year. Tess’s lost
teeth, Owen’s lost homework, our new home and the hard and beautiful lessons I
have learned. In 2016 I hope for better, but I am still so very grateful for
right now.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/jrqLWzVCiZs" width="560"></iframe></span>
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<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";"><o:p><br /></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";"><o:p>and if you are interested....from last year and the year before</o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";"><o:p>2014: </o:p></span><span style="font-family: Avenir Book;"><a href="http://idontbelieveingrammar.blogspot.com/2014/12/real-christmas-letter-time.html">http://idontbelieveingrammar.blogspot.com/2014/12/real-christmas-letter-time.html</a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Avenir Book;">2013: <a href="http://idontbelieveingrammar.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-annual-real-christmas-letter.html">http://idontbelieveingrammar.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-annual-real-christmas-letter.html</a></span><span style="font-family: "Avenir Book"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Hebrew";"><o:p><a href="http://idontbelieveingrammar.blogspot.com/2013/12/the-annual-real-christmas-letter.html"> </a></o:p></span></div>
michellehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02711137394143200105noreply@blogger.com2