tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13861455007524420332024-02-21T05:38:43.580-05:00sara joannaSarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.comBlogger237125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-80828764311651082612014-10-18T15:16:00.002-04:002014-10-18T22:00:45.668-04:00My Old Lady Post<br />
<div class="p1">
I can't believe it has been over a year since I've posted. Not that I think people have been waiting with bated breath or anything. But man, a year can sure fly by!</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I do want to share my story of the past year. Hopefully it can give someone encouragement if they have been sharing similar struggles.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
It's been a rough year. Hold on to your hat and get ready for this little old lady to tell you about her laundry list of health ailments. Don't worry, I won't get too graphic.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
A little background: I was diagnosed with Crohn's disease in 2003. Daily high fevers and severe abdominal pain sent me to my family doctor who referred me to a gastroenterologist who knew even before internal testing that it was Crohn's (even though I didn't present with the typical *ahem* bathroom issues).</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I took four gigantic horse pills called Pentasa, four times a day. My fevers went away and I felt TONS better. I was in college so as soon as my symptoms went away I went back to my normal life and forgot that I even carried this diagnosis of a chronic disease with no known cure.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
After Jim and I got married in 2006 I had another flare up. I needed to get back on my Pentasa but we learned that it was not covered since it was a pre-existing condition. $500 a month. That wasn't going to happen. I began to learn to manage my symptoms by changing my diet... somewhat... like... as in... not very much. I did enough to keep fevers away but I couldn't give up these foods that I loved so much. The creamy sauces. The desserts. The fried foods. THE CHOCOLATE. </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Pregnancy, oddly enough, brought relief. I felt great and we joked that I should just stay pregnant for the rest of my life. (Ha. Ha... no.) But after James was born, and for the next entire year, my body returned all of the evil that I had done to it. All of my belly issues came back in addition to normal post-pregnancy issues.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Understandably, it took us a while to become pregnant with Anna and I banked on the fact that pregnancy would bring the relief that James' had. It did. However, I was underweight throughout her gestation and after she was born I watched my body deteriorate terrifyingly fast. This time I dropped below my pre-pregnancy weight within a few months (which, for me, was not healthy at all) and continued to drop weight. I nursed as long as I could but stopped early in hopes that my body would begin to build itself back up. Even though my Crohn's disease wasn't flaring up, according to colonoscopy and endoscopy tests, the malabsorption was in full swing. It didn't matter how much I ate, I wasn't gaining healthy weight. </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Soon my abdominal pain became debilitating. This was stop-you-in-your-tracks, bend-over-holding-your-belly pain. Then the vomiting, 3-5 times a week from the pain, began. I had a very sick gallbladder removed over the summer of 2013 before Anna turned one. It brought some relief, but soon it all returned. I was literally prescribed every antacid known to man. Every single one made me sicker. I have a small hiatal hernia, but my gastroenterologist didn't think it should cause these many issues. This spring I had an MRI scheduled and new blood work done to search for tumors and cancer markers as my weight was at a whopping 83.5 pounds. Yay. </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I should pause here and explain that I have the most wonderful husband, family, and friends in the world. My in-laws and parents cared for me and the children, Jim came home early from work on bad days when I needed him. James prayed sweet prayers at night to, "please make mommy's belly feel better." I could function to get through the day, but only just. I needed them and they were there for me.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
The MRI and blood work results were negative and Jim and I praised Jesus for his mercy. While we were relieved, this still left us with more questions than answers. My Crohn's disease wasn't causing this directly, neither was my hernia or gallbladder or liver or anything clearly pathological. So why was my stomach rejecting everything I offered? There was one more rare thing it could be called Sphincter of Oddi Dysfunction - I would be sent to Charleston for that test in two weeks. Neither Jim nor I felt like this was the answer either.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Would you believe me if I told you that Facebook gave me back my life? Cheesy. I know.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
One of my friends shared <a href="http://againstallgrain.com/2013/07/13/my-health-transformation/"><span class="s1">this page</span></a> about following a Paleo diet. I should share that throughout these years of struggle I had cut out gluten, sugar, and dairy at different times but never all three together. And never with the determination that is really required for it to make a difference. Honestly, I was immature about caring for my body. And my gastroenterologist's response about diet? "You should be able to eat a normal diet." Bless his heart.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I believe the numbers on my bathroom scale coupled with a scary MRI lit the fire that I needed to do it. Jim and I decided to do the Paleo diet very strictly and if it made no difference, we would go through with the MUSC visit. That very day, June 16, 2014, my mom stocked my kitchen with everything I needed. </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
Within three days of a strict Paleo diet my abdominal pain and vomiting had completely ceased. I didn't even know what to do with myself. That had been my norm for so long. My lower back was sore from standing upright because I was so used to being hunched over! I called my gastro's office and was so excited to share with Linda, the nurse, (yes, we were on a first name basis by then) my happy news. We cancelled the Charleston appointment but of course will return to my doctor if needed.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
It has now been 4 months and I've gained about 5 pounds. I know that doesn't sound like too much but I'm thrilled. After about a month, I introduced rice and white potato back into my diet to try to gain more weight. Since then I've completely added grains back in to continue to try to gain healthy weight. I'm still off of dairy and <i>trying</i> to avoid added sugars. I still feel great and truly like I've been given my life back. </div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
I also have a more realistic outlook on the rest of my life: I will always need to be careful with my diet. The creamy sauces. The desserts. The fried foods. Even THE CHOCOLATE. It's not worth it to me. (Yikes! Did I really write that into existence??)</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
So. I wrote this for me. To remind me of God's faithfulness through this storm. And yes, He'd still be faithful if that MRI returned with scarier results. Yes, He'd still be faithful if the Paleo diet didn't work. In this part of my story, though, he's teaching me discipline through my food choices. And his mercy in restoration.</div>
<div class="p2">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="p1">
Thanks for pushing through to the end! Please, if you struggle with similar belly issues that plague so many people these days, consider looking at a lifestyle change such as the Paleo diet or something similar. </div>
Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-87530308527276535042013-09-06T10:20:00.000-04:002013-09-06T19:11:37.007-04:00Filling belliesCome into my morning if you will.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I shuffle, still haven't spoken words, into the coffee maker, the toaster, the cereal bowls, the milk. Fill the empty bellies. Anna is crawling around my feet, pulling up to my legs to be held. James is asking if I want to play Legos. Really so sweetly and with such good manners that it hurts my heart to say no... again. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And the day begins. My brain is already searching for my own space. Push away. Leave me alone for - just - one - minute - PLEASE. No solace. Where's the quiet that was so fleeting with sleep? </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I sit with my breakfast, take one bite. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"No, no more juice. Fill your cup with water if you're still thirsty."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"Anna, are you already stinky?"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
"You don't have to announce that you footahed, James. Just say excuse me."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I don't think I have finished one complete thought yet.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Anna soon goes down for her morning nap. Ah. James is playing Legos at the dining room table. Yet still I am on edge. The day isn't half over and I feel so panicky. Crazy. Still bitter inside, even as I sit with my now-room-temp-coffee. Just waiting for one more interruption, to feel justified in my internal wrath. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I open my Bible to Matthew's account. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I see here that Jesus, too, was once on edge. His cousin, his dear close friend, the one who baptized him was just murdered. Beheaded. A bigger deal than my semi-chaotic-first-world-breakfast-morning, I suppose.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He was in mourning and wanted to be alone. He needed quiet. And for excellent cause.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But he didn't get it. THRONGS of people searched for him and found him. THOUSANDS of people interrupted him. They interrupted his agony and his need to have complete thoughts about the death of his friend. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So where was his bitterness? Where was his lashing out and his leave me alone for just - one - minute?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It was lost and gone. Killed by his compassion for the hungry bellies in front of him. And he fed them - all of them - until they were satisfied.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
He still needed to be alone, though, and that time did come. He went high on a mountain to pray and found his quiet after they were all gone. But I see that in the meantime, in the interruptions, he was patient. And compassionate. And so generous and gentle. I have a feeling he wouldn't even call them interruptions.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And so when the inevitable chatter began again, I was thankful to find my heart a little softer. At least this time. Grace for today. </div>
Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-33103810947260649982013-06-01T20:09:00.000-04:002013-06-01T20:09:00.596-04:00Storytelling with little onesIf you tell bedtime stories to your kids, you're making them smarter!<br />
<br />
My parents are incredible storytellers. Growing up, we snuggled in their bed and listened to the adventures of Tubby Turtle, Ricky and Rhonda Robin, Moo-Moo the Cow and the Doodah Bear. Sometimes the bad guys were The Troggs who would try to make Tubby into turtle soup. We later learned they were the band that sang "Wild Thing." Nice. My parents told stories slowly and with lots of detail. And we were rapt.<br />
<br />
The benefits are numerous. Selfishly, it's a great excuse to lay down and rest and cuddle with my boy who doesn't always want to stay still these days. But also, he is forming the story in his imagination - no pictures in a book, no screen to dictate the action that he sees in his mind's eye. And it doesn't take much. Not a super complex storyline. Just a not-too-scary problem, lots of sillies, and the good guys winning at the end. <br />
<br />
Now we are trying our hand at some storytelling. We let James name our characters and each character is a member of our family. Jim is Bobalob the Bear, I'm Hubbly the Owl, James is Funny the Fox, and Anna is Honky the Horse.<br />
<br />
We're a blended family, obviously.<br />
<br />
Mainly, their adventures occur in the woods with other woodland creatures. A baby mouse with her tail stuck under a fallen rock; Funny the Fox comes to the rescue (yea, forget that Funny would probably make a snack out of baby mouse.) Bobalob the Bear has to climb waaaaaay up in a tree to rescue Honky the Horse because she climbed up but, Hello! she's a horse and now is stuck.<br />
<br />
But honestly, the very best stories are when James gets us started. Riveting plots such as, "...when Bobalob takes everyone out of the forest to eat at Papas and Beer!" or "...when Funny the Fox asks Hubbly if he can play a game on her phone."<br />
<br />
Ha!<br />
<br />
And of course you can always do the sneaky parent move where you reinforce a moral or solution from reality. You know, when Funny the Fox didn't want to go to bed or Honky the Horse knocked down Funny's tower...<br />
<br />
There's a reason storytelling is so powerful. Check out a bit from <a href="http://lifehacker.com/5965703/the-science-of-storytelling-why-telling-a-story-is-the-most-powerful-way-to-activate-our-brains" target="_blank">this</a> incredible article:<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-size: 16px; line-height: 25px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><div data-textannotation-id="2f5dd6b5a6f92134b585ed101573474e" style="box-sizing: border-box; direction: ltr; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.6; margin-bottom: 19px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; max-width: 100%; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 18px; padding-right: 18px; padding-top: 0px; word-break: break-word;">
It's in fact quite simple. If we listen to a powerpoint presentation with boring bullet points, a certain part in the brain gets activated. Scientists call this Broca's area and Wernicke's area. Overall, it hits our language processing parts in the brain, where we decode words into meaning. And that's it, nothing else happens.</div>
<div data-textannotation-id="09cd397833ef3435360c563de823da1b" style="box-sizing: border-box; direction: ltr; font-size: 15px; font-weight: normal; line-height: 1.6; margin-bottom: 19px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; max-width: 100%; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-left: 18px; padding-right: 18px; padding-top: 0px; word-break: break-word;">
When we are being told a story, <a data-ls-seen="1" href="http://www.nytimes.com/2012/03/18/opinion/sunday/the-neuroscience-of-your-brain-on-fiction.html?adxnnl=1&pagewanted=all&adxnnlx=1354716276-vBCJNxgtIuIFGnU+PmkBpA&_r=0" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #709602; line-height: inherit; text-decoration: none;" target="_blank">things change dramatically</a>. Not only are the language processing parts in our brain activated, <b style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bold; line-height: inherit;">but any other area in our brain that we would use when experiencing the events of the story are too</b>.</div>
</span></span><blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Times, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #222222; font-size: 15px; line-height: 24px;">If someone tells us about how delicious certain foods were, our sensory cortex lights up. If it's about motion, our motor cortex gets active.</span> </span></blockquote>
In short, telling stories makes meaningful, creative, and lasting connections with our children. And it's really no surprise to me that, once upon a time, Jesus did the same. Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-34631587674595782002013-03-25T09:27:00.001-04:002013-03-25T09:27:16.466-04:00Sweet Anna at 5.5 MonthsI know. Five and a half months is no significant milestone. But I just realized that she's almost six months old and I've dreadfully succumbed to the "second-child-doesn't-get-baby-book-filled-out" thing.<br />
<br />
Of course, she doesn't even have a baby book... and I think James' is only about a third filled out. I did keep regular milestone updates for James on here, so I better get crackin' for my girl!<br />
<br />
I must say, Anna Jubilee is simply a joy. She's somewhat bashful and oh, so sweet. Usually, she's looking around, wide-eyed, with her eyebrows lifted in expectation. When you talk to her, she'll tilt her chin down and look up with her big dark (smoky green/brown?) eyes to throw you a grin and your heart just plummets right to the floor. <br />
<br />
At the same time, though, when she gets excited (the changing table = Disney World), her plump little legs go wild, kicking so fast there's not much hope for diving in there for a diaper change. She's perfected the feminine squeal. I remember the first time she did it, I thought, "Whoa. That sound has never emitted from my rugged little man-boy. She IS a girl."<br />
<br />
She loves to be held and walked around, facing outward. If you hold her toward you, she twists and turns and kicks until you turn her around.<br />
<br />
She has most blessedly slept through the night (7pm - 7:30am) for the past three nights. She takes sporadic 45 min/1 hr naps, but I have no complaints there. She has marginally tolerated a few helpings of baby cereal and we'll probably go for some avocado soon.<br />
<br />
She has two teeth on the bottom row and she drools and blows bubbles so much that I barely notice it now... probably much to the chagrin of strangers around us. If there is anything within her fluffy arms' reach, it is immediately deposited into her gnawing chops.<br />
<br />
She rolls from tummy and from back and has been for a while now. I caught her trying so desperately to push up to her knees to reach a toy the other day. But don't worry, she got a severe reprimand for growing up THAT fast.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjryuFFYHWI4tfZucRqe4ZykaeRZQTiz7H75wIGoIzzkNlLozSi0P0cW8Ust6vVaHmPIwj6gVU9NcdZV-9SeFUZ66nrYB2eVuIxdPzokkLHnNLHS8U9eUP-_2wXCBsGWghzXWTuYQjY75IT/s1600/IMG_0656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjryuFFYHWI4tfZucRqe4ZykaeRZQTiz7H75wIGoIzzkNlLozSi0P0cW8Ust6vVaHmPIwj6gVU9NcdZV-9SeFUZ66nrYB2eVuIxdPzokkLHnNLHS8U9eUP-_2wXCBsGWghzXWTuYQjY75IT/s320/IMG_0656.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I can't believe it's almost been 6 months, and yet of course I can't imagine our little life without her. I'm so excited to watch her grow.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-12611687554516080702013-03-13T09:41:00.001-04:002013-03-13T09:43:23.103-04:00A Buddy Conversation.I was admiring a recent Lego construction and said, "Wow, you're so creative, James!" He looked at me for a moment, then back to the space ship, then back to me...<br />
<br />
James: Mommy, God created the heavens and the earth.<br />
<br />
Me: And he created us, too. And he created us to BE creative.<br />
<br />
James: What's creative?<br />
<br />
Me: It's when we make things. Like painting, or cooking, or building with Legos, or planting a garden outside...<br />
<br />
James: ... or telling stories... or making BABIES!<br />
<br />
Me, laughing: Yep. And babies.<br />
<br />
He gets it.<br />
<br />
Jim has a habit of speaking scripture to James in a conversational way, just like he's telling him a story. I'd love to do this, too, but it helps if you have some memorized... which I don't... or not that well anyway. The first chapter of Genesis is a frequent one and it's so beautiful when conversations like this happen and it's clear that he's been listening. Even when sometimes as Jim finishes, James will respond with something like, "Look at this booger I got, Daddy."Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-12578673962264044522013-02-07T14:39:00.000-05:002013-02-07T14:39:40.785-05:00Her name.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">
This is my dear, precious, best, bosom friend, Anna. In this picture we are juniors or seniors in high school, squeezing each other in the frigid football stands of a marching band competition. She played the piccolo, I played the clarinet.</div>
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgxs4T6NtqtvfqlQ3-lCJmC7dzenpm-GDFswTHeUCbaLmdhVclJNUnP-ApydblbVrng_iBjIqN7CXmem8BBipVrwyEpq7iKxjzGaWl3J2PnMQbDd1dAn-wu0L4MSUAiWrzHTXoK_SC3rnU/s1600/me+&+smar,+band+awards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgxs4T6NtqtvfqlQ3-lCJmC7dzenpm-GDFswTHeUCbaLmdhVclJNUnP-ApydblbVrng_iBjIqN7CXmem8BBipVrwyEpq7iKxjzGaWl3J2PnMQbDd1dAn-wu0L4MSUAiWrzHTXoK_SC3rnU/s320/me+&+smar,+band+awards.jpg" width="224" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And here we are with our other sister-friend, Rachel, around age 4 or 5. Anna would still rock those gold shoes and wacky hair bow today. Shamelessly.</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZfmsqaokAecXInO1Db0s5fbzdA_rUZhUHjSb7vPM68cPGngFCfNr-dgeYlM0Dl6EKXpaMqFrrWshBRIl46SBpeR31Dvv6vHgXk32Py2vWFH3kfM5rfvLamy5d07aYz1KGdtpvJzK1eZb6/s1600/we+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZfmsqaokAecXInO1Db0s5fbzdA_rUZhUHjSb7vPM68cPGngFCfNr-dgeYlM0Dl6EKXpaMqFrrWshBRIl46SBpeR31Dvv6vHgXk32Py2vWFH3kfM5rfvLamy5d07aYz1KGdtpvJzK1eZb6/s320/we+3.jpg" width="254" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Anna has been my friend since my memory begins. We were neighbors, children together, up on Chestnut Mountain. Way out in the boonies where no one else was. We slid down rocky creeks in just our Hanes Her Ways and picked blackberries along the road that was cut through the woods on our mountain. We swam in the muddy lake and got stung by yellow jackets in the summer. Our playground was a seemingly endless forest with fabled bobcats (often heard but never seen) and maybe even a bear or two.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
She was home schooled for some of her elementary years and then joined me in 5th grade at our little public school. It absolutely made my year that my best friend was going to be in my class. We were inseparable into middle school. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Middle school. As tragic as middle school is by itself, Anna also endured the loss of her mother to cancer. Carol was a beautiful, gregarious, welcoming, and artistic woman. It was devastating. Anna spent many nights with our family during that time, some of which I would wake to her crying. An awkward seventh grader myself, I would have no clue what to say. My mom was alive. </div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSLj9sr2wOwi28Om3fBHoAFztJxPuNBVyX-ApuTJ2C1yiRzlRtvWgyxPZoBe3Txa8OcnpwudTw3by-9vrWkr6Vm3VamR_HnnKz8PFN90YHJr2EEG0nc20xprIjrFpCslzISVFHFyU7fXPJ/s1600/3+with+moms.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSLj9sr2wOwi28Om3fBHoAFztJxPuNBVyX-ApuTJ2C1yiRzlRtvWgyxPZoBe3Txa8OcnpwudTw3by-9vrWkr6Vm3VamR_HnnKz8PFN90YHJr2EEG0nc20xprIjrFpCslzISVFHFyU7fXPJ/s320/3+with+moms.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>With our mamas, Anna and Carol on the right.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
We weathered middle school together, became women together. We liked some of the same boys and got in trouble for talking too much in freshman biology class. We both drove little white Toyota Corollas. <br />
<br />
In late high school, boyfriends and youthful indiscretion (read that: underaged drinking of cheap beer) distanced us. Anna pursued the artistic gifts from her mom through photography. I pursued shallow popularity. A really cool thing happened, though. On the very last day of our senior year, it was like all of that had never happened. We fell right back in step. That tends to happen with true friends.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiubwcPVWSdPexCS7BPm0SPcfcKIJkn2yRo1Zu50LcdGjHTwH5TQuSCwUCPTkxmZVIrrByA3jjbFQ0LVMjUnvceKJZpKkpWT73ZNVwzgnxt_TU3sYQUtPD9eQepxQtZpAH1VYM4SHiKn9r/s1600/senior+day.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiubwcPVWSdPexCS7BPm0SPcfcKIJkn2yRo1Zu50LcdGjHTwH5TQuSCwUCPTkxmZVIrrByA3jjbFQ0LVMjUnvceKJZpKkpWT73ZNVwzgnxt_TU3sYQUtPD9eQepxQtZpAH1VYM4SHiKn9r/s320/senior+day.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>On Senior Day.</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We continued on into different colleges, but remained very close. Anna obtained a degree in black and white photography and then another in art history. I chose elementary education. She was there for me when I finally realized the futility of partying and when I transferred schools because I just wanted to come home. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
She was there when I remembered Jesus. She was there to affirm that, yes, he is in fact the greatest in all of existence. And that's not to say she didn't have her own struggles with God. Her faith was deeper. Her's was wrought out of anger when he took her mom. The pain that she felt as a middle schooler, I have yet to experience.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
She was there when I met Jim. She was there in the tiny apartment that we shared, already crying happy tears as I walked in the door because she knew he had proposed that day. She stood beside me on my wedding day as my maid of honor, holding my 800 pound bouquet of lilies and roses.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I watched her, in proud awe, as she boarded a plane to study art in Italy. She came home a different person, worldly-wise and fresh with adventure. Her strength, independence, and bravery are some of her greatest attributes. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
She shed more happy tears when I announced that I was pregnant with James. She stood outside the delivery room and was one of the first in to see us.</div>
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFlx2SRRvJ2urJdXnmYP0YWDFMQKofL0KxLXyec6g_PsufSPDWKeE1XC9ASL5nxq6-aR2-XLH3BeQHGSX6g89BcUvW4Giyrz3U1mPZc2HFGYcWXlWik7GZoP6jnAX18g3GPOql_jNOyOq9/s1600/IMG_1271.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFlx2SRRvJ2urJdXnmYP0YWDFMQKofL0KxLXyec6g_PsufSPDWKeE1XC9ASL5nxq6-aR2-XLH3BeQHGSX6g89BcUvW4Giyrz3U1mPZc2HFGYcWXlWik7GZoP6jnAX18g3GPOql_jNOyOq9/s320/IMG_1271.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
She remains one of his favorite people.</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/AVvXsEj7OAuu4l-fyTM7tI9DfwGH-RuoTDamsVQzkA6nsI-FYuqgERRFOCK3YRiAJrLcUc0hNa5QkmCOjnn5JqXraEtPImHpMMLNiJ0VYNtxYXsJ7Q3iBn7K8I8BFRKCPzbVRhdZp_Q_dN3z5CbM/s1600/734106_10101238164550237_785366163_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7OAuu4l-fyTM7tI9DfwGH-RuoTDamsVQzkA6nsI-FYuqgERRFOCK3YRiAJrLcUc0hNa5QkmCOjnn5JqXraEtPImHpMMLNiJ0VYNtxYXsJ7Q3iBn7K8I8BFRKCPzbVRhdZp_Q_dN3z5CbM/s320/734106_10101238164550237_785366163_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So when we found out that we were pregnant with a girl, we began the daunting task of choosing a name. (It was easy with James Walker Thompson the <i>Fifth</i>, for Pete's sake). But then, all of the sudden, it became clear. Of course she should be called Anna. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Favor. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Grace. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My beautiful friend.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXpsyqLjfh0fgx_B9crLMtewZ9QV6HKpvuL5gcT05W8vrbIePu9Mqi8eJ8m9F9yh4OPSriGyoqvdQNHQ5T9HZDeeHeIqzGERcOgEYY6fxFroljwLX7LOeIs5djS-G57WmDnJHi992pzvdX/s1600/10293_624736177636_1439050180_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXpsyqLjfh0fgx_B9crLMtewZ9QV6HKpvuL5gcT05W8vrbIePu9Mqi8eJ8m9F9yh4OPSriGyoqvdQNHQ5T9HZDeeHeIqzGERcOgEYY6fxFroljwLX7LOeIs5djS-G57WmDnJHi992pzvdX/s320/10293_624736177636_1439050180_n.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzXGkC99DZyErO9lX-lokHVyJ7jSdzeOV7ACFV8EO81ZZMs07pxrYSxr3l8XwNpJVVWx15Bzo8KIdsS9ORe5f2WFWygGxqXuGlLnlAyfM7nGMWj9neK54QBW5S76ITadJYQu_zdDipVQb-/s1600/483036_10100781892028993_1799146231_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzXGkC99DZyErO9lX-lokHVyJ7jSdzeOV7ACFV8EO81ZZMs07pxrYSxr3l8XwNpJVVWx15Bzo8KIdsS9ORe5f2WFWygGxqXuGlLnlAyfM7nGMWj9neK54QBW5S76ITadJYQu_zdDipVQb-/s320/483036_10100781892028993_1799146231_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Anna is now finishing her graduate work in seminary to become a counselor. She has traveled to the Dominican Republic to serve others and regularly helps the needy in her area. She still loves the arts, but wants to be able to help people who are hurting. She is kind. Compassionate. Selfless. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Strength and dignity are her clothing and she smiles at the future... and I pray that our Anna will follow in her footsteps. </div>
Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-32380015512739329542013-01-30T13:45:00.000-05:002013-01-30T19:06:04.980-05:00Watermelon and saying hard things.I don't like cutting up a watermelon. Or a pineapple. Or even uncooked potatoes.<br />
<br />
Twelve-year-old me, standing next to my mama chopping in the kitchen, she teaches me, "Sara, you have to have a special balance of confidence and caution when using sharp knives. Without one or the other you <i>will</i> cut yourself. Be strong but always know where your fingers are."<br />
<br />
I try to remember this but my knees still get weak as I try to push a big knife through a cantaloupe. It takes practice.<br />
<br />
Confrontation also makes me physically sick. I get queasy and tongue-tied and would rather do anything but tell someone something uncomfortable. But we are not to sacrifice our loved ones on the altar of comfort. It, too, takes practice.<br />
<br />
I have to be confident and cautious. Confident that it is always right to tell the truth and cautious with my words. They have to be compassionate and edifying and helpful - not browbeating or condemning.<br />
<br />
And with that, <a href="http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ephesians+4&version=NIV" target="_blank">Ephesians 4</a> is a good read. May we learn to speak the truth in love and kindness to one another. Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-25355898762180643452013-01-29T14:16:00.000-05:002013-01-29T14:16:51.141-05:00As a mama, how do I approach scripture?I must admit, when I hear Christians use scripture in debate with atheists or agnostics, I cringe. I feel like I can <i>see</i> the other person stop listening.<br />
<br />
Clearly the authority of scripture is a cornerstone of the Christian faith, but engaging with our world means understanding that not everyone recognizes that authority and may see it as silly-from-the-Dark-Ages circular reasoning. <br />
<br />
Anyway, this post is not about that. This post recognizes all of those differences, but lands on the fact that I <i>do</i> hold scripture in an extremely high place in my heart and home. So reader, if you do not, this post is not for you.<br />
<br />
But as a Christian mama, why should I make it a priority to study scripture and teach it to my children? Shouldn't it just be a private thing between God and me? Shouldn't I let them decide what they will believe on their own as they grow and mature?<br />
<br />
After all, we wouldn't want to be <i>these </i>frightening parents...<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUdcXXZs00s2IMzsp4pgbnuAadJF53dPvhQ2J8pDK03komb973h5bvnpO2Kf60KVw36Gqn1wsf2F6I0Vi-uV7pdtv341YTETCmTap5S4UBvDxjNOTN2qxCxxiSOCw2b0WIbOoonJhVgz33/s1600/bible,child,indoctrination-09de687e4ebd3167f894cef80c540549_h.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUdcXXZs00s2IMzsp4pgbnuAadJF53dPvhQ2J8pDK03komb973h5bvnpO2Kf60KVw36Gqn1wsf2F6I0Vi-uV7pdtv341YTETCmTap5S4UBvDxjNOTN2qxCxxiSOCw2b0WIbOoonJhVgz33/s320/bible,child,indoctrination-09de687e4ebd3167f894cef80c540549_h.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
As with everything, we must seek the balance. If I staunchly require James to read his Bible before he's allowed to eat breakfast, there's a problem. However, if he witnesses Jim and me reading and singing scripture because we find <i>joy</i> and <i>comfort </i>and <i>truth </i>in it, that is better - - and much closer to scripture, I believe. I want to teach him that we don't read scripture to know a book (and certainly not to model behaviors of a number of Old Testament characters) but to better know a Person. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But how then will he call on him if he has not believed? And how will he believe if he doesn't hear? And how will he hear if his Mama doesn't tell him???*</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So I will tell him. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Broadly at first, with great resources like the Jesus Storybook Bible, wherein "every story whispers His name." Showing him the whole arch of the redemptive story, how it all fits together and points to Jesus. And with our wonderful Fellowship Kids ministry who so beautifully partners with us in simple monthly memory verses and activities. And as he grows, we can dive in more deeply, learning together what this great and mysterious book means to us. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
All that said, even if I <i>were</i> to choose to force scripture down his throat OR be more passive in hopes that he'll "catch" it, it doesn't matter. It's not up to me. I can do the best job within my knowledge and capacity as his mama and he could still grow up and curse God. And if that's the case, I will still utterly love him because I was loved. For while I was cursing and lying and giving myself away, God loved me. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But perhaps one day - and I pray that it's so - James and Anna <i>will</i> meet the God of this book. Perhaps they will be given eyes to see and ears to hear how this God was Jesus and came to us and died and killed death and was alive again. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
And while it will be my greatest joy, the glory will not be mine.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
(*Rom. 10:14, my words) </div>
Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-46462880796309303632013-01-18T14:39:00.001-05:002013-01-18T14:47:35.842-05:00The rain is gone...After a straight week of frigid, gloomy, soggy, grey outside, our backyard is now drenched in almost white sunlight. Not a single cloud. An utter downpour of yellow.<br />
<br />
I love being at home; a homebody. My body likes being at home.<br />
<br />
But why, after only a few days that held a scant number of short errands or meetings that required us to venture out into the wet, are we itching to go? Cooped up. Cabin fever. Get me outta here.<br />
<br />
Living room floor exercising or running the laps in pursuit of the squealing, delight-shrieking 3-year-old is not enough. We need to go somewhere and do something.<br />
<br />
A trip to the grocery store sounds like Disneyland.<br />
<br />
We were not made to be sedentary. We need room and purpose and light and connection. Dark, cold, and closed makes us turn in on ourselves and sink deeper. That's why we sleep when it's like that. It's really one of the only profitable things to do then. Bears got it right.<br />
<br />
Now, I love a good rain for repose. An opportunity to slow and snuggle. But the light brings uncoiling. Stretching and reaching. Let's go do something. Accomplish and breath faster.<br />
<br />
And it makes me remember that we are to be "giving thanks to the Father...who has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of this beloved Son..."<br />
<br />
And to look forward to the kingdom of light that is coming where there will be no need for a massive burning star because all the light will come from him.<br />
<br />
Just from him. There, we will need no sun.<br />
<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-72461195134697609732013-01-17T13:19:00.000-05:002013-01-17T13:27:06.607-05:00The age of fears.Tucking in my boy...<br />
<br />
James: <i>Mommy, who's in heaven?</i><br />
<br />
Me (carefully): <i>Well, there are angels and God is there and --</i><br />
<br />
James interrupts: <i>No, like Ulku's daddy. (My friend whose father has passed away)</i><br />
<br />
Me: <i>Yes, people that have died are in heaven, too.</i><br />
<br />
James: <i>... I don't want to go to heaven ...</i><br />
<br />
Me: <i>That's ok, buddy. It's going to wonderful and happy and fun there, but you don't have to think about that for a long, long time. <freaking inside="inside" like="like" mad="mad" out="out" praying="praying"></freaking></i><br />
<br />
James: <i>But I want to be here with you. In our house! For a long, long time.</i><br />
<br />
Me: <i>I'll always be with you, buddy. Always, always.</i><br />
<br />
James (grins): <i>Always!</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Jim and I have been trying to be aware of the age of fears (usually from 3-5 years old). Not allowing scary stuff on TV, even seemingly benign "tickle monsters" and the like. But a lot of the fearfulness, I'm finding, is simply James learning about the world around him. And the world is scary.<br />
<br />
The lack of light at night is scary.<br />
<br />
The reason we have to wear seat belts is scary. (Another one that was hard to explain.)<br />
<br />
The <i>other </i>reasons that we have policemen, apart from the simple "they're here to help!"<br />
<br />
The thought of dying is scary.<br />
<br />
So as his questions are going deeper, my answers have to be truthful. And I can't pretend for him any longer that there are people who don't follow the laws. Or that car accidents happen every day.<br />
<br />
This is hard, you guys! Of course I don't go all unabridged into every subject; it must still be age appropriate, but he's not satisfied with the comfy answers that I could provide even just a few months ago.<br />
<br />
Older moms have told me that as your children get older, it's less physically demanding and much more emotionally and mentally taxing. Uh, yea! And he's not even four.<br />
<br />
Praying for grace and wisdom as I try to impart the same to my babes...Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-64496702826717480882012-12-11T13:36:00.004-05:002012-12-11T13:37:34.108-05:00In this particular moment<br />
...I'm grateful for both babes taking their afternoon naps at the same time,<br />
<br />
for the month of December in all of its flurry and happiness,<br />
<br />
for friends that push me toward Jesus,<br />
<br />
for family that encourages and loves me unconditionally,<br />
<br />
for this cup of hot chocolate with mini marshmallows in it,<br />
<br />
for The Lord of the Rings extended edition DVD set that we're borrowing from our friends that will give us at least a week of home date nights,<br />
<br />
for tough situations in my life that make me pray,<br />
<br />
and for the internet where I can share this gratitude with others.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-5787540395394468782012-12-10T13:19:00.002-05:002012-12-10T14:01:41.836-05:00Very revealing...Anna is now a little over 2 months old. We are beginning to sleep on a somewhat normal schedule, helping me regain a little of what I remember as lucidity.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_pkUaJ_Qn8Qz1piZXqedA03N3T-43NZD6lMc7_9I-12wm2sO778IgS-dFqQrzzd0nIbK1PlamsKcjXsok_IgJjEa72gs3XQbKTWdWDzTVZSjuzXWV9FuPiJdvYSI4-egw_V9cStvV71yy/s1600/IMG_7904.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_pkUaJ_Qn8Qz1piZXqedA03N3T-43NZD6lMc7_9I-12wm2sO778IgS-dFqQrzzd0nIbK1PlamsKcjXsok_IgJjEa72gs3XQbKTWdWDzTVZSjuzXWV9FuPiJdvYSI4-egw_V9cStvV71yy/s320/IMG_7904.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
In these moments of healthier-sleep-induced-awareness, I've been able to reflect upon some things about myself. Some ugly things. Some very stinky, rotten things.<br />
<br />
Having a newborn is a great way to reveal your true self, if you really want to see it. The parts of you that you tuck away for no one to see, ever. The monster that comes out when every back and arm muscle is aching and it's 2:30 am and she. won't. eat. but would rather scream right in my ear as I bounce and pace and cry right along with her. (I'm pretty sure every mama has been in that moment.)<br />
<br />
Dare I say it, I <i>think </i>those nights are behind us for now. They went so quickly. Why was I so short-tempered? Yes, I know I was sleep-deprived, healing from labor, with a cocktail of post-partum hormones coursing through me... but somehow I hoped that I'd be stronger. That I was a seasoned veteran. Puh! Yeah, right.<br />
<br />
Instead, I'm only reminded of the VERY thin layer of Sara Control. I can make it look good for a little bit, but when life pushes back against me, I crumple. My patience is weak and short. My idea of the depths of despair would be a day in the park to some. My point of hopelessness is laughable.<br />
<br />
And the ugliest part that I saw was that I turn to myself for help.<br />
<br />
Instead of laying my unattractive heart down to be washed and renewed in repentance, I picked it up myself and poured another cup of fix-it coffee.<br />
<br />
On the other end of the first 8 weeks of another human's life (some of the most catch-your-breath beautiful and yet frustrating moments), I'm reminded again of His silent long-suffering.<br />
<br />
Of His endless patience with my fussiness.<br />
<br />
That He went deeper into any depths of despair that I could ever imagine, and came out the other side victorious.<br />
<br />
And that He <i>is</i> hope. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
... linking up with GraceLaced today!<br />
<div align="center"><a href="http://www.gracelaced.com/category/grace-laced-mondays/" title="GraceLaced Mondays"><img src="http://www.gracelaced.com/uploads/2012/10/GL-Mondays.jpg" alt="GraceLaced Mondays" style="border:none;" /></a></div>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-73001660190461061772012-10-06T20:03:00.001-04:002012-10-06T20:08:43.879-04:00Anna's StorySo here's how it happened;<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
How <i>she</i> happened, this little angel beauty:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDbUun848CMver7NSzTZydUi2r01clklooXDWlDmW2xCEdVhQyefGZ_WUaJKx9Jfht5llQMEUwvLAtOZojmfBzuQfx7U0qngiyyRBPtGKdRGk67uMrX3NsmTd795cBs35WNVa1-Dio8kVk/s1600/IMG_7241.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="235" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDbUun848CMver7NSzTZydUi2r01clklooXDWlDmW2xCEdVhQyefGZ_WUaJKx9Jfht5llQMEUwvLAtOZojmfBzuQfx7U0qngiyyRBPtGKdRGk67uMrX3NsmTd795cBs35WNVa1-Dio8kVk/s320/IMG_7241.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Contractions had been teasing me for weeks, organizing for an hour at 8-10 minutes apart, then tapering off. Tuesday night, we had a birthday supper with our friends and I diced a 1/3 of a hot chili pepper into my taco salad, hoping to move things along. I woke up the next morning with contractions 5 minutes apart and told Jim he should stay home from work. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
But, no dice. They slowed down to 20 min apart and off to work he went. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We went to bed Wednesday night around 10 pm. I slept soundly until 1:24 am when all of the sudden a rope of contraction wound around my middle. Another one 5 minutes later and then they continued for about 45 minutes. I woke up Jim, ate some waffles, and drank a glass of milk. He encouraged me to lie back down to try to rest. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Sure enough, back to 7-10 min apart, but this time I felt like they were here to stay. I couldn't find a comfortable position. Side lying was excruciating - only standing or all fours was bearable and I couldn't really rest in those positions. Jim pulled a chair up to the bed so I could sit and rest the top half of my body on a few pillows. This was perfect. I could actually relax through the contractions and then almost fall completely asleep between them. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
At 5:00 am my water broke and contractions came consistently between 4 and 5 minutes apart. After calling our precious Barb to come stay with James and loading up the car, we quit timing them and just drove. I was so excited and pumped with adrenaline and hormones, I couldn't stop shaking almost the whole ride to the hospital. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We checked in and had to start out in a triage room (apparently October 4 is a popular birthday). My nurse checked my progress and said, "Huh..." I was expecting 4 cm at the most. We whooped and hollered when she said 7 cm! </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
She said, "We'll go ahead and call Dr. Stafford." </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"For me?" </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
"Yeah," she said, "this is going to go pretty fast."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Sure enough, I went to use the restroom, and the next contraction made me want to bear down and push. The nurse heard me and yelled, "Don't you have that baby in the toilet!"</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The next little bit went so quickly. I made it back to the bed, Dr. Stafford was there along with 4 other nurses, all ready to apparently catch my baby girl. I was still in shock - surely it couldn't be time yet. After about 5 or 6 sets of pushing, Anna emerged, warm and smooth. She snuggled quietly on my chest (after yelling for a bit about the nasal aspirator) for the longest time. Absolute heavenly bliss.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Jim was our champion, rubbing my back and legs and cheering me on through the pushing. One of the sweetest moments was when he held Anna for the first time. He leaned against the wall, slid down on the floor, curled his arms and shoulders around her and said, "You can have whatever you want." </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I watched my husband fall in love with another girl right before my eyes. And it was beautiful.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We are having a sweet and uneventful recovery period, reveling in the love and generosity of friends and family. James came to the hospital and was so precious with Anna. After being very concerned with all my hospital bracelets and saline port, he gave Anna hugs and kisses and then hopped down on the floor to play with his rocket ship. Pretty standard 3-year-old behavior :) </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
My dear friend <a href="http://simplicityandreality.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Mandy</a> flew on the wings of the morning and met us at the hospital to take pictures during the labor. I was SO thankful for this gift. These are images that would have otherwise quickly become fuzzy in my memory. She says the lighting was tough to work with but I think they turned out beautifully. (Click to view them in an enlarged album)</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Just arrived and excited!</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgr5pQ-f64KqVaFgVtyWBwb2w3InJZ2fDiphcPwNS8fgj5-UBsuDyeeX7RHG9K8-jL2yZtUmNTaeal4Y-tfhFAiWNCFgnbuD9AHU5FL7ESm2V1Bt1aIikAyvC_gkz0dCJWXe2qD9zGLUN/s1600/DSC_0059.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQgr5pQ-f64KqVaFgVtyWBwb2w3InJZ2fDiphcPwNS8fgj5-UBsuDyeeX7RHG9K8-jL2yZtUmNTaeal4Y-tfhFAiWNCFgnbuD9AHU5FL7ESm2V1Bt1aIikAyvC_gkz0dCJWXe2qD9zGLUN/s320/DSC_0059.jpg" width="246" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The Man, Dr. Stafford</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjTpmTogkV4iHNIQZ2PtNcnsg3Ks_lHI__updzR3QQfmPASAbQsKEwrtMS1BEwoOhJvuN6NtumVYyjQ3um6CSdhvkOU7OxcGUFd9cSIaUDlTqaZZhlHdp8GWUvrH9VkY7avaiVga5wWavb/s1600/DSC_0060.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjTpmTogkV4iHNIQZ2PtNcnsg3Ks_lHI__updzR3QQfmPASAbQsKEwrtMS1BEwoOhJvuN6NtumVYyjQ3um6CSdhvkOU7OxcGUFd9cSIaUDlTqaZZhlHdp8GWUvrH9VkY7avaiVga5wWavb/s320/DSC_0060.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpc9E-nEobUG2XFcjFIo2kRSKvqOO4mTcpjQtrlb0QrRGjJfHhWh4RJ-ayfqoO14uK22vjOiGM7Lgt2dTibSio5ECnYxz6RlhQRROtDRNYk5swnzYZRsA3N8x4Y_ehaauHyGizsluCdjMl/s1600/DSC_0061.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="244" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpc9E-nEobUG2XFcjFIo2kRSKvqOO4mTcpjQtrlb0QrRGjJfHhWh4RJ-ayfqoO14uK22vjOiGM7Lgt2dTibSio5ECnYxz6RlhQRROtDRNYk5swnzYZRsA3N8x4Y_ehaauHyGizsluCdjMl/s320/DSC_0061.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Helping me relax</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjo1-2L1wk45VNdDeB_86bwJ0G0ooo3vlOn3donxHPPIKjAWL41cllWXuHdA8nZ7mGY-MIf3c6Gy_b5msShwktbktMFpNk-0BGDsfPFshQ77bPhnuP9ZJlvhlS0-MvLBQjjXr6aGtNAmD3/s1600/DSC_0062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjo1-2L1wk45VNdDeB_86bwJ0G0ooo3vlOn3donxHPPIKjAWL41cllWXuHdA8nZ7mGY-MIf3c6Gy_b5msShwktbktMFpNk-0BGDsfPFshQ77bPhnuP9ZJlvhlS0-MvLBQjjXr6aGtNAmD3/s320/DSC_0062.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXj55cbnz1QHxCrNerDwOhB032AMjH5fOxDx_aAvcn4XbS1nEJHxbCOTBJ2MNse66o4OAQxPoOCY6cXAF-zP8ArryfnIb0RbzVPtqAYIPHln9lHt9zvzIVj60l-RlQ-wR0e8UJs80HHhit/s1600/DSC_0066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="279" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXj55cbnz1QHxCrNerDwOhB032AMjH5fOxDx_aAvcn4XbS1nEJHxbCOTBJ2MNse66o4OAQxPoOCY6cXAF-zP8ArryfnIb0RbzVPtqAYIPHln9lHt9zvzIVj60l-RlQ-wR0e8UJs80HHhit/s320/DSC_0066.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOFk94KdUtAxrl1nh4SVdCCv2bnhj-qh2GTEHilwW9rjXaj4cGQVczHWoiOH8909_sV4ZnxvZUyMjduc0juFim1XfvzbIUgQvPjG0TAKZyKKI1z535plz1Lb5uGrB2B7OOcvHEqUn9RCc8/s1600/DSC_0068.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOFk94KdUtAxrl1nh4SVdCCv2bnhj-qh2GTEHilwW9rjXaj4cGQVczHWoiOH8909_sV4ZnxvZUyMjduc0juFim1XfvzbIUgQvPjG0TAKZyKKI1z535plz1Lb5uGrB2B7OOcvHEqUn9RCc8/s320/DSC_0068.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Time to push!</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNzd1z7nKWL93k97cwwmK3oG0tQSBYYx7nzLhklqc8TXL-smQ3KH8vJ7lHrlZU-la5qiXRmcXOogXoxBJ_l_iGQqjVSGFI2ji6kq-XSmafWqE3vTvK1A1Vpw-qOuyM7qHNvCx3xljlnuff/s1600/DSC_0070.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNzd1z7nKWL93k97cwwmK3oG0tQSBYYx7nzLhklqc8TXL-smQ3KH8vJ7lHrlZU-la5qiXRmcXOogXoxBJ_l_iGQqjVSGFI2ji6kq-XSmafWqE3vTvK1A1Vpw-qOuyM7qHNvCx3xljlnuff/s320/DSC_0070.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ANmlPZC4DApqfVQx_3Ta9zJHkwjlb-O7XceiEA6keH0DfUe60aLYuNQqs_F9UciZej9PLX7Mh2LXwTWrgtyb2EHu6rI2GM8cJuWRYPYDGJ_O-rgLnwiIep3b0UT5RZ3CakAMu64qWFCa/s1600/DSC_0071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2ANmlPZC4DApqfVQx_3Ta9zJHkwjlb-O7XceiEA6keH0DfUe60aLYuNQqs_F9UciZej9PLX7Mh2LXwTWrgtyb2EHu6rI2GM8cJuWRYPYDGJ_O-rgLnwiIep3b0UT5RZ3CakAMu64qWFCa/s320/DSC_0071.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>This was the moment she was laid on my chest and Jim was hugging me. Love.</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghBMDZz9nG7e2s8M2nabOmYKlnE8zt3SAjjculUxQlYyKa4pkkOSr9cqvdoO-L7Gr8Qs9Qywexa88UPsZhOxDSzQWq-HDOq6AcseWv2vY78ffWFI96IlolBsl3Z12IzLJ6EYLLLl6f4U1t/s1600/DSC_0072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghBMDZz9nG7e2s8M2nabOmYKlnE8zt3SAjjculUxQlYyKa4pkkOSr9cqvdoO-L7Gr8Qs9Qywexa88UPsZhOxDSzQWq-HDOq6AcseWv2vY78ffWFI96IlolBsl3Z12IzLJ6EYLLLl6f4U1t/s320/DSC_0072.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlVa7Xu_XPSqzj0IHJxc5YXWGAZHZALtg5IGyxTcyQE5tDPMlv_cpKF5-p_rXa4ADppi97l26iEmu5Su6Pp-v8Yr9GlZyvNuCJV016eWqENyCaRpK6Yo2QP391hiJAFeliIIfpod2S0jGl/s1600/DSC_0080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlVa7Xu_XPSqzj0IHJxc5YXWGAZHZALtg5IGyxTcyQE5tDPMlv_cpKF5-p_rXa4ADppi97l26iEmu5Su6Pp-v8Yr9GlZyvNuCJV016eWqENyCaRpK6Yo2QP391hiJAFeliIIfpod2S0jGl/s320/DSC_0080.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMoI0JAhALZ8BtPcc1jjvUm1AqFYr3RQZr_uVbENbVW6CGDxwAcX1bOof12sp2_VbOL5HvjpshT32VMvq2HNCWMZpEVhtJT6JVKnoJxh9YxVpFM3zqSXHgTAdC8SCyeSEYMZGSaVwOGswd/s1600/DSC_0083.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMoI0JAhALZ8BtPcc1jjvUm1AqFYr3RQZr_uVbENbVW6CGDxwAcX1bOof12sp2_VbOL5HvjpshT32VMvq2HNCWMZpEVhtJT6JVKnoJxh9YxVpFM3zqSXHgTAdC8SCyeSEYMZGSaVwOGswd/s320/DSC_0083.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrecpvn88AN4GDocExjU8e8hPuLuh8KU2urB9JZs6hUVz4NGSRTMR2A2p0eaVmK9Se0Bv_9dyTwLzkN_PtFDmGnryJoZPcaeD1zTYR1nDpSnO_pM_2NGpbAsG5uDdXyxdcp90Czka5VvEH/s1600/DSC_0084.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrecpvn88AN4GDocExjU8e8hPuLuh8KU2urB9JZs6hUVz4NGSRTMR2A2p0eaVmK9Se0Bv_9dyTwLzkN_PtFDmGnryJoZPcaeD1zTYR1nDpSnO_pM_2NGpbAsG5uDdXyxdcp90Czka5VvEH/s320/DSC_0084.jpg" width="251" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4fJHfU-pzG0H8CJ3VHEfqzhppHev8iRNXp6wcDZBoAGJmgyyx3XGYA7o9DtXk-Cf2wA6mEbr_vlwHzmRbVRTDP-yIZoAhhPUxspfT2H9LHGbl7cB-1ViufJQBtwjr_9m4LVudZOorysIc/s1600/DSC_0085.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="205" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4fJHfU-pzG0H8CJ3VHEfqzhppHev8iRNXp6wcDZBoAGJmgyyx3XGYA7o9DtXk-Cf2wA6mEbr_vlwHzmRbVRTDP-yIZoAhhPUxspfT2H9LHGbl7cB-1ViufJQBtwjr_9m4LVudZOorysIc/s320/DSC_0085.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ax1boBDQPTOIlBXsRHh7AkVDYpvlFl7AXxt1j6GxHEEYQKjTaH7wc_W29XSE0wFfc5uXFPsatyNJ9AUiWjBF5f19RTWVXoJNrf27tZSnpSXcXJvedTqCwQX8lgE7XZ8XyhrKMxGSt_a9/s1600/DSC_0087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="227" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-ax1boBDQPTOIlBXsRHh7AkVDYpvlFl7AXxt1j6GxHEEYQKjTaH7wc_W29XSE0wFfc5uXFPsatyNJ9AUiWjBF5f19RTWVXoJNrf27tZSnpSXcXJvedTqCwQX8lgE7XZ8XyhrKMxGSt_a9/s320/DSC_0087.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggUPT-CkIX92WUvDiu9EuXkw8vKlWlU8pVGGw1mYYcyPizU5UoWltIx3aSrQqx5uPe1Z9Po8wKRdJzjBTgpwsrPjjSRFoX4Y202yrHEI1Qm7jOI0ANXvmlha0720Ui29g8nFzCT9AjtuZ6/s1600/DSC_0088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggUPT-CkIX92WUvDiu9EuXkw8vKlWlU8pVGGw1mYYcyPizU5UoWltIx3aSrQqx5uPe1Z9Po8wKRdJzjBTgpwsrPjjSRFoX4Y202yrHEI1Qm7jOI0ANXvmlha0720Ui29g8nFzCT9AjtuZ6/s320/DSC_0088.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcqrpxa_Jx-xx81G3fixViCuZt9UieRjrtc-VSufONLR82Mx27wjXYkz5bBHPADlYWe1jbP5RMjNYUNfRcwUVrXbDCQplLrX5r0hP8OhT22Zg5m6XdISrQ2EApmuk2HbCtswVULEScEgez/s1600/DSC_0089.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcqrpxa_Jx-xx81G3fixViCuZt9UieRjrtc-VSufONLR82Mx27wjXYkz5bBHPADlYWe1jbP5RMjNYUNfRcwUVrXbDCQplLrX5r0hP8OhT22Zg5m6XdISrQ2EApmuk2HbCtswVULEScEgez/s320/DSC_0089.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwu48_nDEN-Ob7gEQh_f6ImR-Uzm5kH1L2DSOSNlOx4Rzh1MLkjM9OT1rf-fphEqFFXAIdosSNeD1Cjm888mXK-BQmAZRgpqBBqyNe4BUfoRZsw1-HWgaxYpvXFID1uK0_TsSbV6x1WsUz/s1600/DSC_0092.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwu48_nDEN-Ob7gEQh_f6ImR-Uzm5kH1L2DSOSNlOx4Rzh1MLkjM9OT1rf-fphEqFFXAIdosSNeD1Cjm888mXK-BQmAZRgpqBBqyNe4BUfoRZsw1-HWgaxYpvXFID1uK0_TsSbV6x1WsUz/s320/DSC_0092.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjScXDGAQBLbeL39WJbKN9J7apwJXDxW0CyMWseyamRDL93Zx_cjF8jsQsMZkBQrMwfmb1xIr-J3aLjDXlYki-vwKNIPjY80XZXTwekp1VxanrfpQXyUuJRpbqsGEDbgM3Rzlv6eQ3_RLol/s1600/DSC_0095.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjScXDGAQBLbeL39WJbKN9J7apwJXDxW0CyMWseyamRDL93Zx_cjF8jsQsMZkBQrMwfmb1xIr-J3aLjDXlYki-vwKNIPjY80XZXTwekp1VxanrfpQXyUuJRpbqsGEDbgM3Rzlv6eQ3_RLol/s320/DSC_0095.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Crying as I watched them together for the first time. With my warm blankets and Jell-O of course.</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO59e-SKjNg7FAGjmls5DeT9PrBQjgjSoteqrBA-4HNpSpb0ymYkNDTgz0stmRPdbVTBOGC9M_vlgBjxvFRcntMNDVcB-hfwg3q6UZhWTmpcTaK-1r90F1ga5531dYt9_-SmTVQvXL87RE/s1600/DSC_0096.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO59e-SKjNg7FAGjmls5DeT9PrBQjgjSoteqrBA-4HNpSpb0ymYkNDTgz0stmRPdbVTBOGC9M_vlgBjxvFRcntMNDVcB-hfwg3q6UZhWTmpcTaK-1r90F1ga5531dYt9_-SmTVQvXL87RE/s320/DSC_0096.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTPQDE1ypABwf6-nbHd5He0cwzP55tE4mH1UWGnaWK9PEZ3pPfQIQQ4Vzpg1KWcaEBOIEOlzncL-dDR3x14OuQRuJaIaCgrh9crFGFFbFGOrk-B387-Q0xFIHW83yr4JyZNE3AvEzgAFAz/s1600/DSC_0097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTPQDE1ypABwf6-nbHd5He0cwzP55tE4mH1UWGnaWK9PEZ3pPfQIQQ4Vzpg1KWcaEBOIEOlzncL-dDR3x14OuQRuJaIaCgrh9crFGFFbFGOrk-B387-Q0xFIHW83yr4JyZNE3AvEzgAFAz/s320/DSC_0097.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsM9kAGnoMJPQDh6O2KHywhPcJStxG5bOTAYEIdmJs45e3z4fk_QwGT3Si8G39o9n4N9S1_VY4X1Nd8cyCY8twN7b8Nn3k2-_EC0aEA-DhTi03Xl-cpSF766CP3goXovkNQ7k5W-YIme6M/s1600/DSC_0103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsM9kAGnoMJPQDh6O2KHywhPcJStxG5bOTAYEIdmJs45e3z4fk_QwGT3Si8G39o9n4N9S1_VY4X1Nd8cyCY8twN7b8Nn3k2-_EC0aEA-DhTi03Xl-cpSF766CP3goXovkNQ7k5W-YIme6M/s320/DSC_0103.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0hn444BBvPIMtHf74Qfucw37wHVojXl43-aOx7QxnCdseUmqINhqOHWrdBYVE4E-P9cPhnhv-kf-D4lhyBEiW_5z724Whnc0aQvfzfJysq_-a5SOHvJHtZw9bz1h34J_OHsr11zwORNlK/s1600/DSC_0104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0hn444BBvPIMtHf74Qfucw37wHVojXl43-aOx7QxnCdseUmqINhqOHWrdBYVE4E-P9cPhnhv-kf-D4lhyBEiW_5z724Whnc0aQvfzfJysq_-a5SOHvJHtZw9bz1h34J_OHsr11zwORNlK/s320/DSC_0104.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEGTvwWuElfWfrnAe-njw1Drkv20ef9g0MBQY_aCizfd5sgn5Xb0ScKK5_2JsW1qFooFTKptKEka5hHdFnNDxVdHWGwARkPF2ct4B0Tp69fMo9zAQgt6jQAd1GTw06mA1o_9_-NVM3CzPG/s1600/DSC_0108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEGTvwWuElfWfrnAe-njw1Drkv20ef9g0MBQY_aCizfd5sgn5Xb0ScKK5_2JsW1qFooFTKptKEka5hHdFnNDxVdHWGwARkPF2ct4B0Tp69fMo9zAQgt6jQAd1GTw06mA1o_9_-NVM3CzPG/s320/DSC_0108.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>6 lbs 15 oz, 18" long, born at 7:11 am</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnTM1h8ZRnKoL0Eg3zOgANd1SctPLC69AELbHgz5DPUyrrvwfkjnfP8O2AeYCoIng-P73Kso8Pe67pLubXG5E2qQnkv46j13MB-PFkbPifkVOk1ygK4k_Sz_mATzXZUDvh1Ce1uIh1XgO1/s1600/DSC_0111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnTM1h8ZRnKoL0Eg3zOgANd1SctPLC69AELbHgz5DPUyrrvwfkjnfP8O2AeYCoIng-P73Kso8Pe67pLubXG5E2qQnkv46j13MB-PFkbPifkVOk1ygK4k_Sz_mATzXZUDvh1Ce1uIh1XgO1/s320/DSC_0111.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg56LDzRFLYUf9KcrYxO4g6RNDM3GTgLrSA9ztfkUCVXTehM6PQN3-99GUs52ps4idFwvJjiXsZNzr7mTiEcHzqNGYH1MuPC7e8YDX6Jh7KfEnGWP7-3Ib3Sg4hcDEEywzoRSVF2resmCaf/s1600/DSC_0114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg56LDzRFLYUf9KcrYxO4g6RNDM3GTgLrSA9ztfkUCVXTehM6PQN3-99GUs52ps4idFwvJjiXsZNzr7mTiEcHzqNGYH1MuPC7e8YDX6Jh7KfEnGWP7-3Ib3Sg4hcDEEywzoRSVF2resmCaf/s320/DSC_0114.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We are so very thankful for answered prayers. For a quick and safe delivery and for a most amazing and beautiful baby girl. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-78011988521756309472012-09-13T13:49:00.000-04:002012-09-13T14:54:53.106-04:00Baby-Anna-in-my-tummy updateI'm at the beginning of my 37th week. I'm waddling. My belly feels heavier and lower every day. I can't speak more than a paragraph without needing to gasp for oxygen. I make "ugh" sounds when I sit down or stand up. I feel her moving, but somersaults have been replaced with just kicks and stretches - she's running out of room. I dream about her face.<br />
<br />
Two appointments ago, my belly measured 4 weeks behind. I've been measuring small, but it had been over a month since my previous visit and still not much growth. My never-alarmist-wonderful <a href="http://wkstafford.wordpress.com/" target="_blank">Dr. Stafford</a> suggested an ultrasound and I agreed. A week later, the ultrasound confirmed the peace that God had eventually given me - she was perfectly fine, my placenta was doing its job, plenty of fluid, plenty of baby (estimated weight, 5.3 lbs). October 4 is still a good due date for reference. Reference, mind you, not expectations. :) <br />
<br />
I feel at times that I'm one big Braxton Hicks contraction. I stay hydrated and fed but I still have them aaaall the time. Nighttime frequently brings some real contractions - one night even for a solid hour, 8 minutes apart. This is reminiscent of James' birth, too. A few weeks of random contractions and then, whoopee! my water broke and he came pretty quickly. I'd love a similar birth to James', but I know her's must be and will be different. Just so ready to experience it!<br />
<br />
It's a tough place to be - knowing that she could potentially come at any time and yet chances are we still have a few weeks. I'm trying to soak up these moments with James, lingering during tuck-in bedtimes, snuggling just a while longer, reading just a few more books.<br />
<br />
And I'm ready to meet my daughter.<br />
<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-55020630887027392242012-08-30T15:59:00.000-04:002012-08-30T19:44:02.233-04:00A lecture to myself on the topic of electronics... electronically.Don't worry. The irony hasn't escaped me.<br />
<br />
My MacBook propped on my lap (obviously - I'm typing), iPhone to my right. They're both there if I need them. Whew!<br />
<br />
If I need them. Need them. <i>Need</i>.<br />
<br />
My friend <a href="http://davidmcwhite.com/" target="_blank">David</a> posted a link to <a href="http://lifehacker.com/5937204/my-paleo-media-diet?comment=52165915" target="_blank">this</a> article the other day and I couldn't read past the second paragraph because it was already too close to home. The part about the "itchy feeling to check my phone and do the circuit"? Yea. Nice to meet you. That's me.<br />
<br />
My particular circuit only contains a few: Facebook, blogs, email. But that's okay. I can stretch those three as loooong as I need.<br />
<br />
Okay, so what to do? "All things are lawful, but not all things are helpful..." I Cor. 10:23. It's not <i>bad</i> to have these things in my home. I have been so incredibly encouraged, spurred on, and built up by other mama blogs and friends' great Facebook statuses. There is a place for these things. Parts <i>are</i> helpful.<br />
<br />
But there are parts that are extremely hurtful. The same friend (boy, you've been on a roll, David!) said later, "Kids shouldn't have to grow up competing with a phone for their parents' attention."<br />
<br />
That made me take a step back and think, "What will James remember about my time spent with him?" Hopefully it will be more memories of reading books and building block cities and playing outside than with my head and face glued to my dumb phone. Gotta make those little red notifications go away!! Right??<br />
<br />
So this is me, ready to battle that itchy feeling to check the circuit. To combat it with questions like, "Is there something else that I can do with these moments? Is there another activity that would be more helpful - to me - to anyone?"<br />
<br />
I only write when James is sleeping. I try to only have specific times in the day to "check my stuff." Keeping my phone in only one place in the house instead of my pocket helps immensely. And believe me, I fail all the time. Looking-real-quick-for-a-recipe can easily turn into a 20 minute photo-gallery-tour-of-someone-I-barely-know.<br />
<br />
But it's worthy to press on.<br />
<br />
My dad frequently reminded us, "Good, better, best; never let it rest." I don't know the origin of that quote, but it's so stinkin' true. Yes, it's <i>good</i> to read encouraging or funny things on Facebook. It's probably <i>better</i> to look at your 3 year old. And it's most likely <i>best</i> to hug him and talk to him and read him a book.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-50799930687083951302012-08-28T14:08:00.002-04:002012-08-28T14:08:40.921-04:00Why am I shocked?... that this morning I specifically prayed "God I need your strength today, so much,"<br />
<br />
And around 1:00 pm, right before kids' nap time, I was chugging along like I was still 8:30-fresh? It struck me as I swept lunch crumbs from the floor and didn't feel like I was about to collapse.<br />
<br />
Even though I'm getting bigger-pregnant. Even though I didn't fall asleep until midnight. Even though I woke at 6:00 am.<br />
<br />
And I'm shocked that He hears me. I'm shocked that He cares. And I suppose deep down, if I'm honest, I'm still shocked that He's even real.<br />
<br />
Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-18449326260854731312012-08-24T12:50:00.002-04:002012-08-25T09:38:56.679-04:00Natural labor and deliveryI <i>love</i> talking about birth stories - any kind. If you get me going, I could talk about it for hours and I have to be careful that it doesn't become a too-much-information conversation... in fact, you may want to read this post with caution. ;)<br />
<br />
I count it a privilege and honor to be able to grow and birth another person. Every experience from woman to woman is different and special to her. Some mamas want pain management, others schedule c-sections for a a variety of reasons. Jim and I prefer to prepare for a non-medicated birth. And yes, I did mean to include Jim in that phrase. During James' labor, he was my rock. He could help me relax every muscle from head to toe with just a few words and touches.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_2Nn3jhXn632TyWzEeFM0PhbVK3-iuUO-9F9Jbaqttm3rOb8xK2XKiE9e5NsmMb4Db2pdQIaZljptlRGp-_KSc6RPCyav8-klOTs9fDITWF5YhbJbciNiKnTkpaTrfPil2JJsEJvFbkdO/s1600/IMG_1252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_2Nn3jhXn632TyWzEeFM0PhbVK3-iuUO-9F9Jbaqttm3rOb8xK2XKiE9e5NsmMb4Db2pdQIaZljptlRGp-_KSc6RPCyav8-klOTs9fDITWF5YhbJbciNiKnTkpaTrfPil2JJsEJvFbkdO/s320/IMG_1252.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Here's my man, bearing as much of the burden as he could. (James' labor)</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
So, other than lowering risks of further interventions and distress, what is the point of feeling the pain and going with a natural labor? Why do that to myself? Why do it the old way?</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I've readdressed this question with myself and thought I'd share it with you. I will also say that this is an endeavor that we have chosen. Just like some choose to run a marathon... I don't choose that particular endeavor. That training is pain that thousands of people choose every day because of the satisfaction, accomplishment, health, and wellness that they find at the end. But likewise, I don't want someone haranguing me to choose that feat if I don't want to. I will explain my reasons to you, but it's obviously your decision. Convictions are like belly buttons. :)</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I've had many friends with beautiful, successful labors that included pain reducing drugs and I don't devalue those experiences in the least. In fact, I did use pain management; just a different kind. I don't want to feel pain. Pain hurts. Pain reminds us that we're breakable. That we're dependent. And that can be scary. But it can also be good. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
There are also different <i>kinds</i> of pain. There is pain from injury, pain from an accident, pain from misuse, but none of those describe the pain caused by an effective contraction. Yes, there are injuries during childbirth - tearing is a good example - but they don't always happen and don't <i>have</i> to happen. Each contraction can be seen as a tool. A strong, sometimes extremely intense tool, that brings my baby out into the world. One of the most powerful phrases that Jim says to me during a contraction is, "Let it do the work..." That helps me to tell each of my muscles to relax and not work against the effectual contraction.<br />
<br />
Another way to work with contractions is by position. We asked to have an IV port (you can see it in the pic) instead of a full IV so that I could move around. If a contraction was particularly intense, sometimes just switching position, walking, or swaying could help.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Not numbing the pain allows me to be completely present and in control for each phase of labor. The pain that comes with dilating contractions is completely different than the urge to push and I like to be able to feel when and how much to engage. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
If you're interested in having a natural delivery, I'd definitely recommend preparing ahead of time. <a href="http://www.bradleybirth.com/" target="_blank">Bradley Birth</a> gives exercises, nutritional guides, practice relaxation plans, and tons of information about every stage of labor. Simply knowing, "Oh, I just barfed and my pain feels almost out of control... I must be going through transition," was so empowering. Going into it simply hoping to go as far as you can may not be the best game plan. That said, we also know all of our plans could go out the window if something unexpected happens (which is a reason we feel most comfortable in a hospital setting.)<br />
<br />
Our approach to childbirth is specific to us as a family. We completed Bradley Birth training, but chose to have a hospital birth. I don't want pain drugs during labor but once baby's out, bring on the high-powered Motrin! </div>
<br />
I'm excited - and yes, there's a little fear mixed in - to see how Anna Jubilee's delivery will turn out. One thing is certain, it will be an adventure. All adventures include pain, unknowns, twists and turns. I'm also looking forward to sharing our birth story and hearing others', too! What a cool, miraculous part of this life.<br />
<br />
**EDIT - I cannot forget to mention, we also used an amazing doula, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/angeldoula" target="_blank">Angel</a>, and I was SO thankful for her presence. Definitely recommend!Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-43266407391977455942012-08-21T13:23:00.000-04:002012-08-21T21:12:39.226-04:00The home streeeeetchThis Friday, I'll turn 34 weeks(ish) pregnant. The last weeks of my pregnancy are approaching!<br />
<br />
My due date has been calculated anywhere from October 11 to October 4 so I'm really trying to just be cool and collected and remember that she will come at some point in early October.<br />
<br />
Ask me how well that's working. :)<br />
<br />
I have to say, my emotions of anticipation with baby Anna are COMPLETELY different than when I was pregnant with James. With James I was thinking about the imminent pain of labor, how I'd deal with it, learning how to nurse, the fears of the unknown, and just the general question, "what in the world is this going to be like??" Basically, my mind was consumed with the event of his arrival, not necessarily the aftermath. I think that's pretty much par-for-the-course with a first baby.<br />
<br />
With Anna, it's more about meeting a new person. I can't wait to see her. I can't wait to hear what her cry sounds like and to see whether or not she has my long finger-toes. I have more of a scope of how fleeting the birth is. Not to devalue it, just a more realistic view. With some of the unknowns out of the way, I can devote more to preparing my heart and mind for adding a new love.<br />
<br />
This morning, James laid his head and one arm across my belly to feel Anna hiccup and kick. He giggled so much I thought he'd have an accident right there on the couch. I just sat there, in a crazy mix of laughing and crying, looking down at him, essentially playing with his sister for the first time. It was one of the most amazing moments; don't want to forget that one.<br />
<br />
We have at least another 4-6 weeks and I know they'll fly by. It will be work to go from one to two, but I'm ready for that challenge. I'm treasuring my time with just James during these days, but I'm also excited to see him grow as a leading, loving big brother.<br />
<br />
For now, please pray with me that I will have patience to be still and diligence to prepare. God is most certainly faithful.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUKcX0eOKvT_SlurVWOnSA4f9QCYfBAbX-QMdwGCfGi6OS7xSnt-kcl51Emhqd-6oQcKT8QmirodV83vMUWiO5fATPQh24k5ysWr9d0Y1w34z_6N-GsgDXEveM3FiwYLmSUVFY8kWXQoA4/s1600/532712_10150794382111288_1420638939_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUKcX0eOKvT_SlurVWOnSA4f9QCYfBAbX-QMdwGCfGi6OS7xSnt-kcl51Emhqd-6oQcKT8QmirodV83vMUWiO5fATPQh24k5ysWr9d0Y1w34z_6N-GsgDXEveM3FiwYLmSUVFY8kWXQoA4/s320/532712_10150794382111288_1420638939_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Here's our daughter over 10 weeks ago. </i></div>
<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-88384512985640866442012-08-16T14:23:00.000-04:002012-08-16T14:28:12.883-04:00A few to rememberJust a little of my 3-yr-old James that I don't want to forget:<br />
<br />
- To Jim, every day upon returning home - "Yet's wrestle on da red bed!"<br />
<br />
- Calling grapes blueberries and blueberries grapes.<br />
<br />
- Buh-skeetos for mosquitoes<br />
<br />
- Buh-sketty for spaghetti<br />
<br />
- "Come now fount..." for "come thou fount..."<br />
<br />
- Bouncing, "bay-bee-Anna-Joo-buh-LEE!!"<br />
<br />
- "Look at the big, blue mountains!" (seeing anything hazy in the distance while driving)<br />
<br />
- To anyone around, all day, everyday (but not forever, sadly) - "Play with me for-justa-lil-bit."<br />
<br />
My precious boy... slow down with the growing thing!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi13apaj8khOO9I7S_zLtC8FGu4FoHt3j44WhAIzpRmWTJkbTvsSsdPA1CbtZzN_QRUOiZk92oVuQEtt_6xizogiat6lU900icumR9Ol11_fTE6ch72F1NTAfTg17z5WCy4uenyDz-CuIvV/s1600/IMG_5368.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi13apaj8khOO9I7S_zLtC8FGu4FoHt3j44WhAIzpRmWTJkbTvsSsdPA1CbtZzN_QRUOiZk92oVuQEtt_6xizogiat6lU900icumR9Ol11_fTE6ch72F1NTAfTg17z5WCy4uenyDz-CuIvV/s320/IMG_5368.JPG" width="246" /></a></div>
<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-17757727014484009412012-08-06T14:07:00.001-04:002012-08-06T15:01:12.478-04:00Painful motheringI have no clue yet where I'm going with this post.<br />
<br />
Only an itch that began as I left church this morning. The itch that began in my heart, traveled to my head, and rested there, pushing away an afternoon snooze and other mental occupations. Hopefully, now that the itch has moved to my fingertips, some small fruit of wisdom may begin to grow.<br />
<br />
Okay. So Jesus said that if I want to be his disciple, I must deny myself, take up my cross, and follow him. If I want to save my life, I will lose it. If I lose it for him, I will find it. People will hate me, families will be divided. A tall order to sign up for this Jesus.<br />
<br />
As I sat there, scripture washing over me, I was excited. My soul leapt and answered yes! I want to forsake all others and follow you, Jesus. I want to radically deny my ideals and my wants and my illusions of what is important for your sake - so that yours will be magnified. But then... what... how... where...?<br />
<br />
I have a big round pregnant belly. I have a precious, learning, questioning 3-year-old attached to me most hours of the day. I have a basket of dirty clothes calling my name and sink of dishes slowly becoming a terrarium.<br />
<br />
I'm pretty sure I know the quick answer: "Sara, as a mother, those mundane tasks are your service. To your family and, in turn, as a disciple of Christ. Whatever you do, do ALL to the glory of God."...right? I mean, I am denying myself pleasures left and right, all day long, keeping up with a growing boy and cleaning the toilets and checking Facebook. (ha!) That's my uncomfortable life of denial of self.<br />
<br />
Right. Of course.<br />
<br />
And yet, somehow I'm not satisfied with that. Somehow there's an ingredient missing. Where's the radical? Where's the painful sacrifice?<br />
<br />
** <i>And here, I clicked 'Save' and shut the computer. Still got nothin'.</i> **<br />
<br />
So, next day, still pondering this. I'm realizing that the quick, first answer above is truly more full than I first thought.<br />
<br />
Hang with me.<br />
<br />
One man found a treasure in a field and <i>in his joy</i>, sold all of his belongings to buy the field. Another man, likewise, found a super valuable pearl and sold all of his belongings to buy it. Both were probably elated. Thrilled. Exuberant. HAPPY with their sacrifices because they recognized the value of the better thing.<br />
<br />
The pain that comes in motherhood, homemaking, and pouring oneself out for another is <i>joyful.</i> BUT. But, but, but, but, BUT - only when the mundane has been redeemed by God himself and not me.<br />
<br />
And here's what happens when <i>I</i> try to create my own martyrdom, to try to manufacture that painful mothering that shows I'm sacrificial: I become bitter. I wonder why no one's helping. I search for MY time. I look back at my day and feel pride for temporal accomplishments. I hurt others. I'm jealous. I forget about Jesus.<br />
<br />
But when God himself, through the Holy Spirit, graciously intervenes in my day and gives me unexplainable joy in nose wipes and Play-doh for the fourth time today, therein is the miracle. There is the glimpse of joy that those men felt as they sold their belongings for the greater thing.<br />
<br />
So, sure, motherhood discipleship to Jesus is not going to look like Peter, James, and John. Whose does? But it will look the same when it comes to Christ redeeming their mundane. He took their jobs of fishermen and made them fishers of men. And for mothers, Jesus takes our tasks of building a family and makes us builders of his kingdom.<br />
<br />
Yes there will be real, physical pain, heartache, and death. Yes, there will be denial of self every day. People will hate me ("indoctrinating your children with god fairy tales, etc.")... even my children will hate me at some point. <br />
<br />
But there will also be joy. Joy that doesn't come from me but is a gift of grace. Joy in repentance and forgiveness from God. Joy in sharing that truth with others.<br />
<br />
And that is the greater thing.<br />
<br />
<br />
(Sharing through "finding grace in the everyday," too!)<br />
<br /><div align="center"><a href="http://www.gracelaced.com/2012/08/05/making-a-home-and-the-gracelaced-mondays-link-up" title="Grace Laced Mondays"><img src="http://www.gracelaced.com/uploads/2012/01/GLMondays1.jpg" alt="Grace Laced Mondays" style="border:none;" /></a></div>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-45115274045896196092012-08-04T10:41:00.000-04:002012-08-04T12:43:22.694-04:00A little nesting, before and afterOur kitchen cabinets have become a safety hazard - raining expired bags of wheat germ onto my head when all I need is a sippy cup... and of course the endless search for the Tupperware. lid. that. matches.<br />
<br />
So this morning I geared up for some purge and organize. Ahhhhh...<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Before, upper cabinets. Stuffed with expired meds, pasta, teas, etc.</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5E_bWI_3Ov1ibOI-Y6gzOPa1NrMvvwxEqFV2RrdS3cQ8wIi3XhQKHjfMyQHTd1dUo0Ru8uB4jp87ZYeTnUykbkEk-nU3CHzzRYqmSf-xrPssFYVD3ghIoN1ZYfDiW-DarlJd7xjvGUEPp/s1600/IMG_1789.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5E_bWI_3Ov1ibOI-Y6gzOPa1NrMvvwxEqFV2RrdS3cQ8wIi3XhQKHjfMyQHTd1dUo0Ru8uB4jp87ZYeTnUykbkEk-nU3CHzzRYqmSf-xrPssFYVD3ghIoN1ZYfDiW-DarlJd7xjvGUEPp/s320/IMG_1789.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Emptying all the lower cabinets. James had a ball :)</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrIA9goF1XRthY-dhkAfqnDTSH_2UtwnpDqQ1SK8svuUxQvW8JzKSY12A3eiflTr_QgnWR7mYHay7RrGEhOvglcf1_qmeUuclbSqPIpkOYYkSP6JCQmQ36L95FCi7D10RYbR_niZ5dZ0xy/s1600/IMG_1790.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="197" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrIA9goF1XRthY-dhkAfqnDTSH_2UtwnpDqQ1SK8svuUxQvW8JzKSY12A3eiflTr_QgnWR7mYHay7RrGEhOvglcf1_qmeUuclbSqPIpkOYYkSP6JCQmQ36L95FCi7D10RYbR_niZ5dZ0xy/s320/IMG_1790.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b>After, lower cabinets. Easy access to the things I use most.</b></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5qDRGHzmbIUzqvTF0LLLt7oQKurnDGOunAuyCVDFK13VrM_IVf12dA5GuLOgtn03vRaZ0au5QumudJ8QuYArfM_WDZbDbVduPGjwLLCyTe1ucZhoS53mpyJjMnyCAgxrAYqJoP55wqKQk/s1600/IMG_1787.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5qDRGHzmbIUzqvTF0LLLt7oQKurnDGOunAuyCVDFK13VrM_IVf12dA5GuLOgtn03vRaZ0au5QumudJ8QuYArfM_WDZbDbVduPGjwLLCyTe1ucZhoS53mpyJjMnyCAgxrAYqJoP55wqKQk/s320/IMG_1787.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>And after, both upper and lower. Let's see how long it will last!</b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjulxMGeg167_VxCCDQnK65tH9kqMM3I4jyLZwaMyn5h03cK32dg7LCWzWn5brF0SaLL96eDk3Ot7xoNc4h0YL7rCzw-pwsf8PVWN6J567I7OhiQ2HRrhWbOL2WjfJB4phCByZU29t6LfRB/s1600/IMG_1788.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjulxMGeg167_VxCCDQnK65tH9kqMM3I4jyLZwaMyn5h03cK32dg7LCWzWn5brF0SaLL96eDk3Ot7xoNc4h0YL7rCzw-pwsf8PVWN6J567I7OhiQ2HRrhWbOL2WjfJB4phCByZU29t6LfRB/s320/IMG_1788.JPG" width="197" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
The most exciting part of this endeavor was the moment I exclaimed to myself, "AH! I have a roasting pan!" Now that it's at my fingertips, hopefully I will actually use it. </div>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-4105989968303758722012-08-02T14:17:00.000-04:002012-08-02T14:17:27.659-04:00Satanic toilets.James is a sensitive guy. He'll readily tell you that he does not like sirens or loud noises. I'm sorry to say that this trait is inherited directly from me.<br />
<br />
He's also in the process of potty training. We're working on wearing his underoos all day now, even for outings. He's becoming a pee-pee and poo-poo extraordinaire.<br />
<br />
Enter those new-fangled automatic sensor toilets that flush <i>for </i>you. I understand - sanitary, convenient, efficient... and utterly terrifying for a 3 year old boy who is learning to relax muscles so he can relieve his little bladder.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFFsT_4hClplPcOF59QOPnBCPOeV_JWdbHMrvOliGjNicH3p8akOro6LSOlEcV53HTPD292XbEn04ZCvX1j-utWt2AtVxIFwKLzRulE5d1AmusjuVFenHmTHlda5O3PuS6T9COUwuZPweg/s1600/Unknown" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFFsT_4hClplPcOF59QOPnBCPOeV_JWdbHMrvOliGjNicH3p8akOro6LSOlEcV53HTPD292XbEn04ZCvX1j-utWt2AtVxIFwKLzRulE5d1AmusjuVFenHmTHlda5O3PuS6T9COUwuZPweg/s1600/Unknown" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>The Evil Eye</i></div>
<br />
Imagine you are eye level with this unpredictable, roaring beast and you're expected to perform a most private of actions. Poor guy... we've escaped many a dangerous dungeon, my little knight shaking and scream-crying in fear, Mommy holding and hushing and apologizing up and down "I'm so, so sorry buddy. Will you forgive me? I didn't think it was a loud one."<br />
<br />
For now, we're just sticking with manual potties until he's a little older so hopefully he won't develop a fear of all toilets. Any creative ideas on defeating these monsters?<br />
Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-18200323079145405832012-07-31T11:31:00.000-04:002012-07-31T11:31:51.494-04:00"Mise en place..."Pronounced [miz on plas]. A French term coined by the Culinary Institute of America meaning "everything in its place." I worked at a fine dining restaurant throughout college and saw first hand the necessity of this in a professional kitchen.<br />
<br />
I think about it every time I purge and organize our toys and books. Of course I'm not naive to think that it will stay that way for more than a few hours, but boy is it <i>cleansing</i>!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinW4UvzzTZFsHZVHwhGJfC7sDAw6cONgbJVa_eN39t5WxhaRfx3C50_mKZDhXPDeSEqgBwjukQLtGDqycwaeGwAWOZfHPO5DG3eooRhE2F0cp8KeoFH3OymlAPhz0WpODhchijDv7N-WuQ/s1600/IMG_1704.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinW4UvzzTZFsHZVHwhGJfC7sDAw6cONgbJVa_eN39t5WxhaRfx3C50_mKZDhXPDeSEqgBwjukQLtGDqycwaeGwAWOZfHPO5DG3eooRhE2F0cp8KeoFH3OymlAPhz0WpODhchijDv7N-WuQ/s320/IMG_1704.JPG" width="197" /></a></div>
<br />
Mise en place in the kitchen yields efficiency so chefs can focus on the real priority: making delicious food. Mise en place in the home with young children yields more time and space to actually <i>use</i> the books and toys.<br />
<br />
This rainy day is lending itself to a perfect "mise en place" kind of day. Rain cleaning the outside, Mommy and James cleaning the inside!<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmhkePz3xk8Bbx_dapzvNaFF-Bx-qd-IBCbN87CkJwyp61kk29_HVF_mJyENAQebRrEVEn1DUQ8fuFS7wIofQ2dsZkpcb8_x3Ybv8W0beMlgW7ogMTqbbCVXroLMrqqGbomp45EZaKuOVX/s1600/IMG_1705.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmhkePz3xk8Bbx_dapzvNaFF-Bx-qd-IBCbN87CkJwyp61kk29_HVF_mJyENAQebRrEVEn1DUQ8fuFS7wIofQ2dsZkpcb8_x3Ybv8W0beMlgW7ogMTqbbCVXroLMrqqGbomp45EZaKuOVX/s320/IMG_1705.JPG" width="197" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Can you find my helper? :)</i></div>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-90199307579890105932012-07-30T13:29:00.002-04:002012-07-30T14:35:19.636-04:00I've been hired!Jim says that as a believer in the new life that we have in Christ, we will never have another job, only another mission field. This is so freeing. Gone are the shackles of "... is this what I'm supposed to be doing?" or even feeling generally stuck in a job. In Christ, no position is more or less spiritual - only different avenues of serving and loving others - whether in a McDonald's flipping burgers or a swanky investment firm.<br />
<br />
All that to say, we each have specific gifts, temperaments, and preferences. Personally, at the root of myself, I love to create, nurture, and maintain. That doesn't mean I'm good at it, but I keep returning to it. Practically, this has manifested itself in the education world: teaching children, loving them, and nurturing their endeavors in learning. I've always known, though, that I would one day want to focus this energy in my own home. My own domain. My own workspace. And I'm thrilled to say that, in this season at least, I'm able to be 100% at home.<br />
<br />
I was thinking today about some different titles:<br />
<br />
Stay-at-home-mom, Wife and Mother, Homemaker, Family Manager, Home Economist...<br />
<br />
... and some funny ones:<br />
<br />
Lady of Leisure, Domestic Goddess, or Professional Wiper of All Things.<br />
<br />
After some thought, I think the term 'homemaker' is my choice. I know it's old-fashioned... and I promise I have no "all women should be Stepford wives and mothers at home" hill to die on. But the thought of <i>making</i> a home is so attractive to me. I'm not great at cooking or baking. I lack interior design skill. Cleaning is actually one of my favorite tasks, but I don't do it consistently.<br />
<br />
But those are all surface ways to <i>keep </i>a home. I want to seek out the ways to help cultivate the family bonds that create stability and reassurance. Normalcy and balance. To <i>make </i>a home.<br />
<br />
This is a much less tangible thing, I know. It's the vague, fuzzy feeling that you get when you smell your own house. You know what I mean - every family has their smell. Not necessarily stinky, just not your home. Even though my parents have moved twice since I left home, I can still capture the Craft family smell in their Florida home. And for those who have enjoyed a stable, loving, and caring home life, that smell can invoke peace and calm and even specific memories.<br />
<br />
I can work on improving the surface maintenance of a home - not worried about that. And I enjoy it. It's the people in the house that I must daily (and then throughout the day) give over to our much more wise and capable God. Jim, James, and soon little Anna - that I can love them and serve them and encourage them... and discipline for the little ones.<br />
<br />
And the other people in the house: the visitors, the stay-as-long-as-you-need-to-people... aaaand the don't-you-have-somewhere-else-to-go-people.<br />
<br />
That's the hard part. That's the course that I will never fully master in my new field. Hospitality to the permanent and non-permanent people in our home. Jesus did it perfectly. I think I'll look to him.<br />
<br />
I'm so excited about my new job and I have lots of ideas rolling around in my head. Physical house projects (kitchen, bathrooms, etc. remodel), the possibility of homeschooling, learning and mastering new and <i>healthier </i>recipes for my family, yard projects. It's my dream job and I'm ever so grateful to be hired.
<div align="center"><a href="http://www.gracelaced.com/2012/07/29/sweet-balm-to-hurting-hearts-and-the-gracelaced-mondays-link-up" title="Grace Laced Mondays"><img src="http://www.gracelaced.com/uploads/2012/01/GLMondays1.jpg" alt="Grace Laced Mondays" style="border:none;" /></a></div>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1386145500752442033.post-2062867030412953182012-07-25T13:39:00.000-04:002012-07-31T18:34:44.822-04:00Our morning discoveryHere I sit in the napping house. No more quiet singing or narrating emits from James' room. He's asleep. Wooden blocks are strewn on the rug, waiting for their next architectural destiny. His little size 8 shoes rest next to the front door; the morning wet and grass bits are dry now. We found a bright green cicada this morning, having just emerged from his exoskeleton. James' eyes were the size of saucers and he squatted, oh so slowly, to have a closer look.<br />
<br />
"He's alive, Mommy?"<br />
<br />
"Yea, he just climbed out of his old shell and now he has wings. Do you want to hold the shell?"<br />
<br />
Backing up quickly, "No, no, no. I don't want to hold the shell."<br />
<br />
"It's okay, buddy. It's not alive. The cicada bug is, but his shell won't move. Here, I'll hold it first."<br />
<br />
He craned his neck closer but kept the rest of his little body away, ready to flee if that alien beetle shell moved even the tiniest bit. Then he reached out. Stroked the back of the shell. At the crunchy, papery sound he recoiled. But then looked at me, grinned, and stood straighter with confidence.<br />
<br />
"I can hold it?"<br />
<br />
"Of course - here, hold it very gently in your hand."<br />
<br />
And then, after a long inspection, he said, "Yet's put it in the grass and go inside. Buh-skeetos are biting me."<br />
<br />
Those darn buh-skeetos, ending our sweet moment. But I'm thankful for the gift of watching and discovering him, discovering something amazing for the first time. That doesn't get old.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-5FcU2dBB4erpuQbOdTuyu2TvMQhGPyoYcKQoGdeQ5N3RJdyxcnHOpboaRfp01xfF8M_4UvqSBTVfLf0draJbVBhynmFJEYj6x1ZnexvdUeUyWRkK-RLTwMpOW171eMkwFf881CHxRB8/s1600/315404_614156150096_1845757400_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz-5FcU2dBB4erpuQbOdTuyu2TvMQhGPyoYcKQoGdeQ5N3RJdyxcnHOpboaRfp01xfF8M_4UvqSBTVfLf0draJbVBhynmFJEYj6x1ZnexvdUeUyWRkK-RLTwMpOW171eMkwFf881CHxRB8/s320/315404_614156150096_1845757400_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>So cool, right?</i></div>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01142626289441809418noreply@blogger.com0