tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43857701344902525832024-03-13T08:01:43.290-07:00The Crow's Nest: Moments of PerspectiveCherish your visions; cherish your ideals; cherish the music that stirs in your heart, the beauty that forms in your mind,the loveliness that drapes your purest thoughts, for out of them will grow all delightful conditions, all heavenly environment; of these, if you but remain true to them, your world will at last be built. -James AllenUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger171125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-86686897470776462082012-11-26T23:27:00.000-08:002012-11-26T23:27:20.554-08:00Tailgating, and not for a football gameI went to Costco tonight all by myself. I wandered through the food, the gifts, the clothes (which at my Costco seem to be tailored to middle-aged women with no fashion sense, and a propensity toward layering). It felt like such a luxury to take my time and not have to run to the potty or wipe up anything that spilled or buy anybody a hotdog.<br />
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On the way home I drove down the country road that connects Costco to our town. The speed changes a few times reflecting how close you get to civilization. At one point I was pulled out of my serenity when I looked in my rear view mirror and saw the car behind me following quite close. I looked at my speedometer and I was going the speed limit, maybe even a mile or two over. I tapped on my breaks and said aloud "Get off my tail."<br />
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Suddenly I remembered the first time I had ever been aware of a tailgater. I was 10 and we were staying at the Homestead Resort in Utah for a family reunion. It was the last reunion I remember that involved the descendants of my maternal grandmother and all of her 8 sisters. It was a big deal, and we were excited.<br />
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My cousins were in town from Arizona and somehow, my oldest brother Nathan was driving our light blue Oldsmobile up Provo canyon filled with kids. My cousin Jim was in the front seat next to him, the bench behind them filled with probably two more of my brothers and another cousin. My sister Liza and I sat in the back. Not in a seat, just in the cargo area (because you could in those days). And we listened to the boys talk.<br />
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Our car was slow and heavy and it didn't like climbing those canyon roads. Especially with such a load. Suddenly I heard Nathan comment on how close the car behind us was. He said he was going to tap his breaks and tell the guy to back off. Jim said something like, "I'm going to flip him off" and I saw his arm go out the window.<br />
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Immediately, I looked out the back window at the guy in the white Cadillac and I gave him the bird. He pulled out and sped past us as soon as it was legal and gave Nathan a dirty look. I came to find out later, (after Liza ratted me out) that Jim had been joking. I didn't know what the middle finger meant any more than I knew that riding someone's bumper like that was dangerous. I was just caught up in the moment.<br />
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Once I neared the lights of my little town tonight, I looked again in the mirror at the car behind me. I saw he was turning left as I was turning right. I kind of hoped that as we came up to the line I would actually know him and laugh at tapping my brakes and putting him in his place. But I didn't.<br />
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And then I went home. Still glad that I hadn't flipped him off.<br />
<br />Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-42023385185516223462012-11-20T22:46:00.001-08:002012-11-20T22:46:30.593-08:00PerspectiveIn case I haven't mentioned it, we're moving.*<br />
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Last week, we took a scouting trip to find a place to live when we arrive. We packed up the mini-van (which we call the Pirate Car, because you can't have a boy Van and car Van in the same family), and made the 11 hour drive (12.5 for us) from Davis to Salt Lake City.<br />
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The kids and I spent a few days up at my parents' mountain house playing in the snow while GK worked his new territory. Then we spent a few more days looking for a place to live. It was a fun trip, making the big move much more real. More exciting, and more terrifying.<br />
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I spent much of the drive home in the back seat addressing various requests. Juice, a book, milk (in Augie's case this meant huddling awkwardly over his carseat trying to nurse him while we were both strapped in).<br />
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Around hour ten, I found myself on the back bench wedged between two carseats. Augie was clinging to my right pointer finger, Van was holding my left hand with both of his, Josie and Delia each had hold of one of my feet as I propped them up on the inside armrests of their seats, and they were all fast asleep.<br />
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It's hard to leave the house these days without someone commenting on how full my hands are. We are not a subtle group and there are many days when I wonder how well I am juggling the needs of my four little children. But then, there are moments like this when I am connected to each one, and that connection has met their needs with perfection.<br />
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At that moment in the car, I realized again that it's all about perspective. Little moments that bring it all into focus. Sometimes it takes chaos and catastrophe to see the silver lining. Sometimes the catastrophe doesn't seem to have a silver lining, and the other way around.<br />
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I've decided to start recording my moments of clarity. Just so I don't lose perspective.<br />
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<i>A few months ago, the Utah territory in GK's company became available. His boss (also a Mormon, who lives in Utah) knew that we have family there and asked if GK was interested in taking the position. After considering the offer, and weighing it against another possible position with the company, we decided to make the move.</i>Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-30852003495388822542012-06-14T00:00:00.001-07:002012-06-14T09:43:19.844-07:00Freeze<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9umGh_MELvHrY_5Evgs9Itxuwr5X1IDxXWyyEXKXdzAluugJS2KnpN7Wix2VeCUYEJIh301RT2mgmIVnT_2p0Irr7w748rMKiWyCR5uDkmopLC-pmPueoNm4z2_rIGG5hu1utbIIbkZ4/s1600/DSC_0854.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9umGh_MELvHrY_5Evgs9Itxuwr5X1IDxXWyyEXKXdzAluugJS2KnpN7Wix2VeCUYEJIh301RT2mgmIVnT_2p0Irr7w748rMKiWyCR5uDkmopLC-pmPueoNm4z2_rIGG5hu1utbIIbkZ4/s400/DSC_0854.JPG" width="400" /></a>Today I had a moment that I wanted to hold onto forever.<br />
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After a very pleasant morning playing at home. Dancing and singing and playing (mostly happily) together. We finished lunch and it was time to put Delia and Josie down for their nap.<br />
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Van is often at school for this ritual, but this week is his break between spring and summer school. So he often reads a book, or watches a few minutes of "the kitties" (Busytown) while I read "We're Going on a Bear Hunt" (at the frantic insistence of both girls) and sing a song or two.<br />
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If Augie is awake, he sits in his bouncy chair in front of me and I bounce him with one foot, a girl on each knee, and we try to make it through our ritual before he starts to fuss and the girls insist that he needs "boke" (according to Delia) and "gook" (according to Josie)__milk.<br />
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Today, Van came in the room as we finished the book and were about to sing. Vanny won't let me sing to him. It's a phase, but an insistent one. I said to him, "Vanny, the girls and Augie would like to hear the temple song (<i>I Love to See the Temple</i>, a favorite song from church)."<br />
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"No! No Temple song!" he insisted.<br />
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"They would like to hear it, so if you don't want to, you can go into the Living Room and read a book and I will be right there." I said, and I started to sing.<br />
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Immediately, he joined me. He sang every word. Perfectly on pitch and with such sweetness.<br />
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About two lines in, Josie took her pacifier out of her mouth and started singing too. Then Delia.<br />
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I kept singing, not wanting to call attention to what was happening. Trying to just enjoy this perfect moment as we all sang together. Recognizing again that everything we teach our children, in the moments of chaos, sinks in. Every time I wonder if they're hearing what I say, or if anything is getting through... it is.<br />
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And moments like this, frozen in time amid the routine pandemonium, are precious reminders.Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-1735871682886513982012-06-03T09:14:00.000-07:002012-06-03T09:14:26.141-07:00Wild Places for Wild Things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Found a remote location and set them free.<br />
They went to bed still talking about it. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-62672459824003308172012-05-26T22:57:00.003-07:002012-05-26T23:59:50.707-07:00Four<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
It's a reality. We have four kids. Under four.</div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i>August Gordon Risser</i></span></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Born May 13, 2012- Mother's Day</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">7lbs. 12 oz. 21 in.</span></i></div>
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Needless to say, our three ring circus just got a little more intense.</div>
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So far everyone is happy about the expansion. But believing, as we do, that there is an opposition in all things, the equal and opposite sadness/whining/tantrum-throwing rounds out our days so there's never a dull moment.</div>
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More details (and pictures) about Augie's arrival and adjustment to come. </div>Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-64469118130888528992012-05-05T23:09:00.000-07:002012-05-05T23:09:24.401-07:00Train Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-1258079610315352922012-05-03T19:38:00.000-07:002012-05-03T19:38:25.182-07:00Thank YouTo everyone who listened, to everyone who expressed concern, to everyone who has and continues to donate to the children left behind, and to everyone who goes forward more aware and willing to help and inform someone in danger, thank you. My mother says that the funeral today was full of friends, and as the hearse drove through town the streets were lined with strangers standing in support of my sweet cousin Morgan's family and against the crimes committed. The state has mentioned capital punishment. It's an honest test of my personal politics and morality and makes me wonder "What is justice?" It's so desperate and incomplete. I don't know what to say. Most importantly, take care of those around you. Thank you, again. We have wonderful friends and acquaintances. Call us if you need us, ever.<br />
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GKSusannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-62837687310568582342012-04-26T23:50:00.001-07:002012-04-27T00:19:59.184-07:00A Matter of Serious ConsequenceThis is G.K., Susanna's husband.<br />
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In our home, writing is a sacred human act. We write a lot. We always have. Before the web, we were both prolific journal keepers. I still have an affinity for hand written letters. Our shared love of story and words and expression acted as a catalyst in bringing Susanna and me together in the first place and it continues to help solidify the bond we enjoy now.<br />
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It seems everyone enjoys writing these days like no other time in the history of mankind. There's a power in writing that the world is excited to finally experience. All of us are writing to record what we don't want to let slip by unnoticed, to capture things we wish would remain forever, to report and announce what is important to us, to express what we feel that's otherwise intangible, to make each other laugh, to explore our thoughts and the world we experience, to share our love and connect. Much of this writing we do publicly. It's created a conversation that has the power to bring us all together and, literally, it has <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arab_Spring">made the world a better place</a>.<br />
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Tonight, I write briefly with a howling pain inside me. I write this to try and wrap my head around it, to let the pain leak out, to warn everyone I can, and to just be able to do something. But it feels burdensome to write about such a horrible event, and I am actually embarrassed to be so public with it. Please, beware if you choose to read on. The topic is grievous, but I feel more strongly that it's a crime in this case to be silent. I'm so afraid to make this seem like it's about me. I don't want it to be about me in the least part. I just want the world to know. I'd walk the streets and shout it in people's faces if I were a better man. That would probably be more sane.<br />
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Today, my sweet cousin became a fatal victim of violence at the hand of an intimate partner. A man she had been dating proved himself to be dangerous and she'd become afraid and was trying to avoid him. The unthinkable occurred, in the middle of the day and in public. Without exaggeration, she was a sweet and gentle woman, the mother of 4 children, 30 years old. But for me, she will forever be my little cousin, sitting up against me in the Datsun, sucking her thumb and playing with the lobe of my ear as if it were a soft blanket. That's how I've always remembered her. I loved her. She deserved to be loved because she was human.<br />
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In the past, I've heard statistics that seemed too high to believe, but tonight I've found sources that I consider credible, such as the <a href="http://jama.ama-assn.org/content/286/5/572.full.pdf">Journal of The American Medical Association</a>. For simple, non-graphic, starters: 1 in 5 teenage girls in the United States reports having been physically or sexually abused by a dating partner. I can't imagine this. 1 in 5...and still so young. 1 in 4 will experience this in their lifetime. 1 in 4. Violence against women is commonplace right here in the United States. Violence in general is commonplace. It's a sickness.<br />
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Please, love each other. Please, teach your children love. Please, teach them respect. Please, respect yourself. Please, teach your children to protect and defend these things, and please defend them yourself. I don't pretend this is a simple matter. But I am also certain that we can all develop these powerful tools. We can't afford not to. They are all that makes life worth living. If you know someone who needs <a href="http://www.justice.gov/archive/fbci/progmenu_domv.html">help</a>, please be responsible and reach out to help them. If you come from a culture of violence yourself, that's not your fault. Seek out help to change. There are willing <a href="http://www.lds.org/plan/we-can-find-happiness?lang=eng">resources </a>and it can end with you.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-11430506474107436172012-04-25T20:43:00.000-07:002012-04-25T20:43:28.212-07:00For Grammy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A long overdue glance at the perfect Easter dresses. All day, the girls would point to their dresses and say, "Mammy." They knew they were from you and they knew they looked pretty.<br />
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Thank you Grammy. We miss you and can't wait to see you!!Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-22953931042075902092012-04-22T22:40:00.000-07:002012-04-22T22:40:16.713-07:00Just keep bringing them...I've expressed before the challenges that are often involved in our Sunday Mornings. Today was pretty typical. My girls, particularly Delia, have entered a phase of interdependence with me that is endearing in some moments and a bit stifling in others. The morning was full of dramatic cries of "Mama!" any time I tried to accomplish anything that required both hands and even part of my attention.<br />
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We made it through the morning. Lunches packed (church goes 11-2, right through lunch time), quiet books selected and packed, three kids bathed and dressed, one husband shaved and dressed (he did that himself, thank goodness), my own self dressed and brushed and looking as presentable as a nearly 9month pregnant woman could expect.<br />
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We climbed into the Pirate Car (more on that later) and shuffled off to church. We got there with enough time to change a diaper, climb the pile of mulch out back of the church, hold the door for a couple of older ladies, and still find a pew in a good location for minimal distraction of others and maximum containment. Whew.<br />
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As the meeting starts I often miss the announcements, but today as the man conducting announced the sudden passing of Addie, one of the older sisters in the congregation, I gasped audibly. I couldn't prevent the tears from welling up in my eyes and the more I tried to stop them the harder they came.<br />
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My reaction caught me a little by surprise. Our congregation is made up of a large number of older couples, widows and widowers. Many of them have lived in Davis for decades. As horrible as it sounds, it's sometimes hard to remember who's who until you've had some interactions with them. This can be tricky when you go through the three hour block of meetings trying to keep three small children quiet. I have to make a conscious effort to take my blinders off and even notice who else has come to church.<br />
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Addie was a quiet but fiery lady. Her comments in the few adult meetings I managed to attend were always thoughtful, yet provocative. She brought us dinner after the girls were born and again when Van broke his leg. She had led a full and interesting life and raised five children of her own. <br />
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My church going experience of late is not always spiritually edifying in the traditional sense. I don't sit through thoughtful lessons participating in discussion. I don't even always hear what is said during the meetings I do get to attend. My focus right now is often on helping my children feel and recognize the importance of being there. I try to help them see (in an age appropriate way) why we do the things we do, and understand the basic tenets of what we believe.<br />
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It's not an easy task. Several months ago, I explained to Van's school teacher about our church attendance. I wanted her advice on what length of time I could reasonably expect him to focus on an activity or lesson. She said, "A well prepared, age appropriate lesson? Ten minutes." We talked a little more and she finished by saying "That's why a lot of people just stop taking their kids to church at all."<br />
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Hmm.<br />
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The following Sunday as we herded our brood out of the chapel, I saw Addie in the hall. She looked at me, knowing nothing of the exchange at school, and said, "Just keep bringing them." This was typical of Addie. Our exchanges were rarely lengthy or even numerous, but her thoughtfulness made an impression on me. I felt a keen loss today when I heard of her passing and with it a renewed determination to do just that. Just keep bringing them.<br />
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<br />Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-39746311862207720522012-03-07T12:37:00.001-08:002012-03-07T12:41:47.297-08:00The Circus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">No matter whether our day looks like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnZkx4CrUxS4zLNOFIr_nrsJ1KLvWH-usNQRwzCYvYoFKQtSGoik2qH0IgrvIkiK0nr-bRt2CjGclq1riSH7SVF5eCZUdixMGJ6dtNNJIHyq2K7BRpzAlbwl_b4-y5ezNY6KykbvNk7A/s1600/DSC_0242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilnZkx4CrUxS4zLNOFIr_nrsJ1KLvWH-usNQRwzCYvYoFKQtSGoik2qH0IgrvIkiK0nr-bRt2CjGclq1riSH7SVF5eCZUdixMGJ6dtNNJIHyq2K7BRpzAlbwl_b4-y5ezNY6KykbvNk7A/s400/DSC_0242.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Or this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxcgtXkU_nJ0cBvUKjFdgvKntqvUVrA8Ux1cPCjFI68jJeAPHFOYZemNcgH11rb-BYZD7sopoAJaX9bPZxkxMCywTsJy7oKj5Y8GCXP6y2l9TlvZ2xpmQ0M2DZ2WEMwxBnaY2uBlbab0/s1600/DSC_0250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlxcgtXkU_nJ0cBvUKjFdgvKntqvUVrA8Ux1cPCjFI68jJeAPHFOYZemNcgH11rb-BYZD7sopoAJaX9bPZxkxMCywTsJy7oKj5Y8GCXP6y2l9TlvZ2xpmQ0M2DZ2WEMwxBnaY2uBlbab0/s400/DSC_0250.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> It often feels like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTT3p-UI0UnTErks-UXN0DxyrF3w37Dn-qrjQRd5lDT3mtFhoXWYR5rVmJUycKg-6OVwrtRhUTZ5wif5O3SbAXCxzdN_Z_7NP0kgDh7tY_oHBibOI7Vcm7r7BZ4zcKHP_n5E9s4vFyB6k/s1600/DSC_0252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTT3p-UI0UnTErks-UXN0DxyrF3w37Dn-qrjQRd5lDT3mtFhoXWYR5rVmJUycKg-6OVwrtRhUTZ5wif5O3SbAXCxzdN_Z_7NP0kgDh7tY_oHBibOI7Vcm7r7BZ4zcKHP_n5E9s4vFyB6k/s400/DSC_0252.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Happy Wednesday world. Thanks for the sunshine.</div>Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-54197686953374302992012-02-19T21:40:00.000-08:002012-02-19T21:57:18.979-08:00Sunday: a day of rest<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM556POsaTxLD7F1hxEA6FIq_MilMiQzlTAIWFScEAEYVMb2ISQUAHavbQpByMBwdg9ozxa4UJVE2oTj9v5hNmtVdGW2ZGhnt6roVspgwOkig5mJYymIsvXGAP5X_HfplSQoJoOh1uvuE/s1600/DSC_0208.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM556POsaTxLD7F1hxEA6FIq_MilMiQzlTAIWFScEAEYVMb2ISQUAHavbQpByMBwdg9ozxa4UJVE2oTj9v5hNmtVdGW2ZGhnt6roVspgwOkig5mJYymIsvXGAP5X_HfplSQoJoOh1uvuE/s400/DSC_0208.JPG" width="267" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This morning started out promising. I began coming to consciousness in my bed to the sounds of three happy, laughing children. They awaken each morning almost like a programmed clock, within minutes of the same time. I don't know how long Van has been awake when Josie and Delia begin to make noise from their cribs, but as soon as they do he goes into their room and climbs into one of their beds. At his entrance they all begin to bounce and chirp, "Hi" to each other and laugh (or on some less cheerful mornings, they cry at his invasion and try to get him to climb back out of whichever crib he has decided to empty of all contents).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Today started out with cheerful chattering and laughing, but by the time the little band had made its way to the kitchen for breakfast, the crying started. Sad, personal, wounded crying at every step. Wrong dress, wrong book, wrong look, wrong diaper, done eating, not done eating. You name it, it was the cause of back-arching, kicking, eyes full of giant pain-filled tears, and wailing. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Every once in a while it would subside for a few minutes. But the quiet only lasted long enough for the betrayal or dissatisfaction to move efficiently from one little body to the next. Out of the blue, the previously pleasant looking child would suddenly, as if possessed, respond to some minor offense by crying or throwing his or her little body on the ground.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We only made it through part of church, and as I came home I wondered to myself if it really was that much better to even go to church if I left feeling so defeated and deflated. I mean, I don't need the scores of well-meaning widows to tell me I'm getting bigger and bigger. I know it when my pregnant body is on the floor trying to pull one of my children out from under the church pew for the fiftieth time, or when I'm carrying two of my flailing children through the hall of the crowded church. It should be a not-so-silent warning to move out of my way. But there are always those same few folks who think they can brighten the day or lighten my squirming burden by stopping me to chat and see how things are going.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Today it felt obvious. Things were not going well. It was one of those days when I hear those same words that I hear every time I choose to go out in public, "Wow, you have your hands full!" and I just want to hide under a rock. But now that they are all sleeping peacefully, there are a few things I will remember and cherish about today.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">1. Taking Van to primary (the childrens' meeting at church) and seeing his little face light up when the piano started playing "Choose the Right". Then watching as he participated in the actions and the marching and the popping out of his chair whenever he heard the word "right". </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">2. Hearing Delia's insistent little voice naming every object she saw and repeating it until someone confirmed her genius. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">3. Sitting in the girls' dark bedroom holding them in my lap. They didn't nap well. They cried off and on through the whole thing. And when I finally went in to find them still tired and splotchy-faced, they sat on my lap and just laid on my chest. I kissed their heads over and over and whispered into their wispy hair how much I loved them. To which Josie looked up into my eyes and put her pudgy little hand on my cheek and just held it there for a while. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">It was a rough day for all of us. I know their cries are little distress signals. I try to receive and decipher them and treat them with the gentleness and love they are asking for. Tonight I'm filled with gratitude that tomorrow is a new day and that I have the chance to recharge a little before it starts. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZiarPKCuTn1F_sxLPCGXWPs0kBN9jPi5_b4-Tat6LHcehyphenhyphenJmMy8BzFTpBs9hb58V7CnYqiBCwSn1hmQ3RHGvmGu2yKLCPJFVIP5n1Htq-UWBSayy5K5szCDQ5ORhgf_oDIBrhSMC3Pk/s1600/DSC_0222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZiarPKCuTn1F_sxLPCGXWPs0kBN9jPi5_b4-Tat6LHcehyphenhyphenJmMy8BzFTpBs9hb58V7CnYqiBCwSn1hmQ3RHGvmGu2yKLCPJFVIP5n1Htq-UWBSayy5K5szCDQ5ORhgf_oDIBrhSMC3Pk/s400/DSC_0222.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-40436727835970103002012-01-24T12:32:00.000-08:002012-01-24T12:49:45.010-08:00Josie has an announcement to make<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu5J6d37Or-1caMfzwZxbRDLIedKk_MnivT3gBUMMkVKqwZsyz7LxNW4Fncbc6xchMe8_IovvBPgDILfJKON2IWSEydz1WMBUPa9jRU9kdgcMUmnJZH8poBzEA2ym8hrIjXwg77P6bTNg/s1600/DSC_0709.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu5J6d37Or-1caMfzwZxbRDLIedKk_MnivT3gBUMMkVKqwZsyz7LxNW4Fncbc6xchMe8_IovvBPgDILfJKON2IWSEydz1WMBUPa9jRU9kdgcMUmnJZH8poBzEA2ym8hrIjXwg77P6bTNg/s400/DSC_0709.JPG" width="267" /></a></div>It's a BOY! <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjndlqFFH_DZdiwhzULmE8_Ai5HQa7U-D8olGmHGMAEs_98g3wlk_Oj12bXV1dUXWAvUIGWl_B2BcPwUoWgMcRcoAIoTUI6-QEYRyPTJHBAR_552JZqtLi-EWsgXsAKziTAt-gvfzNCGkU/s1600/DSC_0714.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjndlqFFH_DZdiwhzULmE8_Ai5HQa7U-D8olGmHGMAEs_98g3wlk_Oj12bXV1dUXWAvUIGWl_B2BcPwUoWgMcRcoAIoTUI6-QEYRyPTJHBAR_552JZqtLi-EWsgXsAKziTAt-gvfzNCGkU/s400/DSC_0714.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>I think we've got just about all the girl we can handle around here.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNsHqcF6J8jntWvfTIcObd1QRetSHUoByBoDiX4LUd-0kfusRx-ClAImuR0X91qvmcxT1OhxkpiPSf7-6n5ocVViMhjkHEZSN09A1Lwj01ygnCn1P4AInF8IAR_utwFEnkwM2s9duIH8A/s1600/DSC_0715.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNsHqcF6J8jntWvfTIcObd1QRetSHUoByBoDiX4LUd-0kfusRx-ClAImuR0X91qvmcxT1OhxkpiPSf7-6n5ocVViMhjkHEZSN09A1Lwj01ygnCn1P4AInF8IAR_utwFEnkwM2s9duIH8A/s400/DSC_0715.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>With these two little beauties.<br />
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We are thrilled beyond words (hence the short post) to welcome another little boy into our family. Vanny has been predicting it all along.<br />
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And although I have decided not to make any final decisions about numbers while I am hormonally altered, this rounds out our little family quite nicely.Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-51100486572551016212012-01-19T22:23:00.000-08:002012-01-19T22:23:44.262-08:00EqualityAfter writing the last post, I started reading backwards through some of the entries on this blog. Each one brought back memories of the event or situation that had prompted the post. It actually made me wish I could <strike>find</strike> make more time to write. It's an important way for me to process and catalog my experiences right now. Every day moves so quickly and slowly at the same time, and the contradiction makes it blurry in retrospect.<br />
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One thing I realized (again) is that many times I write about Van. I don't mean to. It's interesting because my sweet girls occupy much of my time each day. They are growing and changing so much every day that sometimes they wake up and seem older than they were a few hours before. They are learning the influence they have on the world (me) with their words and their cries and their tantrums. Van's requests are simple and consistent.<br />
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"Mama, did I want some apple juice in my Lightning McQueen cup?"<br />
"Mama, did I want to listen to dancing music?"<br />
and lately<br />
"Mama, did you want to play with me in my room?"<br />
To which the answer is always, "Yes!"<br />
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I am going to make a concerted effort to diversify my subject matter, but the last two weeks have been a relief from an issue weighing on my heart and mind for a long long time.<br />
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Van has been unique his whole life. He hit his developmental milestones, but strangely. He skipped some like pointing, clapping, and later jumping. His pediatrician once said, "I have never heard a child with intonation like his." Vanny was less than one but would speak in full sentences of jargon. His nonsense words sounded so convincingly like language that people would often look to me to translate as if I could understand.<br />
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As Josie and Delia began to develop their communication skills (both verbal and non-verbal), concerns we had with Van deepened. We recognized the significance that Delia could follow my point and retrieve a specific object, but Vanny could not. He seemed to grow increasingly frustrated with his inability to express himself, and his requests and conversation seemed limited to a template of sentences that he would rearrange to fit his need. It's been almost a year since we started seriously considering the possibility of Autism.<br />
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When I mentioned my concern, many people would say, "He's such a good boy. He plays so well on his own. He seems to speak so clearly. Kids develop so differently, and you know boys just do things at their own pace."<br />
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He <i>does </i>play well on his own. But he can't relate to kids his age. He doesn't know how to join in games or even really parallel play. Kids at the park often come up and ask me why he won't talk to them.<br />
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After many appointments with Dr.'s who were completely unhelpful and uninterested in anything but the bills we received, and after many nights of taking turns in tears worrying about how we could help Van live a full and meaningful life, GK and I finally feel like we're making headway.<br />
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As the daughter of two public school teachers I know the complaints about the public school system. But luckily for Van, our school district has provided unbelievably thorough evaluations and testing. Meetings with Psychologists, Occupational Therapists, Physical Therapists, Speech Therapists and Special Education Specialists.<br />
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After two weeks of Early Intervention Preschool, I'm seeing parts of Van I wondered if I ever would. I honestly go to bed at night wondering if I'm imagining things or if he really could be making as much progress as I observe.Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-10289313816621601282012-01-09T13:21:00.000-08:002012-01-09T22:39:58.161-08:00Rites of Passage: I<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKaeh5zAOnsAIxEJmgmjRMhmEcDIIkzob7hg2PXaTI6cVJ_V9m4_T_BLcdyDseidUqZey8KOHbi89iDjrnAmIl3TS-ctBa017Y_15NLEYKUA85mRPDOkkNIg4usMBV5vpKC0tljLjAcSQ/s1600/three+at+cis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="285" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKaeh5zAOnsAIxEJmgmjRMhmEcDIIkzob7hg2PXaTI6cVJ_V9m4_T_BLcdyDseidUqZey8KOHbi89iDjrnAmIl3TS-ctBa017Y_15NLEYKUA85mRPDOkkNIg4usMBV5vpKC0tljLjAcSQ/s400/three+at+cis.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>I have come to this blog a million times since August with the intention of writing. With the idea of recording and sharing what was going on in our lives. A lot has been happening.<br />
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Since perhaps the very day of the last post, I'm pregnant. So that explains, perhaps, why a new post never actually occurred. Autumn came and we temporarily stopped gallavanting all over the Western United States, and moved across town. Halloween came and went, and Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and New Years, and new teeth, and new toys, and a new... well you get the idea.<br />
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In spite of all of that change and experience and life, I could never jump in mid-flow, mid-nausea and get back on track. But today all that changed. Today marked a rite of passage that has come sooner than I thought it would.<br />
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Today was Vanny's first day of school.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzoUWhJGTaBiXAUEjdKCvgBR3UEFOMjXemzv3mwK3iAU5kMFA0GGN0RRnUeMJ9Al-1xz0NaUuyRuPK96pUY_UhNuGhNib1_YWojWxKjYf541lPXkGTwrsDRhbncc-jy9jldJv9UzmU2-M/s1600/DSC_0693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzoUWhJGTaBiXAUEjdKCvgBR3UEFOMjXemzv3mwK3iAU5kMFA0GGN0RRnUeMJ9Al-1xz0NaUuyRuPK96pUY_UhNuGhNib1_YWojWxKjYf541lPXkGTwrsDRhbncc-jy9jldJv9UzmU2-M/s400/DSC_0693.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I imagined the picture of him standing in front of our front door with his new school clothes and his new backpack grinning at the camera in his excitement. You know, the picture I've seen of every other kid on his or her first day of school. But I knew I'd never see it. Not from my boy who hates cameras.<br />
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So after a first day of school lunch at In-N-Out, we went to his classroom and I tried to capture a bit of the experience. (Partly for GK who is out of town on business, and partly to stop time for just an instant).<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ6EZBPEt2SGpTqhntdusj43uozW7nizQWju4IJj1fvE0AMQ4fvWWEX7GrE4hyphenhyphenvvu9Wm4JFQRCefdwjUtP5xkBhqjhJ0UBz0Eo9vo2dmYbsVi8rLfcnZOezc4N-mvLbvIjdSpC4xcyqTY/s1600/DSC_0695.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ6EZBPEt2SGpTqhntdusj43uozW7nizQWju4IJj1fvE0AMQ4fvWWEX7GrE4hyphenhyphenvvu9Wm4JFQRCefdwjUtP5xkBhqjhJ0UBz0Eo9vo2dmYbsVi8rLfcnZOezc4N-mvLbvIjdSpC4xcyqTY/s400/DSC_0695.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwWkEqX3v_yo3J4Nu5qiCQ9Ipp8swxMZyKlZlheHA6Fz462gqVWja5fhtyIlkCV8TtBFatwVfM9fx78JuvqNZHUEeZZ1IdJQo6HC_GaZuMe3qOCLTy6A7Bo-kkRM2I_z77_TyAJXEJEu8/s1600/DSC_0697.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwWkEqX3v_yo3J4Nu5qiCQ9Ipp8swxMZyKlZlheHA6Fz462gqVWja5fhtyIlkCV8TtBFatwVfM9fx78JuvqNZHUEeZZ1IdJQo6HC_GaZuMe3qOCLTy6A7Bo-kkRM2I_z77_TyAJXEJEu8/s400/DSC_0697.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">His cute teacher Johana took a picture of us when he suddenly got nervous, then tried to escape to the playground.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj9EWrmPTwEAJrkxOZd29vNvnStk_kwCz5gf2cg61HwZkO9SG42Mrgxl73ocJkYiDfiEM2IijQwU27ta4DqcxKecuuvXWXiyI0NZ-JXhqS6CvovWZULOJPpwZ1ge7f8oXgFArb15J5Ucg/s1600/DSC_0700.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj9EWrmPTwEAJrkxOZd29vNvnStk_kwCz5gf2cg61HwZkO9SG42Mrgxl73ocJkYiDfiEM2IijQwU27ta4DqcxKecuuvXWXiyI0NZ-JXhqS6CvovWZULOJPpwZ1ge7f8oXgFArb15J5Ucg/s400/DSC_0700.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">But once inside, after finding his own hook for his own backpack... He decided the classroom was as good as any playground!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2U2rpt406VA9XRXbC4SwFQRV_lnuVDDi57HDN4lrVCnuuP6XkJuvbCL8hO95NC1o_Up0SkNa-CDGcUR3d4P8oCeKeSQtLHkHvE5UFqHMMtjzeC2qZ7EKHRDaUO7PnuifEblALjunsoc/s1600/DSC_0704.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjx2U2rpt406VA9XRXbC4SwFQRV_lnuVDDi57HDN4lrVCnuuP6XkJuvbCL8hO95NC1o_Up0SkNa-CDGcUR3d4P8oCeKeSQtLHkHvE5UFqHMMtjzeC2qZ7EKHRDaUO7PnuifEblALjunsoc/s400/DSC_0704.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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<br />
Vanny is such a special boy. He is tender-hearted and curious, he loves music and people. Over the past few days we've tried to help him get excited about the prospect of school. I'm sure it will be a bit overwhelming, but I'm looking forward to seeing what he learns.<br />
<br />
At least for today, 2:30 can't come fast enough.<br />
<br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">*Post script: Observations on revisiting this post. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">First and most important: Van has passed the stage when going to bed with wet hair is easily solved.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Second: That leg coming out of the open car door is Mimi (GK's mom) here to save us all while GK is out of town.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Third: Vanny's backpack turned out very cute. It's even cuter than I imagined when I started out. </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Fourth: Thanks mama for the sweater. He was proud to wear it on his first day!</span></i>Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-60502463617854196432011-08-19T14:16:00.000-07:002011-08-19T14:36:35.791-07:00From Where I Sat: For Posterity<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYyoCYfVwZLm8SMjH0CBTwfD4k8J0BIb_99Ji3HQyJYM4fZ2O9OFN11CLE9K2KsW9MysEq8qgo-Gm3Y4mzbd-iY8HHeofbMjJeZvnAs45jDOXBmegBJJG3c932y5stBfmmZqM5hEDFU3w/s1600/DSC_0136.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYyoCYfVwZLm8SMjH0CBTwfD4k8J0BIb_99Ji3HQyJYM4fZ2O9OFN11CLE9K2KsW9MysEq8qgo-Gm3Y4mzbd-iY8HHeofbMjJeZvnAs45jDOXBmegBJJG3c932y5stBfmmZqM5hEDFU3w/s400/DSC_0136.JPG" width="400" /></a>I've been told that I embellish stories. Like earlier this week when I told someone that GK is deathly afraid of being bored, and so he takes four books to the grocery store. It was an exaggeration-- though not by much.<br />
<br />
But the story of our wedding needs no additional flourishes. It was a work of art. Or a piece or work. Or a little of both.<br />
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But first a little background:<br />
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We'd met by a modern miracle-- <i>the online internet machine </i>(one we don't recommend without a fair word of caution). We'd lived in Provo at the same time for several years. We attended the same concerts and lectures and plays. I acted in plays with his roommate, he hung out with my friends from the dance program. The circles intersected in a million ways, and yet, we never met.<br />
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While I was in graduate school in Denver, my brother Andrew thought I wasn't being social enough (well really, he just didn't like my last boyfriend) and he told me I should check out LDS Linkup. It really was more like a Mormon Facebook anyway, not just a "dating service".<br />
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One night, while babysitting for a friend, I got online after her kids were asleep and set up a profile. No picture, no real details, just enough to have access to the site. I began scrolling through pictures of profiles. I may have opened a couple of them just out of curiosity, but I only sent one message. To GK.<br />
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I wrote something like:<br />
<i>I've never done this before, but it looks like you like cool music...</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
And then more than slightly embarrassed, I logged off and thought, "That was weird". To my surprise, GK responded (just to be kind) and said:<br />
<i>Don't worry about it we're all on here. </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
In my next email, I mentioned Faria Beach, my only real exposure California. As it happens, he had grown up surfing there, and had actually been there that morning.<br />
<br />
And that's just the way it seemed to go. One conversation led naturally to the next, and our connection and curiosity grew stronger and more committed. Emails turned to phone calls turned to a decision to meet face to face. That's when he planned his trip to Denver.<br />
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We hadn't known each other long before we knew we'd like to know each other longer. I'd say it took about an hour- or less. We had two days together that weekend. Living in different states, we began to plan the summer so we could live in the same city and get to know each other a little.<br />
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Well a little time and many hours on the phone passed, we saw each other for the second time. This time involved roses and a ring on a cliff overlooking the ocean at Point Dume in Malibu. We knew it was fast, and to many seemed reckless, but ironically it felt settled, and deliberate.<br />
<br />
Our third meeting face to face was when GK came to Denver to move me and my things to Santa Clarita for the summer. By then, it felt as if we had known each other forever. And yet, it was that deep familiarity that sometimes brought confusion, because in reality we were still strangers.<br />
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The week leading up to our wedding we spent with my family in Salt Lake. We worked on the yard, where the reception would be, GK did some work for his uncle, I worked on last minute details with my mom. And as the week progressed, GK began to get nervous. I'll let him describe his thought process and how the whole thing developed, but by the morning of our wedding he was a mess.<br />
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I could tell, by the tone of his voice, when I talked to him on the phone that morning that he was unsettled. I hoped that meeting him in the lobby of the temple would resolve it. But as he took my hand, nothing changed.<br />
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We separated and got into our wedding clothes. We sat together and spoke with the man who would officiate the wedding while our families gathered in the Sealing Room next door. When everyone had arrived and was seated, we entered the small room filled with immediate family and close friends, and knelt down at the altar facing each other. There's no procession or fanfare in a temple sealing. It's just simple and to the point.<br />
<br />
The room was situated so that if I looked beyond GK, all my family and friends sat watching and smiling. And his family sat behind me. Having spent the summer in California, much of my family had only met GK a couple of times. Some had expressed concern at the rapidity of things, but ultimately had given their support.<br />
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We knelt, holding hands across the altar and the sweet old man began the ceremony. He came to the part where GK is supposed to respond, and there was a pause. I looked at GK, he looked at me and just waited. The silence was long and after a few moments, the sealer said, "Do you need to take a minute outside in the hall?"<br />
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GK let out a huge sigh, "Yes," and he bolted from the room. Bolted. I stayed where I was, looking into the faces of my family, knowing they were concerned and probably a little confused. My brother Andrew admitted later that he was thinking through a contingency plan. He decided, "We'll still have the party, we'll just change the playlist."<br />
<br />
For some reason, I didn't feel any panic. It didn't seem strange or scary. I didn't wonder if he'd come back. In the relatively short time I'd known him, I knew that GK was a man of integrity. I knew that he took his promises and commitments very seriously, and I knew that marriage to me was the biggest one he'd ever made.<br />
<br />
I let GK have a quiet moment in the hall. (Well, quiet except for the cute old ladies working at the temple who brought him soda crackers and apple juice, thinking he had just forgotten to eat.) Then, I went out to join him. I held his hand and just waited. My respiratory therapist-cousin came out and kindly told GK that if he kept breathing like he was, he would pass out. He followed her advice, and after a few more moments, he looked at me and said, "Okay, let's do this," and he stood up and led me back into the room.<br />
<br />
The old man started the ceremony again from the beginning. When he reached the same point, GK answered the question and dropped his head to the altar with a deep sigh of relief that the whole group, no doubt, felt. I held onto his hand and answered as well, knowing that from that moment on, we were bound together forever.<br />
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As a child, as I had imagined my wedding, I thought of movies I'd seen. I imagined gazing into my husband's eyes. I imagined swelling music, and weepy ladies with gloves and flowered hats. But movies rarely capture the fullness of reality. They certainly couldn't capture the richness of my life now.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiw5xAengYkcm54b1qotEGI_MXE_DEHoJFO_eoTwBtrGclo3YOEuCAuzfnMRy2aXnPcCXiK3fL_hejvtlXyam6tkvFN1UOuwRTxRh5-3c-lD0fFsueXN8uGYpR-AC7aHHrjWKWLvU8sbE/s1600/DSCF0931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiw5xAengYkcm54b1qotEGI_MXE_DEHoJFO_eoTwBtrGclo3YOEuCAuzfnMRy2aXnPcCXiK3fL_hejvtlXyam6tkvFN1UOuwRTxRh5-3c-lD0fFsueXN8uGYpR-AC7aHHrjWKWLvU8sbE/s400/DSCF0931.jpg" width="267" /></a></div><br />
So much has happened over the past five years. We've lived three lifetimes, and weathered our share of heartache. Three children, three states, two masters' degrees, five hospital stays later, that moment of decision, when we both said yes to this life, set the stage for miracle after miracle.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEOuGF6l4x2qPQ86GcXH0mMtohK5fC0YEnJJxZgsok9bDeXGLhvvJIsvFlOujXiwTIn9bM8QYvYo0vGiNTwsQFfYlg3ornnGcmu-2BtJDlw456bGd8gWzwfXwqMp1Ru0jhBWGnrTooZN0/s1600/GKday.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEOuGF6l4x2qPQ86GcXH0mMtohK5fC0YEnJJxZgsok9bDeXGLhvvJIsvFlOujXiwTIn9bM8QYvYo0vGiNTwsQFfYlg3ornnGcmu-2BtJDlw456bGd8gWzwfXwqMp1Ru0jhBWGnrTooZN0/s400/GKday.jpg" width="285" /></a>Who knows if every year of our life together will be as full of change and experience as each of the first five has been. But I wouldn't have it any other way as long as I can share it all with my best friend.<br />
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Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-23984197816855186812011-08-18T23:22:00.000-07:002011-08-18T23:30:14.777-07:00Mama<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ooX0zkRir8AXHMq7N9JZC71V5c_MyLRZo7r4ZAdtaMkiu71pN5itNYiCv11bfftzG9YqBhx-Hze_OHLjzu1_bdOhEMqMLWO-JcOrFnf7E2eGcYI7ZQzrM_cZRt9O2nrX5Cr3lDOQh5k/s1600/DSC_0268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ooX0zkRir8AXHMq7N9JZC71V5c_MyLRZo7r4ZAdtaMkiu71pN5itNYiCv11bfftzG9YqBhx-Hze_OHLjzu1_bdOhEMqMLWO-JcOrFnf7E2eGcYI7ZQzrM_cZRt9O2nrX5Cr3lDOQh5k/s400/DSC_0268.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>Happy birthday lady! You've accomplished a lot this year. Don't worry, you can slow down whenever you're ready.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia1NJu7B-ZfxGVCAcQng8B68GIbQ8oK4tKuglS8vJ5xEnYWjBe_o9uwO7IEIarn22n1YXs_pBHnNDPg5D7N0oOxy3vnkpIDkjSKr5XUlqI_XyPYOGvkiXiIRkXqLrTiF5acq1YkAwUHEE/s1600/DSC_0341.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia1NJu7B-ZfxGVCAcQng8B68GIbQ8oK4tKuglS8vJ5xEnYWjBe_o9uwO7IEIarn22n1YXs_pBHnNDPg5D7N0oOxy3vnkpIDkjSKr5XUlqI_XyPYOGvkiXiIRkXqLrTiF5acq1YkAwUHEE/s400/DSC_0341.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHlV0z76VRuWycxorYdeJgIiMq-spUqO7tDTwsjzPnLI5dMcfGcr89ILdHK6iQJ2kPJNHtTAS5rXZv-VagHaSU9vY9oTX_xoWeoJJSquX5AHVKSGTEE13nmuJSvmB_9Ode7JcqRIRxA2c/s1600/DSC_0296.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHlV0z76VRuWycxorYdeJgIiMq-spUqO7tDTwsjzPnLI5dMcfGcr89ILdHK6iQJ2kPJNHtTAS5rXZv-VagHaSU9vY9oTX_xoWeoJJSquX5AHVKSGTEE13nmuJSvmB_9Ode7JcqRIRxA2c/s400/DSC_0296.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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Perhaps it's having my own babies, that makes me realize how lucky I am to have such a kind-hearted, creative, spunky, tender mama. Cause I'm starting to realize it's a tricky business.<br />
<br />
I love you. I'm glad to be yours.Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-49084340218460902832011-07-20T22:12:00.000-07:002011-07-20T22:12:04.963-07:003I don't know why it feels so momentous, but all day long I've wanted to shout out to everyone passing by, "My boy is three!"<br />
<br />
Van's birthday last year consisted of Dr. visits, pain meds and cast signing parties.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikWZaig6lea-WGyfRw32OWg6fEUB8-GAuO7U3psN9ZfT0Lge6znTRH8xuXpM41BRc2o3Wl72EE2bAz5Krg4OTBzVvmcaaMqSmM7Y6n8TUlyURTXm9t5tdHLYW5wsufy4Ub_pEG22QfqUw/s1600/DSC_0197.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikWZaig6lea-WGyfRw32OWg6fEUB8-GAuO7U3psN9ZfT0Lge6znTRH8xuXpM41BRc2o3Wl72EE2bAz5Krg4OTBzVvmcaaMqSmM7Y6n8TUlyURTXm9t5tdHLYW5wsufy4Ub_pEG22QfqUw/s400/DSC_0197.JPG" width="267" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzplygtnCuvCAJCfLEaSO09YJlc18pT3YcIUYaCJ-1xIy05TUrFg5eq1viGGTEPaYG9G2aLI2qOKXnQhDhIx1ku8q8AGyvts-1WuUb1TJFTGX9rNXx9S6v4YlIEGOib1YS1YGMw9zs8-g/s1600/DSC_0289.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzplygtnCuvCAJCfLEaSO09YJlc18pT3YcIUYaCJ-1xIy05TUrFg5eq1viGGTEPaYG9G2aLI2qOKXnQhDhIx1ku8q8AGyvts-1WuUb1TJFTGX9rNXx9S6v4YlIEGOib1YS1YGMw9zs8-g/s400/DSC_0289.JPG" width="400" /></a></div> But this year was so different:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgspX3zUemLtURkjNqxua4J8TyR8nxeQPSv8Xj7Q0GI7Ay57PCGcja8Sph2hbJgEF3RUlSSe7U7nQUMRigYZdBWT1woAXXJHDVIAsALYFXTdyDUYhYvf38y18YtFVCzKTU0u8mm4Uwh4WA/s1600/DSC_0002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgspX3zUemLtURkjNqxua4J8TyR8nxeQPSv8Xj7Q0GI7Ay57PCGcja8Sph2hbJgEF3RUlSSe7U7nQUMRigYZdBWT1woAXXJHDVIAsALYFXTdyDUYhYvf38y18YtFVCzKTU0u8mm4Uwh4WA/s400/DSC_0002.JPG" width="267" /></a></div> This year started out with a homemade birthday donut.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTba-s7TqgIiJcoSH1XcpDBKoik6NMYaiE0kklSv34zmtQhdCx7CktBCphE6IbawlxwLI4GmNX4siwesY4Aa1I0lq7uC22attu12D21nVDKKuYnfkL2W9AsL5fbZ1r4qYpoD2pYtKy46c/s1600/DSC_0016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTba-s7TqgIiJcoSH1XcpDBKoik6NMYaiE0kklSv34zmtQhdCx7CktBCphE6IbawlxwLI4GmNX4siwesY4Aa1I0lq7uC22attu12D21nVDKKuYnfkL2W9AsL5fbZ1r4qYpoD2pYtKy46c/s400/DSC_0016.JPG" width="400" /></a></div> Followed by a birthday adventure taking the bus with Honey (GK) to see his first movie in a theater: Cars 2<br />
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Cruising around town waiting for the bus to come.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIludUof5qrMfpvif0YUCMAgBYuYNHSeilC1Ipc67igUplASO38y6ULfaOWgMCS-s_MX7rGHKrJQM9M6dX3Z1ErZmhHlY_reKLzW-FZi3R38JSzuoT5QIHJnWx9lgLSBN64O6v4HHy3cs/s1600/DSC_0037.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIludUof5qrMfpvif0YUCMAgBYuYNHSeilC1Ipc67igUplASO38y6ULfaOWgMCS-s_MX7rGHKrJQM9M6dX3Z1ErZmhHlY_reKLzW-FZi3R38JSzuoT5QIHJnWx9lgLSBN64O6v4HHy3cs/s400/DSC_0037.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_-1xYlI3MKa7fSM9hZIXI3rPVrs7DsDPrKWh2nIwgIoh1W5Z9NepG5cCkDCB3IBoKMmnbGM2K8HJ5bZ2exa29U_2MsTRfVuxCU0Lxj8cl6uTbVEHAQWruibHZIwIMH43bgcw-zpgi3m0/s1600/DSC_0051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_-1xYlI3MKa7fSM9hZIXI3rPVrs7DsDPrKWh2nIwgIoh1W5Z9NepG5cCkDCB3IBoKMmnbGM2K8HJ5bZ2exa29U_2MsTRfVuxCU0Lxj8cl6uTbVEHAQWruibHZIwIMH43bgcw-zpgi3m0/s400/DSC_0051.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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Then later, a birthday dinner date with Mama to the Farmer's Market where we listened to music, played on the slides, and got some kettle corn.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCW5IBHs0X1vUDi1tVdSDfPuXiF60PW2hZ45kduMiEeyPKf2lFloM7e5Dxe-ePnkT8YOqlHIQh4XAm9N4Z5btJYFq5XQ677vyykMwvOwCDEL0JriBvhRwuFPfnDvJkXUFEuloZM1Jh6b0/s1600/DSC_0075.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCW5IBHs0X1vUDi1tVdSDfPuXiF60PW2hZ45kduMiEeyPKf2lFloM7e5Dxe-ePnkT8YOqlHIQh4XAm9N4Z5btJYFq5XQ677vyykMwvOwCDEL0JriBvhRwuFPfnDvJkXUFEuloZM1Jh6b0/s400/DSC_0075.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
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At this rate, being three is bound to be better than being two.<br />
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I have to admit that in spite of wanting to announce the significance of the day, I felt a little nostalgic today. For some reason, three seems awfully old, and my boy seems mighty tall.<br />
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That sweet blue-eyed baby is slipping through my fingers and his independent, creative, willful counterpart is claiming a spot in my heart.Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-46099203346977817002011-05-15T20:46:00.000-07:002011-05-15T20:47:37.638-07:00That boy of mineWe went to the farmers' market on Saturday morning. We went to see the people, buy a cookie, look for some yummy looking fruit, and of course find some music.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI5oeMxY1hIOFgX0biZadtKzfTz4Zug2JHEnqDPBDswWsX2ygpUWT7fE-U6ICneuiL830WA434VOg9X-wZlUYP7E_8GdWGiXGOWW9dTq_aGS0cnup53tSBzPHXOfB6Q3rVUATEryIlCns/s1600/DSC_0269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI5oeMxY1hIOFgX0biZadtKzfTz4Zug2JHEnqDPBDswWsX2ygpUWT7fE-U6ICneuiL830WA434VOg9X-wZlUYP7E_8GdWGiXGOWW9dTq_aGS0cnup53tSBzPHXOfB6Q3rVUATEryIlCns/s400/DSC_0269.JPG" width="267" /></a></div><br />
Somehow, all the kids love music. Recently, Van has started some music classes, and it's amazing to watch his new found confidence.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbTFX9BnICim0iDYlwDirvZrwzQeA7-0_-CVlBctpuYsT0-0_7KfGZlUzVnXvDlkl1_uMg9awvnNKIdjJ2WAR6uwvmkNRt_4YAnpAC3o66cgc6K0wUAld3CEDWq-mRnBBRbkj7AfjOBIA/s1600/DSC_0236.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbTFX9BnICim0iDYlwDirvZrwzQeA7-0_-CVlBctpuYsT0-0_7KfGZlUzVnXvDlkl1_uMg9awvnNKIdjJ2WAR6uwvmkNRt_4YAnpAC3o66cgc6K0wUAld3CEDWq-mRnBBRbkj7AfjOBIA/s400/DSC_0236.JPG" width="267" /></a></div> When we stopped to hear some guys jamming at the park, he made himself at home on the extra instruments laying out for passers by.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXfj7VvX20RXDgjENB6gz9i_NnK7J_kDg6_LIego6N_7dPBWuqvImFXEanCEhw74P2focMQT3ZVGc2i_uVfgSL7OsvZiEyZBB406o6h7WyoWJ5JYv3tDlb8lme8fiw8IriQDXGbKkLia0/s1600/DSC_0243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXfj7VvX20RXDgjENB6gz9i_NnK7J_kDg6_LIego6N_7dPBWuqvImFXEanCEhw74P2focMQT3ZVGc2i_uVfgSL7OsvZiEyZBB406o6h7WyoWJ5JYv3tDlb8lme8fiw8IriQDXGbKkLia0/s400/DSC_0243.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixuonj0dbFzRhUrkLoAKLHO6hCulEbRo9Ct7ec-WGA4lZw3q2ccaO2hQ3v8WRxgNOSXUgb-apHbGLqoJY7sKP1tXsEk0W_xwQq2ie0lCoAJStRf39V9C5ehBQrEf2vJBui1P3f4GDDyIM/s1600/DSC_0254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixuonj0dbFzRhUrkLoAKLHO6hCulEbRo9Ct7ec-WGA4lZw3q2ccaO2hQ3v8WRxgNOSXUgb-apHbGLqoJY7sKP1tXsEk0W_xwQq2ie0lCoAJStRf39V9C5ehBQrEf2vJBui1P3f4GDDyIM/s400/DSC_0254.JPG" width="267" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECfONgfGqSKskahNjfd71SxfpFrLPZQWpMEmrtuPLVmzm51XOU0D-uSZ2_9XeDw38RaJOoTDlJ2NF_7YGMqW1U21Yi1rwKsM40btgu3l2A4yI1YHpfVSbe-x-DQ-J8-C9DBS6zqw1UOw/s1600/DSC_0259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgECfONgfGqSKskahNjfd71SxfpFrLPZQWpMEmrtuPLVmzm51XOU0D-uSZ2_9XeDw38RaJOoTDlJ2NF_7YGMqW1U21Yi1rwKsM40btgu3l2A4yI1YHpfVSbe-x-DQ-J8-C9DBS6zqw1UOw/s400/DSC_0259.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>I think it's about time this kid started earning his keep.Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-84745747747259270642011-05-09T00:27:00.000-07:002011-05-09T00:27:21.708-07:00Today<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-0IXsQo9yHin_Y1arjHYGT_vgvdLCRrI4YiIoo6zLK26_hqxnDozAdLhF9sYcYbmNlVM7eN2K7k5Gil1zrzUK-35A2xEWUYEU8rXOQ8qVNFqe8I1BGNZ0Q3RL9bptdarwbPIcmQ3P3T4/s1600/DSC_0065.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-0IXsQo9yHin_Y1arjHYGT_vgvdLCRrI4YiIoo6zLK26_hqxnDozAdLhF9sYcYbmNlVM7eN2K7k5Gil1zrzUK-35A2xEWUYEU8rXOQ8qVNFqe8I1BGNZ0Q3RL9bptdarwbPIcmQ3P3T4/s1600/DSC_0065.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br />
</a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-0IXsQo9yHin_Y1arjHYGT_vgvdLCRrI4YiIoo6zLK26_hqxnDozAdLhF9sYcYbmNlVM7eN2K7k5Gil1zrzUK-35A2xEWUYEU8rXOQ8qVNFqe8I1BGNZ0Q3RL9bptdarwbPIcmQ3P3T4/s1600/DSC_0065.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-0IXsQo9yHin_Y1arjHYGT_vgvdLCRrI4YiIoo6zLK26_hqxnDozAdLhF9sYcYbmNlVM7eN2K7k5Gil1zrzUK-35A2xEWUYEU8rXOQ8qVNFqe8I1BGNZ0Q3RL9bptdarwbPIcmQ3P3T4/s400/DSC_0065.JPG" /></a> </div><div style="text-align: center;">Today, I loved nothing more than being a mother. We've had busy weekends over the past several weeks. But today, we put on the brakes and just laid low.</div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">My Jo spends hours of the day at this window waiting for people to pass by. Then she waves and smiles and smudges the screen with her drool-covered chin, and says, "Hi" or "Ha fa" (high five). It's very hard to resist falling in love with her perfect, squishy little self.</div><div style="clear: both; text-align: CENTER;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIy2EgZhph63cjd787Wyh4NkAlajyc2A_2OOzklGHZ4SJIJjcWdgDF2hLJ8OzkYP0BblkmGYshVsUO4bSz7eG7Lp30RX276OB6gyptt0zIn5PBXk1GqOJCJgViYgQS476nWwdYEC9Z7Rw/s1600/DSC_0013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIy2EgZhph63cjd787Wyh4NkAlajyc2A_2OOzklGHZ4SJIJjcWdgDF2hLJ8OzkYP0BblkmGYshVsUO4bSz7eG7Lp30RX276OB6gyptt0zIn5PBXk1GqOJCJgViYgQS476nWwdYEC9Z7Rw/s400/DSC_0013.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>My boy is always amazing me with his tenderness. In the morning he wants to "go check on the babies" and when they come out he smiles and says, "my sisters" and kisses them on the heads. Of course then he cries when one of them takes his "Lightning Eequeen" and proceeds to throw all of his special toys over the baby gate into the kitchen where "the babies can't get them".<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGy-cDOC5DUITxM6RrzfusAu24tGY1sDQfou8JciYtvI8RwYiSW4Ty06JmYf8FWlBkOSgbUKyPanxX5JLMpFb-P_TqORpdt4OtTfp6Fh33PQQNDDPc6yftlDAfytsAM8KvoCnIFho05c8/s1600/DSC_0028.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGy-cDOC5DUITxM6RrzfusAu24tGY1sDQfou8JciYtvI8RwYiSW4Ty06JmYf8FWlBkOSgbUKyPanxX5JLMpFb-P_TqORpdt4OtTfp6Fh33PQQNDDPc6yftlDAfytsAM8KvoCnIFho05c8/s400/DSC_0028.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>My sweet bird loves her mama right now. She can't get enough cuddles and kisses. She laughs at everything... except strangers. But even in her attachment, there is a mischief lurking behind her blue eyes that makes me smile.<a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img align="middle" alt="Posted by Picasa" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" style="-moz-background-clip: initial; -moz-background-inline-policy: initial; -moz-background-origin: initial; background: transparent none repeat scroll 0% 50%; border: 0px none; padding: 0px;" /></a><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZOLnbswPGFDlmsRytsN03iRAIHSGyX9Et4Xyp5ldCglG0Ui8i-bcndNxHpF4hywmLObrbhORwX5xyQr-uxRMhIWl2iaR5u18bd5AnGeejpFZqu76FtH1lmU0fUjzyFqJZMj9XX_S304/s1600/DSC_0188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcZOLnbswPGFDlmsRytsN03iRAIHSGyX9Et4Xyp5ldCglG0Ui8i-bcndNxHpF4hywmLObrbhORwX5xyQr-uxRMhIWl2iaR5u18bd5AnGeejpFZqu76FtH1lmU0fUjzyFqJZMj9XX_S304/s400/DSC_0188.JPG" width="267" /></a></div>And this guy (the one on the right), well, the picture speaks for itself. He carries a big load around here, and I'm grateful every day.<br />
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I wouldn't be a mother without them, and wouldn't want to.</div>Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-23555017006832236232011-05-01T22:12:00.000-07:002011-05-01T23:51:46.839-07:00An Accomplishment<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcn4xHfNdqA_iWQP9IjpnpRS0ltqpLFP3IjZhXfH0eJHuLEqWph7gLNa3hEZvsMBP6X1MRyJzgXnp76WAeSzZGsl4Bm7-XRS6UQqZZAdITmHMuYva-gTnMA7qsXUcYo2AYNVzq2QGg1Jo/s1600/DSC_0127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcn4xHfNdqA_iWQP9IjpnpRS0ltqpLFP3IjZhXfH0eJHuLEqWph7gLNa3hEZvsMBP6X1MRyJzgXnp76WAeSzZGsl4Bm7-XRS6UQqZZAdITmHMuYva-gTnMA7qsXUcYo2AYNVzq2QGg1Jo/s400/DSC_0127.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div><br />
</div>Friday was a rough day. It started out tired and was fueled by three cranky kids and some every day chaos. And by evening, I felt like I was drowning. I was overwhelmed with how many things in my life were demanding my attention, and only getting the bare minimum.<br />
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</div><div>By the time GK and I had the kids in bed, I was exhausted and in my fatigue I started to let my emotions and my imagination run away with me. I felt sad that my children didn't have the mom they deserved, that I didn't communicate better with my husband, that my house wasn't more orderly and more fun, that my classes weren't better prepared and executed, that my... </div><div><br />
</div><div>Well, I won't go on, but you get the idea.</div><div><br />
</div><div>Then I started thinking what a stupid idea it was to have signed up for a half-marathon back in early March. What had I been thinking? I went to bed with these thoughts running through my head. Needless to say, I had a hard time sleeping.</div><div><br />
</div><div>At 5:50 AM as the rest of the house slept, I tried not to let myself think too much. I got dressed in my fluorescent pink shirt that I'd picked out at Target so that I'd be easy to see in the crowd, did a little warm-up sun salutation, ate a little breakfast and went outside to meet my ride. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Once my friend Heather and I arrived and signed in, I called GK to say everything was set. I asked him how everyone was and he said they were still asleep. (Turns out Van was actually awake and sitting under the dining room table eating powdered Nestle Quick) He said to run with my phone so they could try to catch me at some point along the way.</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV3vb5F3cn0kq-7yQ5rgLwgqi0IImcPWxY1djGNGuYp1cXG2wWfXEXHKHehaTmfXm1ck-5-_8wwJtbNaRGqM0Z6Y28GdOGt_2Vu_uRimzju310_ac4Td8DJ7H15N5_6ZMgti1BSeal8n8/s1600/DSC_0013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV3vb5F3cn0kq-7yQ5rgLwgqi0IImcPWxY1djGNGuYp1cXG2wWfXEXHKHehaTmfXm1ck-5-_8wwJtbNaRGqM0Z6Y28GdOGt_2Vu_uRimzju310_ac4Td8DJ7H15N5_6ZMgti1BSeal8n8/s400/DSC_0013.JPG" width="267" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I started my race and GK started his. He changed three diapers, packed snacks, drinks, stroller while Van entertained the girls.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7jNWwLNOxn12_FBWrGCt34apetVyGCFL5xi0UT6z78VrpKyykvSLfVu3DeFH0mvRvJyqmU_fdo7DqwX3HW7SmebRyJ5dO_nePnM9OzQdOsTms0BPFk34kCXtEf6HCkS1BH_ez3umhqFg/s1600/DSC_0018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7jNWwLNOxn12_FBWrGCt34apetVyGCFL5xi0UT6z78VrpKyykvSLfVu3DeFH0mvRvJyqmU_fdo7DqwX3HW7SmebRyJ5dO_nePnM9OzQdOsTms0BPFk34kCXtEf6HCkS1BH_ez3umhqFg/s400/DSC_0018.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">They raced into Sacramento and GK called me at mile 5 as they got close. He called again after he had parked, unloaded, and sprinted up the hill with the world's largest stroller. We were both so disappointed, they had just missed me. So like a champ, he packed up the kids again, broke down the stroller and drove to the finish line.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Some photo highlights of the race:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisTJbeWDDa3kfTYlnsnRhZRYaj3vQtIJ904lF0XfTTjkLK9pfUS1MD70XLZbg2Y9HorGouWO4ncGQq3fgF-RnllQv7MKjanICCl_ZAmlHSBHa1dViqy6tCGo7qgJlFjIWlLpK1bpu0ZhE/s1600/DSC_0033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisTJbeWDDa3kfTYlnsnRhZRYaj3vQtIJ904lF0XfTTjkLK9pfUS1MD70XLZbg2Y9HorGouWO4ncGQq3fgF-RnllQv7MKjanICCl_ZAmlHSBHa1dViqy6tCGo7qgJlFjIWlLpK1bpu0ZhE/s400/DSC_0033.JPG" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7jNWwLNOxn12_FBWrGCt34apetVyGCFL5xi0UT6z78VrpKyykvSLfVu3DeFH0mvRvJyqmU_fdo7DqwX3HW7SmebRyJ5dO_nePnM9OzQdOsTms0BPFk34kCXtEf6HCkS1BH_ez3umhqFg/s1600/DSC_0018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black;"></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Just before I saw them at the finish line</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijdSXgrj2iAPRkFvsVq4lcZpvU1Cn0Pc1X7A8dAV2tb9DfOvTGVvwjKQgqWUdYFbhSKaav2w9d0fMv9l08185Skh4GMcvgdBdjNZ-lg72EXM7mepec6GT96mH4m42LapTMnRQsfldUcVg/s1600/DSC_0043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijdSXgrj2iAPRkFvsVq4lcZpvU1Cn0Pc1X7A8dAV2tb9DfOvTGVvwjKQgqWUdYFbhSKaav2w9d0fMv9l08185Skh4GMcvgdBdjNZ-lg72EXM7mepec6GT96mH4m42LapTMnRQsfldUcVg/s400/DSC_0043.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Just after we reunited</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNB684pkP3GVYUdrIAWJDWvxM-UOP9tPJPwVQNUjNO3HVgxH-_ub1uoMF2ompxteF9_fsEUEV9SlNP1n0GO3Abl63xt0i4-8d1SMF_bZHniboWN_NtaaPgSMOFrEb7sGJ1Z4yVbYKoVW8/s1600/DSC_0047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNB684pkP3GVYUdrIAWJDWvxM-UOP9tPJPwVQNUjNO3HVgxH-_ub1uoMF2ompxteF9_fsEUEV9SlNP1n0GO3Abl63xt0i4-8d1SMF_bZHniboWN_NtaaPgSMOFrEb7sGJ1Z4yVbYKoVW8/s400/DSC_0047.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Van thought my bib looked like a bag of popcorn. He kept reaching inside to see if he could find some.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz4PhAmu12TOW160aVPqOCYmwVRoWL1jgUTCdz2skszXOxwTIYeAsJQ5oHIoHwS5Et8XRYUpEh-SohZOB_LNrfoUncx-Li7hmO79E6WNqAKNnYLujpcBovXCqXl04GtT-2O8UN9yCv93A/s1600/DSC_0062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz4PhAmu12TOW160aVPqOCYmwVRoWL1jgUTCdz2skszXOxwTIYeAsJQ5oHIoHwS5Et8XRYUpEh-SohZOB_LNrfoUncx-Li7hmO79E6WNqAKNnYLujpcBovXCqXl04GtT-2O8UN9yCv93A/s400/DSC_0062.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The girls enjoying the free bananas in their jammies</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAcntNFb3i0x7gqUM2w_51TVtjVANON-7OrXhoqOhwnE62OSlKVSoeaZ3DWK89XvxhOy9GNkU3N2ve7HT02xcjTlf8pjTC7t24ugKqgBI2fknNxUivvnl6yVYEtMGOdXcY8uJI85sGLX0/s1600/DSC_0070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAcntNFb3i0x7gqUM2w_51TVtjVANON-7OrXhoqOhwnE62OSlKVSoeaZ3DWK89XvxhOy9GNkU3N2ve7HT02xcjTlf8pjTC7t24ugKqgBI2fknNxUivvnl6yVYEtMGOdXcY8uJI85sGLX0/s400/DSC_0070.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>My medal</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdwQx9ULl7ARPdeteh8ROSSl1V85jCCLSr6eY2a2-pCS0yGCRMDxqBKwHa1s53nsECB7ECb2dcnNszveV4sqgyEmEfRTn326HiEoqdSxB07dAzU5l1cJhtrRu1_CFMxaNRTMSVqK1LL4/s1600/DSC_0079.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHdwQx9ULl7ARPdeteh8ROSSl1V85jCCLSr6eY2a2-pCS0yGCRMDxqBKwHa1s53nsECB7ECb2dcnNszveV4sqgyEmEfRTn326HiEoqdSxB07dAzU5l1cJhtrRu1_CFMxaNRTMSVqK1LL4/s400/DSC_0079.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>My banana (altogether, we put away seven)</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4Kr9sXtHEWqrMwh1diGoOgHkE1nR2aXsR8WXMqVwDQGFOOSiGE9zfifHw15tgdEkECj2dQGpQLF0huM1o3UJ2EmoRIwrY7U54rSPMbnhVMKForwtaoNSaA2fzW5c1uVO6eGrOPlyXLc/s1600/DSC_0088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4Kr9sXtHEWqrMwh1diGoOgHkE1nR2aXsR8WXMqVwDQGFOOSiGE9zfifHw15tgdEkECj2dQGpQLF0huM1o3UJ2EmoRIwrY7U54rSPMbnhVMKForwtaoNSaA2fzW5c1uVO6eGrOPlyXLc/s400/DSC_0088.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Josie enjoying the mariachi band</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8ql0YJUx7XT4DoZaJMJVy0qsyl10Nd_uPKntbHs6ewZTZon5IDRdKPycJwXdpm0jsEschpyIk9Yywu_FpFm1ySQfhbLI74Fko98H_82xZaSbgdYFLwpGruP5qhiHmi-Kr4pAIzCjsjE/s1600/DSC_0095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv8ql0YJUx7XT4DoZaJMJVy0qsyl10Nd_uPKntbHs6ewZTZon5IDRdKPycJwXdpm0jsEschpyIk9Yywu_FpFm1ySQfhbLI74Fko98H_82xZaSbgdYFLwpGruP5qhiHmi-Kr4pAIzCjsjE/s400/DSC_0095.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>The mariachi band (Van loved the trumpets)</i></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijXbvLE7T9FGCFiZrpAmFvYH20WNC3YTad9YLCUXE3LbYwSFLympAP7tRdJSIa-mAEXJYLaHa-7b-n4w8EfWb4BX4thAxeuousAI41ENCbvuTiuK8lOvqppOw1g98YMIJG3d1hkw9vg_g/s1600/DSC_0128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijXbvLE7T9FGCFiZrpAmFvYH20WNC3YTad9YLCUXE3LbYwSFLympAP7tRdJSIa-mAEXJYLaHa-7b-n4w8EfWb4BX4thAxeuousAI41ENCbvuTiuK8lOvqppOw1g98YMIJG3d1hkw9vg_g/s400/DSC_0128.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>My friend Heather who ran her fastest half ever</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc3ENNRTESEpQYu9UfU583zY8k21F3qJ9WXLGGxG1fIJVjp2UpGe_jDdPg3drMaHK618wD572ksXBrsfgQq-rQW7JeAyRJBLrFmjLuXo2IXk9tZZNLx1IlJyjS-AimLAz4P1mLhWscwJQ/s1600/DSC_0131.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc3ENNRTESEpQYu9UfU583zY8k21F3qJ9WXLGGxG1fIJVjp2UpGe_jDdPg3drMaHK618wD572ksXBrsfgQq-rQW7JeAyRJBLrFmjLuXo2IXk9tZZNLx1IlJyjS-AimLAz4P1mLhWscwJQ/s400/DSC_0131.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Family Portrait (the girls are behind Vanny, there's no good angle to get everyone in that stroller)</i></span></div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
</div><div>In the end, it wasn't such a stupid idea after all. I made good time and accomplished something I'd set out to do. It turns out it was just what I needed after a day like Friday. And the absolute highlight of the experience was kissing the faces of my sweet babies and my love. </div><div><br />
</div><div>Maybe there's something to this idea of enduring to the end.</div>Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-15511447286305808932011-04-15T23:47:00.000-07:002011-04-15T23:53:25.884-07:00Spreading Out the Fun<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVYJI89CNhCejzZGT1TLQUw_zAYI3u3AZemYLneLG-tLN8rOrDbKoclvEWVZwrEIzA3oBsUi-2-6Kdi4CrhNlmLbXuf_9uNk09LnhK2pAcL5aDEjbx3wypSp0F7MK-7JhSP0isBwnivaA/s1600/2011+04+12_6251.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVYJI89CNhCejzZGT1TLQUw_zAYI3u3AZemYLneLG-tLN8rOrDbKoclvEWVZwrEIzA3oBsUi-2-6Kdi4CrhNlmLbXuf_9uNk09LnhK2pAcL5aDEjbx3wypSp0F7MK-7JhSP0isBwnivaA/s640/2011+04+12_6251.JPG" width="424" /></a>Growing up in my family, we had a saying, "We spread out the fun." I've mentioned it before. It used to mean that your birthday would be celebrated a few days late, or maybe the perfect gift hadn't been located quite yet.<br />
<br />
Here in the Risser house we've adopted the slogan with gusto. Only to us it means that your birthday lasts several days before and several days after the official date.<br />
<br />
We started celebrating the girls' birthday last weekend with some cupcakes and sweet company all the way from Colorado and Oakland. Then on Monday, a friend came with us to the park and took these amazing photos.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifc9znuxcCZy-PjCcENmt9wHNCcXz_ERDCLrXdY73DaT1IKvs93A8i5XHDbpLtRUhN5O8Dzg3KSAfXhWVmfaKAGxE5SDo7tsK1X2b7ezglWVX2bE8ZBVIW-DdDqXV8NryXjX_wCoxxVLE/s1600/web_2011+04+12_6025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifc9znuxcCZy-PjCcENmt9wHNCcXz_ERDCLrXdY73DaT1IKvs93A8i5XHDbpLtRUhN5O8Dzg3KSAfXhWVmfaKAGxE5SDo7tsK1X2b7ezglWVX2bE8ZBVIW-DdDqXV8NryXjX_wCoxxVLE/s640/web_2011+04+12_6025.jpg" width="424" /></a></div><br />
I can't wait to see the rest! Once we're done celebrating that is. (to see more of Angella's brilliance go to<br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_51429569">www.</a><br />
<a href="http://www.blogger.com/goog_51429569">angelladawnphoto.</a><br />
<a href="http://www.angelladawnphoto.com/">com</a>)Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-78615477328567596632011-04-13T22:09:00.000-07:002011-04-16T15:31:29.671-07:00And Then They Were One<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_QLVZ03YLUcymHSYlwXJylKOX-_jgClWRUf8F1Cl_Sy42fNJWD6jDnxwLT2TyBLdvLiYQHCKj5LtWIWSN_759YgwUEh02WKQ7a9ZYo9GN7-V-3jwbhcaxvjx2oxNCprMUa7NaQK1EZ9Y/s1600/DSC_0020.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_QLVZ03YLUcymHSYlwXJylKOX-_jgClWRUf8F1Cl_Sy42fNJWD6jDnxwLT2TyBLdvLiYQHCKj5LtWIWSN_759YgwUEh02WKQ7a9ZYo9GN7-V-3jwbhcaxvjx2oxNCprMUa7NaQK1EZ9Y/s400/DSC_0020.JPG" width="267" /></a></div>At this time last year, I had just gotten home from roadshow practice at church and was probably halfway through my prenatal yoga DVD. Things happened pretty quickly after that, and although I did record it, I never blogged about it. So here is a little glimpse of how my sweet baby girls came into the world a year ago.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<i>From my journal:</i><br />
Before it's too far from my mind (and before my memory embellishes it much), I wanted to record the events leading up to the population boom around here.<br />
<strong><em><u><br />
</u></em></strong><br />
<strong><em><u>The Breakdown</u></em></strong><br />
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b><i>April 1</i></b>- Our ultrasound shows the girls have moved from "ready" (heads down) to breech. We make an appointment for a followup ultrasound on April 16 to see if they've moved, or if we need to accept the fact that a c-section may be necessary.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><b><i>April 14</i></b>-</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> <b>6pm</b>- GK gets home from work apologizing for not getting home in time to go to Costco. I say, "It's alright. I'm feeling a bit crampy anyway and don't feel like walking around. We eat dinner</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> <b>7pm</b>- I head off to Roadshow practice (I wrote it, and helped run the music rehearsals) and proceeded to jump around and energize a semi-reluctant (shy) group. Afterwards, an on-looker said, "I have never seen a woman try so hard to go into labor." I laughed, thinking, "If only!"</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> <b>10pm</b>- I get home from practice and tell GK I'm still feeling crampy and uncomfortable. This conversation ensues:</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">GK: "Is it contractions?"</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Sus: "I don't know."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">GK: <i>slightly annoyed </i>"You never do."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Sus: "You're right."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">GK: "Maybe you should do some yoga. I just did and I feel awesome."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Sus: "That's a good idea."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><em>I do my prenatal yoga DVD. An hour later...</em></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Sus: "Nope. That didn't do it. I still don't feel good. I'm going to bed."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> <b>11pm-12am</b>- I try to sleep but the cramping starts coming in waves and I get out of bed so as not to wake GK.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> <b>12am</b>- The "waves" are 5 minutes apart. But with Van I had contractions for three days 3-4 minutes apart. So if these are contractions, I think I've got a long way to go and an appointment in the morning to check things out. But I'm in pain so I wake up GK to sit with me.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> <b>1am</b>- GK says I should call the hospital. I say, " No, they will just make me come in. Then we'll have to call someone to watch Van. I'll just wait."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> <b>1:15am</b>- GK insists, and I agree. I call the Dr. They tell me to come in. We gather things together.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> <b>2:03am</b>- We drop Van off with a friend. He's so happy to see her that I'm not worried about him.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> <b>2:20am</b>- We check in at the hospital</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> <b>2:45am</b>- They're trying to get the heartbeats on the monitor. The "waves" (Yes contractions. Now I'm sure!) are coming fast and strong. The midwife does an ultrasound, both girls are head down! Hooray!</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> <b>3 am</b>- The midwife checks and says, "Well, it looks like you're at about a 9." I think, "Oh crap, there goes an epidural!" She says, "Let me know when you feel like you have to push. We'll need to push you into the O.R. just in case. It's protocol with twins." (I knew this going in, so I didn't care) I say, "Well it's coming fast."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">They start to move me onto a different bed and as they do my water breaks. The push me through the hall. The midwife in training is in my face saying, "Blow right into my face." I seriously think about telling her to get out of my face. But right then GK comes around the bed and I grab his arm for dear life and say "I want to blow in <em>your </em>face." I don't know what happened to the trainee, but she disappeared after that. I hope I didn't hurt her feelings.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">In the hall on the way into the O.R. and I yell, "I can't do this!" And the Dr. says, "Yes you can. The head's half way out." One more push and...</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> <b>3:18am</b>- Josie is born.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1obSa8eo1YDHdcw13_oxsDGsiW1hiBSfu63-lvzFCVHvybfCVKTm5_XT5N0NoSyV33dPTbiVT-O_dv6Erni4DyT91vvtI3Xlpy8pjgYlq3uzpXij71eZ0tp4rndRvgNP6LFXxqLVWdug/s1600/DSC_0043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1obSa8eo1YDHdcw13_oxsDGsiW1hiBSfu63-lvzFCVHvybfCVKTm5_XT5N0NoSyV33dPTbiVT-O_dv6Erni4DyT91vvtI3Xlpy8pjgYlq3uzpXij71eZ0tp4rndRvgNP6LFXxqLVWdug/s400/DSC_0043.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> </div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"> <b>3:23am</b>- Delia is born.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKz8X3Y-2IFGl_RkMimftHFOAW5z_OiMdTET6k7OAxKsS9CQ2J-iaih2UFr09fGUOXQGFEGAAjgh0B5SId3V6Zh7xsoQdX2eAwz9HTzX60b_NLWUtFYn9EzAmwZ1ute9x3xI8_fyGiqik/s1600/DSC_0049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKz8X3Y-2IFGl_RkMimftHFOAW5z_OiMdTET6k7OAxKsS9CQ2J-iaih2UFr09fGUOXQGFEGAAjgh0B5SId3V6Zh7xsoQdX2eAwz9HTzX60b_NLWUtFYn9EzAmwZ1ute9x3xI8_fyGiqik/s400/DSC_0049.JPG" width="400" /></a>With all the extra room, she flipped around and decided to make her entrance feet first. So Dr. Wilson reached in, grabbed her feet and artistically guided her little body out. (Graphic maybe, but it was amazing! A total miracle that he was on call that night, since breech deliveries are his specialty)</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">They put Josie on my chest and asked what her name was. We had a list of four names by the time the girls were born, but only Josephine was coming to mind. I kept trying to remember what the other names were when GK came over and said, "I think this one's Josephine." I said, "I think so too."</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXUxmPGUqRO6YQ01z6LFBhBinXrh-aic5Ki1D2e8c2M513ZyYjnENeYJGUECL9vXAiKBjXL8rGyjqC5iyUGyDhBjU8SfnAhnVhyphenhyphenVbVheirVb3-0TPnMpSZW5_4fsv7k2Vn-h7Dj3xrxRE/s1600/DSC_0143.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXUxmPGUqRO6YQ01z6LFBhBinXrh-aic5Ki1D2e8c2M513ZyYjnENeYJGUECL9vXAiKBjXL8rGyjqC5iyUGyDhBjU8SfnAhnVhyphenhyphenVbVheirVb3-0TPnMpSZW5_4fsv7k2Vn-h7Dj3xrxRE/s400/DSC_0143.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Then they brought Delia over. By now I had remembered the other names: Penelope, Fiona, and Delia. Penelope didn't fit for some reason, it was out. But then we were at a standstill. For the first day of her life we called her Fiona. But late that night as she was fighting so hard and I was starting to worry about her, Delia seemed to be closer to my sweet delicate thing.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwmjTgcB2AmK6IOz4ZOixERWUVCRgLNAESYA8nZRJK-UcyVYPJRzWrcZK_B67qDkq48RgJ5dR501CMeAWlbHBzf0_OG-aPy9tPAMFjtzdzz_4FJSCPxeeinJPwD-CyTml48BoUbs0hFME/s1600/DSC_0132.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwmjTgcB2AmK6IOz4ZOixERWUVCRgLNAESYA8nZRJK-UcyVYPJRzWrcZK_B67qDkq48RgJ5dR501CMeAWlbHBzf0_OG-aPy9tPAMFjtzdzz_4FJSCPxeeinJPwD-CyTml48BoUbs0hFME/s400/DSC_0132.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">Josphine means "God will increase". And He surely has. Through the dark few days when Delia was struggling and things were uncertain, Josie's calm grounded spirit held me together. Something about her wouldn't let me doubt that things would be fine and we would be all together soon. </div><br />
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFgPjsxM3mFyugHC77FrTCXRWEK-NpRvUnszY_f2IcYgsp1PMAeT0qr16FHGQ9fi12WGZ32SlW94X-lUcWi_lh27jLacPY_UHx-lfiVKbmA5KpvLdHkeH2eNq_Z1fcdu08mmzpqSweWaU/s1600/DSC_0435.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFgPjsxM3mFyugHC77FrTCXRWEK-NpRvUnszY_f2IcYgsp1PMAeT0qr16FHGQ9fi12WGZ32SlW94X-lUcWi_lh27jLacPY_UHx-lfiVKbmA5KpvLdHkeH2eNq_Z1fcdu08mmzpqSweWaU/s400/DSC_0435.JPG" width="400" /></a>Cordelia means "Jewel of the Sea". After less than 24 hours, it was clear that sweet Delia would need some extra help. The hospital where I delivered didn't have a NICU, so Delia was transported by ambulance and attended to by an angel nurse. GK went with her, and he stayed with her and whispered to her and loved her. There are very few things that GK loves more than the sea, but this sweet bird is one of them.</div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgr9R__iieq4SumUCgiiRozkFoDHVd7E-cRSx0LDgDcoSSGjUGfC6yRBO9SEwjbz9u9RXj3sQCcOgJkcAXAU8WmOZFrTperpMfdLXOqXRgD8CX8ba5-1WqNowNjwo0f9yWOKdiPqHAzhs/s1600/DSC_0183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgr9R__iieq4SumUCgiiRozkFoDHVd7E-cRSx0LDgDcoSSGjUGfC6yRBO9SEwjbz9u9RXj3sQCcOgJkcAXAU8WmOZFrTperpMfdLXOqXRgD8CX8ba5-1WqNowNjwo0f9yWOKdiPqHAzhs/s400/DSC_0183.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">And now after one hell of a year, we've all lived a lifetime and loved every minute (though sometimes only in retrospect). And my sweet babies have grown into beautiful little girls. </div>Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-8609266697046004672011-03-31T00:14:00.000-07:002011-03-31T07:36:51.897-07:00JuiceBox is Praying to Heavenly Father<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">You may know this little yellow fella by a different name but in our house he is JuiceBox. I think it makes a lot more sense than the common moniker. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ljMDRScT8C8buIOFTvb18OTrh4posYAqjq6ByhvaGkJYbhXOcwcVhJgyaQFKe4FYwf8cnqeBu8-2BzKSvlyAobOniw43cxZjb5Tzy1LOTrkclyt5QL2AVzBtRLh241V24LovS83MK_Q/s1600/DSC_0252.JPG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="286" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ljMDRScT8C8buIOFTvb18OTrh4posYAqjq6ByhvaGkJYbhXOcwcVhJgyaQFKe4FYwf8cnqeBu8-2BzKSvlyAobOniw43cxZjb5Tzy1LOTrkclyt5QL2AVzBtRLh241V24LovS83MK_Q/s400/DSC_0252.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
Van has never seen JuiceBox in action but he does prefer JuiceBox stickers when he goes to the bone doctor. Two days ago we ventured into a toy store for the first time and Van sweetly pointed out that JuiceBox has religion. You and I know that this is actually Yoga JuiceBox, obviously meditating in full Lotus Position. Still, he and Van bless the sacrament together a few times a day. They are zealous for their age.Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4385770134490252583.post-8003085861434980172011-03-24T18:39:00.000-07:002011-03-24T18:39:14.482-07:00Recent Goings On<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbEQeoN1VP4uYIh-9h8RL7wUKzK_AZbLmDuW3PvCXPDwQ_jhm-j6sAV02QvZeW1KTrKMZJfqvTSh4vQhDnjHrs-wVnOPK9-Ag4pxaayTMG8hCHKb4RaXzpwEkfP9Gc-LSCOpzRZ96D2io/s1600/DSC_0004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbEQeoN1VP4uYIh-9h8RL7wUKzK_AZbLmDuW3PvCXPDwQ_jhm-j6sAV02QvZeW1KTrKMZJfqvTSh4vQhDnjHrs-wVnOPK9-Ag4pxaayTMG8hCHKb4RaXzpwEkfP9Gc-LSCOpzRZ96D2io/s400/DSC_0004.JPG" width="400" /></a>My musical theater class performed their original musical <i>Mythical, Magical Beach</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Here is Hairy Octopus (the villain) with the Chicken with long hair</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJOYbuBuibqbe6eyAjxbVDJAyjd_q-ykh9js316wzvvOw7ewbtLzphW_D4ct2UgDQum9KYq5XKnqTtOs3upxlLyx4P_xtBYyBbUkp7Ub0I7DgSSZudIXfANnqd97L7nmXF_FDrgWSC6rY/s1600/DSC_0005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJOYbuBuibqbe6eyAjxbVDJAyjd_q-ykh9js316wzvvOw7ewbtLzphW_D4ct2UgDQum9KYq5XKnqTtOs3upxlLyx4P_xtBYyBbUkp7Ub0I7DgSSZudIXfANnqd97L7nmXF_FDrgWSC6rY/s400/DSC_0005.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> From left to right: Dolphin, Snake with long hair, Pink Magical Elephant, Contortionist, Chicken with long hair, Hairy Octopus, Unisis (mythical creature who is a cross between a Unicorn and a Pegasus) </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO9PXNJgjTMAtftaiaeJo_BPxtg1ilTxyU_0ZKTHRwyvFAb9GXc8IthZQ78wFZaBZE8-nl6gZfYZlVTkO2iRY_ZSidVlN_I5qdT5dQc7NithmmJsPYIdOIGrZuotPMCemvoICVu_soHx0/s1600/DSC_0016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO9PXNJgjTMAtftaiaeJo_BPxtg1ilTxyU_0ZKTHRwyvFAb9GXc8IthZQ78wFZaBZE8-nl6gZfYZlVTkO2iRY_ZSidVlN_I5qdT5dQc7NithmmJsPYIdOIGrZuotPMCemvoICVu_soHx0/s400/DSC_0016.JPG" width="267" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Delia decided at the age of 11 months that pacifiers are pretty cool. That would have been handy before, now it's kind of annoying (but still adorable!)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7KIjBe-uyycCyWZeKq6Y5U-8BnSsCcSOh81_c2cez1rC7eBZUwjIR6IrlN0C8bnhmPv-yTEY92juxls73VLFWvinDCmi9j2pp3F21xof3Npn_zGvPo0UO66YEGzrXo9vB_wux8xUIOVg/s1600/DSC_0018.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7KIjBe-uyycCyWZeKq6Y5U-8BnSsCcSOh81_c2cez1rC7eBZUwjIR6IrlN0C8bnhmPv-yTEY92juxls73VLFWvinDCmi9j2pp3F21xof3Npn_zGvPo0UO66YEGzrXo9vB_wux8xUIOVg/s400/DSC_0018.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">The weather is totally crazy! Flood warnings, tornado warnings, rain rain rain! So here we are enjoying <i>Curious George</i>, emptying all shelves of their contents and leaving fingerprints on everything! Hooray for cabin fever.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">In other news, both girls can stand without help, and Van is walking around and even dancing a little on his cast. Hooray for mobility!</div>Susannahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07020475478532211228noreply@blogger.com5