tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4024059763173826692024-03-05T06:03:43.510-08:00Running Into a WallRandom thoughts about my life; from the insignificant to the life-changing moments that shape who I am and who I strive to be.tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.comBlogger55125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-23348210095238584242013-12-08T10:54:00.001-08:002013-12-21T13:09:42.002-08:00Love is Patient. Love is Kind.<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">
<em>The right wing conservatives think it's a decision </em><br />
<em>And you can be cured with some treatment and religion</em><br />
<em>Man-made rewiring of a predisposition</em><br />
<em>Playing God, aw nah here we go</em><br />
<em>America the brave still fears what we don't know</em><br />
<em>And God loves all his children, is somehow forgotten</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em><br /></em></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">
<em>We become so numb to what we're saying</em><br />
<em>A culture founded from oppression</em><br />
<em>Yet we don't have acceptance for 'em</em><br />
<em>Call each other faggots behind the keys of a message board</em><br />
<em>A word rooted in hate, yet our genre still ignores it</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em><br /></em></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">
<em>Gay is synonymous with the lesser</em><br />
<em>It's the same hate that's caused wars from religion</em><br />
<em>Gender to skin color, the complexion of your pigment</em><br />
<em>The same fight that led people to walk outs and sit ins</em><br />
<em>It's human rights for everybody, there is no difference!</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em><br /></em></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">
<em>Live on and be yourself</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em><br /></em></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: center;" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px; text-align: center;">
<em>When I was at church they taught me something else</em><br />
<em>If you preach hate at the service those words aren't anointed</em><br />
<em>That holy water that you soak in has been poisoned</em><br />
<em>When everyone else is more comfortable remaining voiceless</em><br />
<em>Rather than fighting for humans that have had their rights stolen</em><br />
<em>I might not be the same, but that's not important</em><br />
<em>No freedom till we're equal, damn right I support it</em><br />
~Mackelmore, Same Love<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
I make no apologies to my atheist and agnostic friends and family when I make this declaration: I'm a Christian. I believe in God. Oh, do I ever believe in God. I'm not trying to convince them that I'm right and they're wrong. But I have stories to tell that are true and personal about times when I feel like He's speaking directly to me. Giving me a message, and I can't not share it. <br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
The last few months I've been trying to ignore His gentle whispers. Which became louder. I continued to ignore Him. One day at the gym I heard a song and it wasn't something I would have ever heard on my own because it wasn't the genre I typically play on the radio. The message was powerful and exactly what had been weighing heavily on my heart. I was in awe of this song. Of the bravery of the singer. But the coward in me continued to deny what was starting to bubble from deep inside my soul to the surface of my lips. Until one day I finally shared what had been weighing heavily on my heart, with Chris, who in his usual way, just listened. But when I brought it up again, a second and finally a third time, telling him I needed to share it through my words on paper--he confessed: <em>I don't think you should write about this</em>. <br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
I was devastated. <br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
Because I knew what he was saying and what HE was saying were two different things. God, ever so patient, gave me the last and final push. I had heard that song many times at the gym. But I wanted more. I wanted to hear the words, over and over until they saturated my soul. I wanted to hold the words in my mouth, chew on them slowly and deliberately. I downloaded it. As I listened to it in it's entirety, I realized it was slightly different than the version on the radio. The last verses, repeated six times is the same message read to us at our wedding:<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<em>Love is patient, love is kind.</em> 1 Corinthians 13. <br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
And with that, I finally agreed to do what I know in my heart He's leading me to do. To share my heart about a topic people get very passionate about. <br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
Here is what I need my children to know--to see it in black and white and declared to the world: I love you. No matter what, I love you.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
Something happened to me when my fourth child was born. Vincent has changed me as a mother. He helped me throw out all the rules. To follow my heart and to trust my intuition. And my heart has been wanting to share this story: The story of the time I sinned so deeply, I was asked to leave my church.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<em>Love is patient, love is kind.</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
Chris had asked me to marry him. Over a year before, we had met at a time when we were both looking for something: God. And He found us. And we loved Him. Cautiously we started going to church. Not quite feeling like we fit in: we didn't know how to pray in the same way everyone else did, where <i>Father God</i> came out every other word (I still can't pray that way, it's just not my way), we couldn't sing along like the rest of the congregation because we didn't know all the lyrics to the contemporary Christian music that was played before the pastor came up to speak, in short, we were outsiders. Outsiders who loved God fiercely, and so we continued to go, despite what I see now as beautiful and innocent new love for Him.<br />
<em><br /></em>We wanted to get married at Balboa Park but we also wanted to attend our church's marital counseling. We nervously held hands, tightly, uncertain of what to expect as we entered the office of one the pastors. We sat at the edge of our chairs, leaning slightly forward, eager to learn. He looked at us and without asking anything about us, our Faith, our love, he stated: <i>You're living together</i>. <br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
Before I could clear my throat, Chris, without hesitation replied with a simple: <i>yes</i>.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
The pastor sighed. <em>She's in your house? She'll have to move out immediately.</em> My eyes must have grown as big as saucers--looking at Chris I'm sure my eyes pleaded to him: <em>Please. I'll have no where to go</em>. But I didn't have to say a word. <br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<em>She's not leaving</em>.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
And with that, he stood up, walked us to the door and looked Chris in the eye while saying: <em>I can't provide you with premarital counseling while she's living with you.</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<em>Love is patient, love is kind.</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em><br /></em></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<em>She</em>. He never looked at me. Never said my name. I walked out of my church that day feeling as if God had closed his door on me. We weren't wanted. Our sin was too great.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
Too ashamed to tell anyone what happened I was in the teacher's lounge one day when a coworker announced to me: <em>So I heard Pastor X told you he wouldn't let you take the premarital counseling classes. He's right'cha know. It's a sin what you are doing.</em> My cheeks flushed scarlet. I'm reserved. Quiet to a fault. I felt betrayed. The pastor had told my coworker. <br />
<br />
And I started to rebuild the walls I use to protect myself--built with bricks, like:<em> I don't need church. I don't need God. I don't need anything</em>.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
But that was a lie. I did need Him. And though it wouldn't be the first time I'd turn my back on Him, as usual, He patiently waited for me to come back. And when I did, here's what He told me: my sin isn't bigger than anyone else's. <br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<em>Love is patient. Love is kind.</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em><br /></em></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
And that's the message I must grow and nurture in the 4 little hearts I brought into this world. My love for them is patient. My love for them is kind. Because of that, I will support them in their lives and whoever it is they love. Patiently. Kindly.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKX6lgA74WZGS38ycp09a867WRyYdNYZqtI3I10yHl-cWzyp16mLWZQi0m3IuBmMwcm-FyhyphenhyphenGtmWrCGjmgnE6Cn2uyF2lMXC5Z8wzHAQToo0ssCa87CTqO7dbCNN5hvC_iuF3TvuNljrYL/s1600/Scotts2013-2+(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKX6lgA74WZGS38ycp09a867WRyYdNYZqtI3I10yHl-cWzyp16mLWZQi0m3IuBmMwcm-FyhyphenhyphenGtmWrCGjmgnE6Cn2uyF2lMXC5Z8wzHAQToo0ssCa87CTqO7dbCNN5hvC_iuF3TvuNljrYL/s640/Scotts2013-2+(1).jpg" width="427" /></a></div>
<div data-mce-style="text-align: left;" style="color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', 'Bitstream Charter', Times, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 19px;">
<br /></div>
tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-62822235120983176212013-10-16T08:54:00.000-07:002013-10-16T08:54:09.306-07:00Breathe<div class="verse" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Did I say that I need you?</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Did I say that I want you?</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Oh, if I didn't I'm a fool you see,..</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>No one knows this more than me.</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>As I come clean.</i></div>
<br />
<div class="verse" style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>I wonder everyday</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>as I look upon your face, aw-huh,..</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Everything you gave</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>And nothing you would take, aw huh,..</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Nothing you would take</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>Everything you gave...</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Pearl Jam, Just Breathe</span></i></div>
<br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"> <br style="box-sizing: border-box;" />One of the phrases that I hear people say during a person's hard time is:<i> God doesn't give you more than you can handle</i>. It's always been something that has made me inwardly cringe. Not because I think people are saying it to be insensitive, but because I think people who have said it may not have experienced the times when a person <i>has</i> been given too much. Way too much.<br /><br />I'm not talking about things like my baby being born with reflux or being an exhausted mother or even my husband losing his job. No, I'm talking about the moments in one's life that have that have brought you to your knees, stolen your breath so it feels as if you are drowning while everyone else is breathing: losing a child, a spouse, a loved one. </span><br />
<span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">I had my first miscarriage a few years after having my first daughter. It completely turned my world upside down and at that time, I felt the first splintering of my heart. When I lost my second baby, I lost a little of me. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to love. It hurt to live. Hearing that God wouldn't give me more than I could handle made me want to show people my heart--shattered to the point I thought I would never be <i>me</i> again. I know Chris would come home from work, hoping to see <i>me</i> and instead he would find the shell of me--going through the motions of life; taking care of my daughter but without light and joy. And as time went by there were some days I would find myself smiling at something silly she did and I know he thought <i>Thank God, she's back</i>. But my smile would soon turn to silent tears--feeling guilty because I was enjoying life when my two babies weren't with me. Yes, in those days, I was given more than I could handle. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">It made me bitter, angry, and sad. And yet sad isn't the right word. I don't think there is a word for someone who loses a baby. If I could describe sad it would be more like:</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">raw.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">broken.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">shattered. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;">Because of that, I chose to walk away from the one who I needed to lean on the most. I now realize He didn't cause those things to happen to me, but I needed Him to help heal me.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>
<div style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: center;">
<i>Nothing You would take</i></div>
<div style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: center;">
<i>Everything You gave...</i></div>
<div style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">
<i>He </i>gave me so much. My daughter, my twins, and finally my baby. The ache of losing my two babies is still there but I'm breathing, loving and living again. </div>
<div style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: center;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">
Because of Him.<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBnpsQfo3uFdLLVr1XRaeDrvAs9q6i9yTiON5L6ELFxdV1BgbaJnkdRHBUZ6sbWV0aL81-B2ebKVtlrU8Pjk-9F_nsKwccgKIFGvhaaZFeoowI7P2PmbjftdWLrI_91BXBRIthcIj93SvX/s1600/DSC_0281.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBnpsQfo3uFdLLVr1XRaeDrvAs9q6i9yTiON5L6ELFxdV1BgbaJnkdRHBUZ6sbWV0aL81-B2ebKVtlrU8Pjk-9F_nsKwccgKIFGvhaaZFeoowI7P2PmbjftdWLrI_91BXBRIthcIj93SvX/s320/DSC_0281.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif; line-height: 16px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: proxnov-reg, arial, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 16px;"><br /></span></span>tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-58042634155070433312013-06-15T16:18:00.001-07:002013-06-15T19:21:20.486-07:00Our Lady<div style="border: 0px none; font-family: Verdana, Arial; margin: 0px 10px; padding: 0px; text-align: center;">
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>Hey! Hey! Hey!</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>I don't like walking around this old and empty house</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>So hold my hand, I'll walk with you, my dear</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>The stairs creak as you sleep, it's keeping me awake</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>It's the house telling you to close your eyes</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /></i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>And some days I can't even trust myself</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>It's killing me to see you this way</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /></i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>'Cause though the truth may vary</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /></i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>Hey! Hey! Hey!</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /></i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>There's an old voice in my head that's holding me back</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>Well tell her that I miss our little talks</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>Soon it will be over and buried with our past</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>We used to play outside when we were young</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>And full of life and full of love.</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /></i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>Some days I don't know if I am wrong or right</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>Your mind is playing tricks on you, my dear</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /></i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>'Cause though the truth may vary</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /></i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>You're gone, gone, gone away</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>I watched you disappear</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>All that's left is the ghost of you.</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>Now we're torn, torn, torn apart,</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>There's nothing we can do</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>Just let me go we'll meet again soon</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>Now wait, wait, wait for me</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>Please hang around</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>I'll see you when I fall asleep</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i><br style="border: 0px none; font-size: 1em; margin: 0px; padding: 0px;" /></i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>Though the truth may vary</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>This ship will carry our bodies safe to shore</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<i>~Little Talks, Of Monsters and Men</i></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-size: 13px;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I've started and stopped this blog post a million times. I am struggling to find the right words. The words that will honor the woman I was blessed to call Grandma. I don't want to talk about the disease that took her, because it was a vicious one, one that changed her mind. I want to honor the woman I grew up loving, knowing and am now missing. But that song reminds me so much of her in the later years. And though I have no idea how or what Alzheimer's did in her mind, my hope is that she when she seemed to have forgotten us all, in her mind, we, and especially my Grandpa Vincent, were with her. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When I close my eyes, I see her. The way she used to be. The <i>warmest</i> smile. The <i>brightest</i> eyes. <b>Beautiful</b> Grandma Bernie. I've missed her for the longest time. </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When I think of my Grandma and who she was, the word <b>Lady</b> comes to mind. She carried herself like a <b>queen</b>, full of dignity, kindness, strength, patience and love. Gentle and confident. Truly a Lady. Oh, how I miss her.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I can still hear her laugh. The squeak of her screen door. Her voice calling out, <i>Hi, mija!.</i> Her house was like a second home to me growing up. My fondest memories are of moments at Grandma's house. Because she made me feel so welcome. My Grandma was full of warmth, love and a sweetness that was <b>genuine</b>. I miss her.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
My <i>heart</i> is so <b>proud</b> of my uncles who treated her with the love and respect she deserved. She lived in her beautiful home for over 60 years and they <i>cared</i> for until her last breath. It's the way my Grandpa would have wanted <i>his</i> <i>bride</i> to be treated. I'm <b>blessed</b> to call them my family, knowing they honored her with the dignity and respect worthy of a Queen. I'll forever be heartbroken that I couldn't be there to say goodbye, so I cling to the memories I have of the most <i>beautiful</i> woman I have ever known. I pray my daughters will grow up to be the kind of woman she was: a Lady with a beautiful heart. <br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
Grandma, I miss you so.</div>
<div style="font-size: 13px; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 13px; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX5FpTiEHHoH39HFDQYP5RmAhaW86_wy7jd6s9RvF0vlI4olURfrUP2cKZWp2GXWC-U5qs1h0JTOaPT5RgiBJ7tJgfZtwxXhLAnVO58pjD9zpAEUeEu0AjQzMDZorb528g-CcGvhfIqUES/s1600/grandma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX5FpTiEHHoH39HFDQYP5RmAhaW86_wy7jd6s9RvF0vlI4olURfrUP2cKZWp2GXWC-U5qs1h0JTOaPT5RgiBJ7tJgfZtwxXhLAnVO58pjD9zpAEUeEu0AjQzMDZorb528g-CcGvhfIqUES/s320/grandma.jpg" width="256" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> My cousin Jennifer said it perfectly, there is peace in knowing, <i>now, she will remember how much we love her. </i></span></div>
</div>
tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-54331958683654975092013-05-02T11:34:00.002-07:002013-05-02T11:34:09.323-07:00For You<span class="line line-s" id="line_1" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; font: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"></span><br />
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span class="line line-s" id="line_1" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; font: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="line line-s" id="line_53" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-variant: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="line line-s" id="line_53" style="border: 0px; display: block; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Like a drum baby don't stop beating</i></span></span><span class="line line-s" id="line_54" style="border: 0px; display: block; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Like a drum baby don't stop beating</i></span></span><span class="line line-s" id="line_55" style="border: 0px; display: block; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Like a drum baby don't stop beating</i></span></span><span class="line line-s" id="line_56" style="border: 0px; display: block; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Like a drum my heart never stops beating for you</i></span></span><span class="line line-s" id="line_57" style="border: 0px; display: block; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>And long after you're gone gone gone</i></span></span><span class="line line-s" id="line_57" style="border: 0px; display: block; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>I love you after you're gone gone gone</i></span></span><span class="line line-s" id="line_57" style="border: 0px; display: block; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i>~Philllip Phillips Gone, Gone, Gone</i></span></span><span class="line line-s" id="line_57" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-style: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span><span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br />I'm convinced my children will teach me more then I will ever be able to teach them. I was confident I had this newborn thing down, after all, I had a firecracker for a first born and almost 3 years later, twins who helped me build my Mommy resume. And then came Vincent. Sweet as pie. Calm. A mellow baby. A mother's dream.<br /><br />And yet, something wasn't quite right.<br /><br />The second day of his little life I started struggling with nursing him. Confused, I asked for help from the nurses, the doctors, the lactation consultant. Anyone who walked in the hospital room, I calmly explained Vincent's trouble with latching and how when he finally did, it was so painful for me. Nobody seemed overly concerned. So I ignored things, struggled with getting him to eat and would grit my teeth through the pain.<br /><br />Vincent, just like his Great-Grandpa he was named after, is a strong and determined little one. Despite all the trouble with nursing, he continued to gain weight. He spent most of his first weeks of life in someones arms. My mom was visiting so we spent our days snuggling and holding him. So loved, so wanted, neither of us wanted to put him down.<br /><br />And yet, something wasn't quite right.<br /><br />My mom left and eventually Vincent had to be put down. It was around then I noticed he not only had trouble latching, he seemed to be in pain after eating and when I would put him down. He went from sleeping wonderfully at night to being restless, unsettled and it was then, around 4 weeks old, I started holding him upright so he could sleep. All night long. I figured it was the trade off for him being such a sweet baby. So I found a comfortable chair and I'd hold him upright because whenever I dared to put him down within an hour he was up.<br /><br />My intuition told me something wasn't right. And so did google. And my mama friends.</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span class="line line-s" id="line_1" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; font: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span class="line line-s" id="line_1" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; font: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="line line-s" id="line_2" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i>I'll be at your door tonight if you need help, if you need help</i></span></span></span></div>
<div style="font-style: inherit;">
<span class="line line-s" id="line_1" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; font: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span class="line line-s" id="line_1" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; font: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-style: inherit;">After a rough weekend and days of no sleep and having to hold him upright while walking the house, I called his pediatrician early one Wednesday morning. She patiently listened as I explained how sweet Vincent never cried unless he was eating. How he would get so frustrated, unable to latch on and how when he finally did, I was in pain. "Maybe he's tongue tied? Maybe it's silent reflux? I don't know, something just isn't right and I need help figuring things out. I was hoping by 4.5 weeks we wouldn't still be struggling. But we are. I need help". </span></span><br />
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;">I was so thankful she didn't dismiss me with 'he's just acting like a newborn'. She examined him and discovered he is indeed tongue tied. After a visit to an ENT, and lots of tears from me, Vincent was no longer tongue tied. He was nursing better, without trouble latching and without pain for me. I was so thankful. Relieved.<br /><br />And yet, something still wasn't quite right.</span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit;">I told Chris we might have to try medicine to help Vincent. But I had my reservations. Medicating my newborn just didn't feel natural. One weekend Chris got to see Vincent writhing and screaming in pain first hand. He had four words for me which felt like the permission I needed to hear from someone, anyone: Get him on medicine.</span><br /><br /><span class="line line-s" id="line_3" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-style: inherit;">I</span><i>'ll shut down the city lights,</i></span><span class="line line-s" id="line_4" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i>I'll lie, cheat, I'll beg and bribe to make you well, to make you well</i></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-style: inherit;">A few days later I was back at the pediatrician's office. This time explaining how nursing was better except he was still screaming in pain during and after eating and still needed to be held upright all night long. Again, she listened quietly and nodded in agreement as I quietly asked, Do you think we should try medicine to help?</span><br /><br /><i>I'll share in your suffering to make you well, to make you well.</i><br /><br /><span style="font-style: inherit;">Vincent was diagnosed with silent reflux. He also has lots of food sensitivities. I've cut out all my favorite foods to help his delicate tummy. I've learned that a mother will do anything for her child. </span></span><span style="line-height: 15px;">We have good days and bad days. </span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: 15px;">We are figuring all this out together. And though I would give anything to take away any sort of pain he has, I can only do my best by giving him his medicine, holding him for long hours and having patience. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-style: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<span class="line line-s" id="line_17" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i>When you fall like a statue</i></span><span class="line line-s" id="line_18" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i>I'm gon' be there to catch you</i></span><div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit;"><i>Put you on your feet, you on your fee</i></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-variant: inherit;">t</span><span style="font-style: inherit;"> </span><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: inherit;">My confession is having a baby with reflux is hard. Harder than newborn twins. Harder than my colicky firstborn. But I have such a supportive team: Claire, Madeline and Max have been so patient, with me. More than I deserve. I am humbled by the patience they give me during this time when I haven't always been patient with them. And I have no doubt that I would not be surviving without my Chris. He's take on so much at home, without thinking twice and without complaint. They say it takes a village and it is certainly taking my sweet village to help raise Vincent. And Vincent. Despite all the troubles we've had with reflux, you are perfectly perfect. A mama's dream: my snuggly, sweet, Mama's-boy. </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-style: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><span class="line line-s" id="line_20" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;">And if your well is empty</span><span class="line line-s" id="line_21" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;">Not a thing will prevent me</span><span class="line line-s" id="line_22" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;">Tell me what you need, what do you need</span></i></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-style: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; line-height: 15px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="line line-s" id="line_29" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i>For you, for you</i></span><span class="line line-s" id="line_30" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;">Y<i>ou</i><i> would never sleep alone</i></span><span class="line line-s" id="line_31" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i>I love you long after you're gone</i></span><span class="line line-s" id="line_32" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i>And long after you're gone gone gone</i></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="line line-s" id="line_32" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmIJEjpwP9ouT-3MGnYDcxpXoNgsIbJXQ7YMv3bRJNiZ3_QEmSeCkqAVBXm0jTWN_C5WYAKzU3F-g0ltDwGEgxHAzxDPqZUkVajTw0wTZVFo_t3shSOewtOoqUVJhWjbntOtMJFKshVtEr/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmIJEjpwP9ouT-3MGnYDcxpXoNgsIbJXQ7YMv3bRJNiZ3_QEmSeCkqAVBXm0jTWN_C5WYAKzU3F-g0ltDwGEgxHAzxDPqZUkVajTw0wTZVFo_t3shSOewtOoqUVJhWjbntOtMJFKshVtEr/s320/photo+2.JPG" width="320" /></a></i></span></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="line line-s" id="line_32" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i>Vincent's favorite place to be.</i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="line line-s" id="line_32" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAOJC9xs3RtXSxWm3RdYHijMMUnsOQPZvHwiqSXPMBj_wvff2JUOqT6TBmSqoeBm_GIPh76KsLgmN82119qfqYjaIAvZ86STrtujXIk81Hl7Yn2TsTRfLnvzCKwuS9_xcSlKOXgtqgKUOq/s1600/photo+1+(4).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAOJC9xs3RtXSxWm3RdYHijMMUnsOQPZvHwiqSXPMBj_wvff2JUOqT6TBmSqoeBm_GIPh76KsLgmN82119qfqYjaIAvZ86STrtujXIk81Hl7Yn2TsTRfLnvzCKwuS9_xcSlKOXgtqgKUOq/s320/photo+1+(4).JPG" width="320" /></a></i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="line line-s" id="line_32" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKZLwWBTQufXaFchhBAlU85iF3wREvNQxtS8SUjhaFDnAuU6SqiyAHJDxUO3GQq72UI8CgqZevDOhrax5JYtEa28qBVOQEwc-aUOZgBbdo3V3DQRUStf-6naCF4crNvqRELl0s9LzBxfGi/s1600/photo+2+(4).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKZLwWBTQufXaFchhBAlU85iF3wREvNQxtS8SUjhaFDnAuU6SqiyAHJDxUO3GQq72UI8CgqZevDOhrax5JYtEa28qBVOQEwc-aUOZgBbdo3V3DQRUStf-6naCF4crNvqRELl0s9LzBxfGi/s320/photo+2+(4).JPG" width="320" /></a></i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="line line-s" id="line_32" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnF6ExrPUaM51oPjTos6YtzgZyY3-qZLZrmaAbPB3WsIEiK5hfzlH06C2WJ5hiV2OksRJ1ILkMSH2Q_l5yzJUzvBLr8llX9Hu_Jwl9NVIxv9JSa5Coceuwk33a3D8LMWgPx3gqZAM53T6M/s1600/photo+1+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnF6ExrPUaM51oPjTos6YtzgZyY3-qZLZrmaAbPB3WsIEiK5hfzlH06C2WJ5hiV2OksRJ1ILkMSH2Q_l5yzJUzvBLr8llX9Hu_Jwl9NVIxv9JSa5Coceuwk33a3D8LMWgPx3gqZAM53T6M/s320/photo+1+(1).JPG" width="320" /></a></i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="line line-s" id="line_32" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg23sSEHak4bg7QSI8bIOBx1VnG-W45FI8E81HxYOlkcmCtuB_OUaASwHa2dmnX63mSsVg5mqqHxVS5E6vWFxq2v_Svcx3b2YF4TOXYcGfIh18EXDpaPC1dvweYFNKGc4xYJriQySCQOIVh/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg23sSEHak4bg7QSI8bIOBx1VnG-W45FI8E81HxYOlkcmCtuB_OUaASwHa2dmnX63mSsVg5mqqHxVS5E6vWFxq2v_Svcx3b2YF4TOXYcGfIh18EXDpaPC1dvweYFNKGc4xYJriQySCQOIVh/s320/photo+1.JPG" width="320" /></a></i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="line line-s" id="line_32" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpQak3UjCiPp2UjkydM_-LIbbt3szU71omsM_hop9xbcEdPCTjOXszt-JcFpwM-kJQP5Hd-qyt71EEia2KV5sdVlQRcrEdC2NC6QFtGj0KDN3snwv7T-vLOFPy7ltNa9MmTnEndExZGHe/s1600/photo+2+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpQak3UjCiPp2UjkydM_-LIbbt3szU71omsM_hop9xbcEdPCTjOXszt-JcFpwM-kJQP5Hd-qyt71EEia2KV5sdVlQRcrEdC2NC6QFtGj0KDN3snwv7T-vLOFPy7ltNa9MmTnEndExZGHe/s320/photo+2+(1).JPG" width="320" /></a></i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="line line-s" id="line_32" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKwKGJnhmyOuaGFnT1BNupQmRxPkYIwzr370itGx_vhikhN6OmSGAddEx-C4WAkAmcRRYg94Xpn7czEl-9DOGpevTU2qcrHe26Fy80fSQbNQiZ6YIp8iQhWeU1zCmElL8MBIwOosDSyvU/s1600/photo+2+(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivKwKGJnhmyOuaGFnT1BNupQmRxPkYIwzr370itGx_vhikhN6OmSGAddEx-C4WAkAmcRRYg94Xpn7czEl-9DOGpevTU2qcrHe26Fy80fSQbNQiZ6YIp8iQhWeU1zCmElL8MBIwOosDSyvU/s320/photo+2+(2).JPG" width="320" /></a></i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="line line-s" id="line_32" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEDEJqPRChUaiGl1qYLsJc_EiSKMSMUpN2GPXbcNwJ7JlI-3CleVEOHZcPKMcaRv3OjMgm5ZuKDe8gMWk5GH-8lFRSnmN03dG7l9gWWEbzx-UrGDJ9TiYmhd_Pxs5lL4agTI2NaWnNhHoe/s1600/photo+3+(1).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEDEJqPRChUaiGl1qYLsJc_EiSKMSMUpN2GPXbcNwJ7JlI-3CleVEOHZcPKMcaRv3OjMgm5ZuKDe8gMWk5GH-8lFRSnmN03dG7l9gWWEbzx-UrGDJ9TiYmhd_Pxs5lL4agTI2NaWnNhHoe/s320/photo+3+(1).JPG" width="320" /></a></i></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="border: 0px; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><span class="line line-s" id="line_32" style="border: 0px; display: block; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: inherit; font-variant: inherit; margin: 0px; padding: 0px 5px; vertical-align: baseline;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ZgFi606XYdDRKW0FN5_NQnqOJ4fZmCTxzPBlLzbdoWk-39voYTFWXr7sV0jyjdcgQobkN5Qg1BciUbkOlViQy3h2R951AumxYeK2_A_Zc3z2bdXLgM6AVqsv9kwELImg2z8Xj-OFWUva/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ZgFi606XYdDRKW0FN5_NQnqOJ4fZmCTxzPBlLzbdoWk-39voYTFWXr7sV0jyjdcgQobkN5Qg1BciUbkOlViQy3h2R951AumxYeK2_A_Zc3z2bdXLgM6AVqsv9kwELImg2z8Xj-OFWUva/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="320" /></a></i></span></span></div>
</span>tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-20256935471615192852013-03-06T10:09:00.001-08:002013-03-06T10:25:27.672-08:00Waiting for VincentFor you, Vincent. Your birth story.<br />
<br />
It started with a longing. A wish. A hope. I didn't know it at the time, but all along, it was you I was waiting for. It was you who would complete our family. I just didn't know when that would be. <br />
<br />
<em>And I will wait, I will wait for you.<br /></em><br />
Your Mommy has many faults. One of them is worrying about what other people think. So when I wondered aloud to your Daddy: <em>what will people think if we have a 4th child? We already get so many negative comments for having 3</em>? What I was really wondering is if my fragile ego could handle people's judgement. This ugly flaw in me is something I hope I don't pass on to any of my beautiful children. Stand tall. Stand proud. You are wanted and so very loved. Your Daddy has a strength that I admire. His response to my wondering: <em>Who cares what people think?! This is our life. </em>And with that, I knew, just knew, we'd have just one more Baby: you. And life continued to happen and we still just weren't quite sure when you would come to be.<br />
<br />
<em>And I will wait, I will wait for you</em>.<br />
<br />
I cried when I found out I was pregnant. I never for one second took you for granted, having lost two angel babies, I knew you were a true Gift. One I would cherish and lovingly nurture and grow inside of me. Even when my pregnancy got difficult, I knew I'd do anything, anything, for you.<br />
<br />
<em>And I will wait, I will wait for you</em>.<br />
<br />
And I did wait. My doctor wanted to schedule your arrival for a Tuesday, four days before your due date. I found my voice, the one that usually stays quiet around people who are more assertive and outspoken, and I spoke up, for you. <em> Can I wait</em>? So she suggested Wednesday. <em>No, longer. Can I wait until the Baby's due date</em>? She reluctantly agreed to schedule the induction for the following Monday, February 25th at 7am. 2 days past your due date. I questioned my decision but my heart and God told me: patience. Let the Baby grow. <strong>Wait</strong>.<br />
<br />
<em>And I will wait, I will wait for you</em>.<br />
<br />
Oh, Vincent, you, the Baby I waited to find out whether you were a boy or girl, the Baby I decided to let grow as long as my doctor would allow, the Baby that I held during my most difficult pregnancy: you were the one to prove to me that having Faith is the greatest gift a person can have. Because I waited you were born perfectly healthy and in a way that I could have only dreamed of...because I waited. For you.<br />
<br />
<em>And I will wait, I will wait for you</em>.<br />
<br />
On February 25th at 12:30 am, I felt the first twinges of labor pains. They woke me up from a deep sleep and yet in denial, I didn't think it was labor. I had waited so very long for you to come on your own time, I didn't think it was possible you would actually come on your own, on the induction day. So I breathed through what I thought was just back pain, showered, bounced on the exercise ball and eventually went back to bed. At 4:30 I woke up again, this time I knew the contractions were real. I thanked God for this unexpected gift. I knew today was the day I had waited for, the day I would get to meet you.<br />
<br />
<em>And I will wait, I will wait for you.</em><br />
<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/AVvXsEg7Bjp4vPoWOk_5a0BEwUp068gJt9af5sg3eRf_LYUXp_r4yrohAn41UdD7ZCm_ZER0rJJsxiKIRVSDG8CPNHdwXemBbRxsrtP9PFi4BcNc4LiFxt-vkdmFegGeVU0en-mBU1jNftHt4DxW/s1600/vincentnew.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" jsa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7Bjp4vPoWOk_5a0BEwUp068gJt9af5sg3eRf_LYUXp_r4yrohAn41UdD7ZCm_ZER0rJJsxiKIRVSDG8CPNHdwXemBbRxsrtP9PFi4BcNc4LiFxt-vkdmFegGeVU0en-mBU1jNftHt4DxW/s320/vincentnew.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
At 4:05 pm on February 25th, Daddy and I got to meet you. Our Son. I only wanted a healthy baby, and healthy you were: 9 lbs 3 oz, 21 inches long and stunningly beautiful. Our son. And once we met you we just knew Vincent Alexander was the name you were meant to have and you were the Baby who was meant to be to complete our family. We waited a long time. For you. Happy birthday to you, Beautiful Boy. <br />
<br />
<img border="0" height="320" jsa="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgexSfEWoKUw3rZaQ3bQsqQMQUwXeu6uNUi2NkTAw_1YKl9PzyA8caht1I_dOuqM8ZEPlr5lctrmFAK_nbXH-7WjSG_AcrakOvF_EO6pBDkxiJ6Bq3D8znAPLqUOAfklrDTZgDz2d1nGsuh/s320/family6.jpg" width="320" /><br />
<div style="background-color: transparent; border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="color: white;"><em>Raise my hands<br /> Paint my spirit gold<br /> And bow my head<br /> Keep my heart slow</em><span class="line line-s hover" id="line_35" jquery17108439101328340112="62" style="mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;"><em> </em></span></span></div>
<div style="background-color: transparent; border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; color: black; overflow: hidden; text-align: left; text-decoration: none;">
<span class="line line-s hover" jquery17108439101328340112="62" style="mozborderradiustopleft: 8px; mozborderradiustopright: 8px; webkitborderradiustopleft: 8px;"><em><span style="color: white;"> <span style="font-size: x-small;">~Mumford and Sons, I Will Wait</span></span></em> </span></div>
tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-62233406950135028982013-02-18T09:15:00.002-08:002013-02-18T09:15:46.760-08:00Goodbye, Fear<em>And I'll kneel down</em><br />
<em>Wait for now</em><br />
<em>And I'll kneel down</em><br />
<em>Wait for now</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em>And I will wait, I will wait for you</em><br />
<em>And I will wait, I will wait for you</em><br />
<br />
<em>Now I'll be bold</em><br />
<em>As well as strong</em><br />
<em>Use my head alongside my heart</em><br />
<br />
Decisions driven by fear. Worrying about the future, the what-ifs. I thought I had gotten that all under control. It's a lesson God has been patiently trying to teach me for many years. But these last few weeks of pregnancy have told me I'm not a very good student. <br /><br />My hope was to have a VBAC (vaginal birth after c-section). My OB agreed to it but under many conditions: no induction, no big baby, no pitocin, no going over due date...and on and on. So once I found out at 36 weeks Baby 4.0 was measuring a pretty big: 7 lbs 8 oz., I started panicking and hoped Baby would come, soon. Because my OB started throwing out the c-section word. Now, I don't think having a vaginal delivery will make me more of a mom, a better mom, a warrior mom...no, in fact it's not a mama-war I even care to discuss. My reasons for wanting a VBAC are entirely selfish---I'm a wimp! Comparing Claire's delivery to the twins' c-section is night and day for me! I was up and walking easily within an hour of delivering Claire and with Madeline & Max I was still hobbling around, doubled over in pain for a good 10 days after. Months after I would still feel pain and just 'not right'. I want to avoid that. Especially since I'll be taking care of 4 children. So I agonized. Worried. Prayed: <em>Come on out soon, Baby</em>!<br /><br />Then at 37 weeks I developed a condition I wouldn't wish on my worst enemy: PUPPS. My stomach looked like it had been scalded by hot water, every inch of it. The itchiness was so consuming, it's all I could think about. I called my mom in tears every single day, asking her to pray to help me to get through the day, even if just one minute at a time. Because when I saw the on-call OB, she gently suggested: c-section. <em>You know, most women at this point would just go ahead and opt for the c-section as that is really the only 'cure'</em>. I'll wait, I said. <em>Really? You want to put yourself through another day? Another week? Another 3 weeks of this? You don't have to!</em> I broke down and cried right there in the exam room. She ordered lab work to check my liver. I broke down again. Knowing relief was just a c-section away was so tempting. The nights were the worst: I ccouldn't sleep. Not a minute. Tossing and turning, placing cool rags and ice packs on my stomach all night. If my OB had been in my room during the middle of the night, I would have agreed to the c-section then and there. I worried, I prayed, I begged: <em>please, come out, Baby!</em><br />
<br />
But I'd get up in the morning and it would be a little, just the smallest bit better. And I would again, focus on one minute at a time. One day, I dropped the twins off at preschool and I had the urge to go to a Catholic church and pray. The desire was so strong, it was all I could think about. I wanted to pray. In peace. Without distraction from kids. I wanted to get on my knees and be surrounded by a church that reminded me of my childhood and my Grandpa, who I felt was calling out to me. So the next day, I found one. <br />
<br />
I prayed the prayers I learned as a child. Over and over as I was on my knees, the tears just needed to be released as I begged God for peace and comfort. I wanted to talk to my Grandpa so I did. And I felt his presence. On my knees, while I prayed, I knew he was with me. And then the inexplicable: I felt cool hands covering my stomach. And for a moment, I had complete relief from the condition that had been plaguing me for over a week. A condition no cream, no medicine could touch. I left the church that day knowing that whatever happened, I would have the strength to get through it. Miracles cannot be explained. That is why we have <strong>Faith</strong>. And the next day what happened was a true miracle. I woke up and I was no longer as itchy as I had been. My stomach which had been a bright, blistering, angry red was faded to a pink, a mild looking sunburn. And as the days went on, it has faded even more. And then one day: No more itchiness.<br />
<br />
Then I had a great appointment with my OB who suddenly seemed to have a change of heart: she was willing to induce if I got close to my due date, no automatic c-section! Hooray! I felt like I could get through these last few weeks of my pregnancy worry-free. Until she called the next day saying she wanted to induce me at my next appointment. I panicked: what if the baby just needs more time? What if she induces me and my body isn't ready and I have to have a c-section? <em>What if, what if, what if</em>? So I asked for another week, to schedule the induction for when I'm full term. And then the self-doubt and worry began: but then we wouldn't have help from my parents because they would be leaving 2 days later, what if the extra week allows the baby to get too big and I end up with a c-section anyway?....<em>but, but, but....worry, worry, worry.<br /></em>I hate being in that dark place of fear, darkness, worry. Things that I can't control. Things that should be let go to prayer. But sometimes the mind tries to overpower the heart. Self-doubt was laying on me like a heavy blanket making it hard to breathe. Did I make the right decision?<br /><br />I went to the gym and the first song that came on was <em>I Will Wait</em> by Mumford and Sons. Ahhhh, it sounded so right. <strong><em>Wait</em></strong> is what my heart was whispering....<em>wait for Baby</em> to come. <em>But, But, But, my mind kept protesting....maybe...worry, worry, worry</em>. <em>Maybe I should choose the earlier date</em>. I finished my workout and got into my car. Turned it on only to hear on the radio the <em>same</em> song:<br />
<br />
<em>And I'll kneel down</em><br />
<em>Wait for now</em><br />
<em>And I'll kneel down</em><br />
<em>Know my ground</em><br />
<em><br /></em>
<em>And I will wait, I will wait for you.</em> <br />
<br />
I laughed and cried at the same time. <em>OK, God. I hear you. I'll wait</em>. <em>Baby, I'll wait for you.</em> And I'll say goodbye to fear<em>.</em> <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiENyRPtUmh3wlLSJLfPe5gtbIG1FiRjNKqkd78dNTRrXN5ZhmgwTHpR-8VPRpXzRgF85kkm5jUsDZSaIjoLuMfChZ-NUtOcxQb1OVrMuGT5lSxsrCTQcem2BOsBalBlCOQxBf_RUQ0sT4x/s1600/baby+39+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiENyRPtUmh3wlLSJLfPe5gtbIG1FiRjNKqkd78dNTRrXN5ZhmgwTHpR-8VPRpXzRgF85kkm5jUsDZSaIjoLuMfChZ-NUtOcxQb1OVrMuGT5lSxsrCTQcem2BOsBalBlCOQxBf_RUQ0sT4x/s320/baby+39+.jpg" uea="true" width="320" /></a></div>
<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Mama, Sweet Claire and Baby at 39 weeks and a few days. And waiting for Baby.</span></em>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<br /> </div>
<br />tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-44881457075571359332012-10-26T06:22:00.000-07:002012-10-26T06:26:50.341-07:00Once Upon A Time, A Mouse Made a Mommy Cry<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Once upon a time there was a Mommy, a Daddy and three amazing Little Ones. The Mommy wished upon a star and her hope was to one day, take her Little Ones to Disneyworld. But she knew it would take lots of magic to make it happen: with a Daddy who dislikes crowds and is lovingly known as Mr. Budget; Disneyworld seemed like a big dream not likely to happen.</div>
<br />
But one day....things fell into place and the Daddy had a change of heart. A trip was scheduled, tickets bought and those Little Ones and their parents were off on an adventure. The Mommy and Daddy were a bit nervous. They weren't quite sure how this adventure would turn out. Would it have a happy ending? The Little Ones had no idea what was coming...Disneyworld? What does that really mean? They weren't quite sure, but they were excited to begin their journey.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOOFFjQqDIieCfZtx1cyZHnu_HgHZdOjBABH0uSHuD_TPv00J1ge_rzvKI3gu5IsqsfZeVgDo1hx_tUAA62SUBdnv4UOpQCVJIqx0SdYM05TmvAEJanCPPmegmdwPIoaGlmvWOCyYEUWXq/s1600/disney28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOOFFjQqDIieCfZtx1cyZHnu_HgHZdOjBABH0uSHuD_TPv00J1ge_rzvKI3gu5IsqsfZeVgDo1hx_tUAA62SUBdnv4UOpQCVJIqx0SdYM05TmvAEJanCPPmegmdwPIoaGlmvWOCyYEUWXq/s320/disney28.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
And on the first day...something magical happened. The three Little Ones were mesmerized: by princesses, castles...was this a real life fairy-tale?<br />
<img border="0" height="400" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgZzu5eQetIlyoFukyhjIseRd1gzD5WeqhrvBkLvFL_YKGQie7UNe4jXCPfuYZwyLJielcQOk8I3ENqjNkkELVEGutOc62IUE5vqVqScE-42Pk41KqFoz4FHtTQMrFs-AaRNa_D3hOCUDs/s400/disney19.jpg" width="400" /><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-kSqystVBcmG8qbhI3I4BUshDZOMx9wT0zoXuJnY-A7-rTGc4zhzvhXTu_I2Y1jhVG0qGFD4cVtRzGMauBaSkmAZj6chbMgHJLjJ7n2CS0tMN2qAWASS9vjeJOCZ-wn55THOp7SVVfb6E/s1600/disney20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-kSqystVBcmG8qbhI3I4BUshDZOMx9wT0zoXuJnY-A7-rTGc4zhzvhXTu_I2Y1jhVG0qGFD4cVtRzGMauBaSkmAZj6chbMgHJLjJ7n2CS0tMN2qAWASS9vjeJOCZ-wn55THOp7SVVfb6E/s400/disney20.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
And the Daddy? Well, I know for a fact his heart was transformed as he saw his princess-loving Little One, light up with joy when she got to hold the hand of a real-life princess. There was no hope for the Daddy after he saw this:<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ahekIncXFypKxat5lk_CxbJ8PkFnVMJ6HVhO01UhGFNdJakyDOiJAq6Y4DaIfTtES_RzeKAmOFzNH88CuQjp7adLit-RsR3kEgx4tzQcWrSvCQIYc2mSci9f1WdT3UnjK5KQvBlO5cTL/s1600/disney27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ahekIncXFypKxat5lk_CxbJ8PkFnVMJ6HVhO01UhGFNdJakyDOiJAq6Y4DaIfTtES_RzeKAmOFzNH88CuQjp7adLit-RsR3kEgx4tzQcWrSvCQIYc2mSci9f1WdT3UnjK5KQvBlO5cTL/s320/disney27.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
The Mommy was already in a bit of a daze. Was this really happening? She wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Especially when she saw the sheer delight on the Little Ones' faces:<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRFrpgt5_ekTuSJsWEFTEE8pLCjL0nb4ptwqsxXKe7a5czqI6HxGQ8w9d2aBEfc829vFnB6f26YkfvoXhnJavIqRu74rUBGTasbXPCWT3-kSsysVgl48jGCN7pbcHh94q4DK0pLM17vTmH/s1600/disney24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRFrpgt5_ekTuSJsWEFTEE8pLCjL0nb4ptwqsxXKe7a5czqI6HxGQ8w9d2aBEfc829vFnB6f26YkfvoXhnJavIqRu74rUBGTasbXPCWT3-kSsysVgl48jGCN7pbcHh94q4DK0pLM17vTmH/s400/disney24.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg128pvsarpmvfJZp0CDVzYyBP-Xt0kUXlu9zmzWDR_m5OTzUQlK3ovWqQC-or2lTvSbgFDvIgaYrDJwwJKVeRHhUh8UM5jlbjzFLLwKcozm9-fGSFOveKYSKB0JQ0GOChcyy0UQZx_BuN0/s1600/disney9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg128pvsarpmvfJZp0CDVzYyBP-Xt0kUXlu9zmzWDR_m5OTzUQlK3ovWqQC-or2lTvSbgFDvIgaYrDJwwJKVeRHhUh8UM5jlbjzFLLwKcozm9-fGSFOveKYSKB0JQ0GOChcyy0UQZx_BuN0/s320/disney9.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY9Y14OFhVedva7t6WAZbhmp5nCH0C_TQxYWqp2a8gEZjhTdUZgP_ZFHHfYnPnunY5AHkeiLL1gJevhyU1aedTasY8UOodBgY27FnStREtatwQFXpPSWSc50OyvERhpFGg_MDLNNFWizOy/s1600/disney13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY9Y14OFhVedva7t6WAZbhmp5nCH0C_TQxYWqp2a8gEZjhTdUZgP_ZFHHfYnPnunY5AHkeiLL1gJevhyU1aedTasY8UOodBgY27FnStREtatwQFXpPSWSc50OyvERhpFGg_MDLNNFWizOy/s320/disney13.jpg" width="240" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg236QdVg5_mnQGKpn_htNEWn91zI50yFRdc5qJuRDWjmkMu_JuntNzjLgv06ty5C_Zue-fiiqpOYUvxudn_mLmVaMgE6DEavsGVffZ3JlZ4fB89hvxzMhImmB1TSO3d9GXqxPtwLetwoOB/s1600/disney18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg236QdVg5_mnQGKpn_htNEWn91zI50yFRdc5qJuRDWjmkMu_JuntNzjLgv06ty5C_Zue-fiiqpOYUvxudn_mLmVaMgE6DEavsGVffZ3JlZ4fB89hvxzMhImmB1TSO3d9GXqxPtwLetwoOB/s320/disney18.jpg" width="213" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMD2G2wEek4GSQEtmKbNEHOXglC_CYSSRTN75UHJG_pvwCcnBmfnBFPewe9MaY4P2kK7rUTUrrVtmdcfSRohsV6jGIVZF2JLsiVibVNPu57WESxWkceNQDLtQ5sv62lwzhl0-eKInGtlm8/s1600/disney10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMD2G2wEek4GSQEtmKbNEHOXglC_CYSSRTN75UHJG_pvwCcnBmfnBFPewe9MaY4P2kK7rUTUrrVtmdcfSRohsV6jGIVZF2JLsiVibVNPu57WESxWkceNQDLtQ5sv62lwzhl0-eKInGtlm8/s400/disney10.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCaNNT0Fko8oL27r12mtmsUaXsK4WqhL2OWq18EmGN64-QXsjo5Hj5gHt_qTRp9WY2zGDHAMIQJDco7pg_O4FOt_f3GcUosVixlJII3u08tuqxLHa51YiV9vLOEvOJHeiLYQcdMokZ8IUQ/s1600/disney11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCaNNT0Fko8oL27r12mtmsUaXsK4WqhL2OWq18EmGN64-QXsjo5Hj5gHt_qTRp9WY2zGDHAMIQJDco7pg_O4FOt_f3GcUosVixlJII3u08tuqxLHa51YiV9vLOEvOJHeiLYQcdMokZ8IUQ/s320/disney11.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8rxarwKGDUW-pGrdbucorqPRoqvB-UXgiaPJjRA_AmlUkJyNT7Aj01k7vKZQAfJwwU0ijsm24Tds7Y0yKzZQzTpCYmGy1dL68Xc57SynrXwlrW2ZbNDW0Q_5cY7rXuz0deiYgibhh8UpQ/s1600/disneyeeyore.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8rxarwKGDUW-pGrdbucorqPRoqvB-UXgiaPJjRA_AmlUkJyNT7Aj01k7vKZQAfJwwU0ijsm24Tds7Y0yKzZQzTpCYmGy1dL68Xc57SynrXwlrW2ZbNDW0Q_5cY7rXuz0deiYgibhh8UpQ/s320/disneyeeyore.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxm7GmsleInclFlxc5P4AqnDBbIZzzfV1gYws817lZBis4mf6BO8L2o3OZ8KZOOtdqHyspa5h64OfhgdmlgXBdXlQeoxxYGD3pZ0359UWfF6GaAW0ktxLP7hHawlk4MwIAvvq4WeBoWul8/s1600/disney14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxm7GmsleInclFlxc5P4AqnDBbIZzzfV1gYws817lZBis4mf6BO8L2o3OZ8KZOOtdqHyspa5h64OfhgdmlgXBdXlQeoxxYGD3pZ0359UWfF6GaAW0ktxLP7hHawlk4MwIAvvq4WeBoWul8/s320/disney14.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2dxRsO1LtcuBICeSscY3hDO0TD7LrYFBXz9D9FaT8UfihNzpiI0BLaYEoNlTZe9aHLOjm9S0fxyBB6yKKfx8GX234pJ0yOJX34wnfTIoU7aVLQ1c1rB7I4XjXlizku5sW-ZeBqUYHhBLG/s1600/disney23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2dxRsO1LtcuBICeSscY3hDO0TD7LrYFBXz9D9FaT8UfihNzpiI0BLaYEoNlTZe9aHLOjm9S0fxyBB6yKKfx8GX234pJ0yOJX34wnfTIoU7aVLQ1c1rB7I4XjXlizku5sW-ZeBqUYHhBLG/s320/disney23.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWx4gzT1I68iSRAf4OB2IJWgwgpF-uyFHz1yxbGDPPKfkZ-btxmM1CIbn3nDXD1VhWFvlLcor9O6rH_p1WxFCvD4BAf2-5Lq95ccoZ-jGY6eHh24_LV04XKZKngqvQDsEp27alA8kpbgDn/s1600/disney30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWx4gzT1I68iSRAf4OB2IJWgwgpF-uyFHz1yxbGDPPKfkZ-btxmM1CIbn3nDXD1VhWFvlLcor9O6rH_p1WxFCvD4BAf2-5Lq95ccoZ-jGY6eHh24_LV04XKZKngqvQDsEp27alA8kpbgDn/s320/disney30.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2wcP2-K1ayecYWPdWCguY9utH6fUhxqvuedQnWC1Ey1p_VXG5GpPMRtQcUz7nNM597TafJH3uRC_oQC60bQEELB7Re5JgyoBStKDhN1mLRja7Rs_9qLUSANFZVkbjP0iAWkmfqvLpx6xz/s1600/disney32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2wcP2-K1ayecYWPdWCguY9utH6fUhxqvuedQnWC1Ey1p_VXG5GpPMRtQcUz7nNM597TafJH3uRC_oQC60bQEELB7Re5JgyoBStKDhN1mLRja7Rs_9qLUSANFZVkbjP0iAWkmfqvLpx6xz/s320/disney32.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_iRq6a8sAAIS3rHRbtJQoLWa1uX5fRNLRZdH0Z07_F2-KeoeVDGoD14Ii4-6GTbxE3_KzH2C3HgQtTLXeLQkfKuBzbCIIaeUuCpt9dGRHQdU_YYVxzlFxRN1iYC5eQk36txCXAcNkhXL/s1600/disney31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgm_iRq6a8sAAIS3rHRbtJQoLWa1uX5fRNLRZdH0Z07_F2-KeoeVDGoD14Ii4-6GTbxE3_KzH2C3HgQtTLXeLQkfKuBzbCIIaeUuCpt9dGRHQdU_YYVxzlFxRN1iYC5eQk36txCXAcNkhXL/s400/disney31.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
When Mickey, Pooh, Donald or a Princess hugs your Little One, it truly is a magical moment. The Mommy tucked away these images into her heart forever.</div>
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi61csjORffY9nnEyXgqLTFR_Gii0nX6R0SQFEf6R_5Uxy_HM8TSwCNfTTU8Kr-Kp_t4KbY5FqBVKVQRoW72O62QIILx9wwTC32GercSdzdLUPZvriYm8jvYoEvMn6cB5VRbt7DzOANoKxw/s1600/disney12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi61csjORffY9nnEyXgqLTFR_Gii0nX6R0SQFEf6R_5Uxy_HM8TSwCNfTTU8Kr-Kp_t4KbY5FqBVKVQRoW72O62QIILx9wwTC32GercSdzdLUPZvriYm8jvYoEvMn6cB5VRbt7DzOANoKxw/s320/disney12.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmLPDvmVQc352SjoOYRgLckTerFoy62kY5hDQqvCTzBn6ntWe9uQm6tf7y5NBNM2IbRasPmmqCgO9tp4lEcGJdBbBlreyseOLWt_G7bg8Jyi4r6g8eYl5mnDAXlqovDQzI0-xvgC9MIKJ/s1600/disney8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGmLPDvmVQc352SjoOYRgLckTerFoy62kY5hDQqvCTzBn6ntWe9uQm6tf7y5NBNM2IbRasPmmqCgO9tp4lEcGJdBbBlreyseOLWt_G7bg8Jyi4r6g8eYl5mnDAXlqovDQzI0-xvgC9MIKJ/s320/disney8.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi26rPfMHK8DrboNM4c4PEbI2k3setlAXK2oRNI2I0IU5zSZiS43ViPcOne_EoZDT3KniOD9LrPxAysja2sAMJEpYG80BSaTU3fSiWAtQRxJDzxT9YYjsa85y6uro_hLb-4MHdAJb-L6Eix/s1600/disneypooh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi26rPfMHK8DrboNM4c4PEbI2k3setlAXK2oRNI2I0IU5zSZiS43ViPcOne_EoZDT3KniOD9LrPxAysja2sAMJEpYG80BSaTU3fSiWAtQRxJDzxT9YYjsa85y6uro_hLb-4MHdAJb-L6Eix/s400/disneypooh.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
<br />
Suddenly, it all became too much for the Mommy. She was overwhelmed with happiness. And when Mickey kissed her Baby Belly, the Mommy couldn't help but cry. She cried tears of joy, gratitude and the magic of it all:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ3Jxp8xaujBgR8QJQI7_-bHDbkVPc0220mv7gSyMgOF3quIlB9W67S2-7-DE-UeQQh65A7YtRqD0zMaHaL7IeUO_NbMYXL9acqSQHFwp04PiYNhUhl0SCnrU_-fZiA29ilAVcYoGE-Gtr/s1600/disney17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ3Jxp8xaujBgR8QJQI7_-bHDbkVPc0220mv7gSyMgOF3quIlB9W67S2-7-DE-UeQQh65A7YtRqD0zMaHaL7IeUO_NbMYXL9acqSQHFwp04PiYNhUhl0SCnrU_-fZiA29ilAVcYoGE-Gtr/s320/disney17.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
And of course the story has a happy ending. Three Little Ones, a Mommy and a Daddy had a wonderful time. Memories were made in a magical place. The Mommy and the Daddy will forever hold on to what they saw: <em>The innocence of Magic and Wonder in the eyes of their Little ones.</em> Do you see it too?:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs2gvQlw9P9ciwTN3ah_LGCqPXzLFARETZKMhTnoDUW7J1HOMts0uuZ34yWh_AIDglXrvaAcpY3adZYSB7kwinQ8vA75LARs0pM3nj4ZVj9DDPetlYHBtHchHyIv3Z_PpmPN4F0u9ZMNcN/s1600/disney4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs2gvQlw9P9ciwTN3ah_LGCqPXzLFARETZKMhTnoDUW7J1HOMts0uuZ34yWh_AIDglXrvaAcpY3adZYSB7kwinQ8vA75LARs0pM3nj4ZVj9DDPetlYHBtHchHyIv3Z_PpmPN4F0u9ZMNcN/s320/disney4.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;">
<em>You, you may say </em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>I hope some day you'll join us</em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>And the world will be as one<br />~John Lennon</em></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaqnIrTrSd-JdAiPoEMB_sPfzKJU88ok97ntlmBgb-Ec1_X5-tIjQ6foPEfTJqruH2QmKtsQLo6pyFxHXNz1_BBvKRWZq5R0_xKMGqXNyS67ag63-yEboVhhPxBB0fID0-nmZ6JQXRMvPQ/s1600/disney29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaqnIrTrSd-JdAiPoEMB_sPfzKJU88ok97ntlmBgb-Ec1_X5-tIjQ6foPEfTJqruH2QmKtsQLo6pyFxHXNz1_BBvKRWZq5R0_xKMGqXNyS67ag63-yEboVhhPxBB0fID0-nmZ6JQXRMvPQ/s400/disney29.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<em><span style="font-size: x-small;"> The Mommy is forever thankful for a wonderful support team of Grandparents and a Husband who did all the muscle work behind the strollers. She couldn't have done it without you all.</span></em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKkXVQajp4ecoQrPjxXvayChgLOX7WYLFtXmuA9wipCg74tp06ggJXH6rK4bCd1MMbLVuFIb5_GlfWiyrK89dDxCwBHwqv5kb0hrXdKm7D4I6Xg_VjSfwa4-VjgY5raw_KqrSBRGNPfY94/s1600/disney3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" oea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKkXVQajp4ecoQrPjxXvayChgLOX7WYLFtXmuA9wipCg74tp06ggJXH6rK4bCd1MMbLVuFIb5_GlfWiyrK89dDxCwBHwqv5kb0hrXdKm7D4I6Xg_VjSfwa4-VjgY5raw_KqrSBRGNPfY94/s400/disney3.jpg" width="300" /></a><br />
The End.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-18904187476073922262012-10-12T06:13:00.000-07:002012-10-12T06:13:21.364-07:00It's Never Just Any Old Day<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">When the rain is blowin' in your face<br />And the whole world is on your case<br />I could offer you a warm embrace<br />To make you feel my love.<br /><br />When the evening shadows and the stars appear<br />And there is no one there to dry your tears<br />I could hold you for a million years<br />To make you feel my love.<br /><br />I know you haven't made your mind up yet<br />But I would never do you wrong<br />I've known it from the moment that we met<br />No doubt in my mind where you belong.<br /><br />I'd go hungry, I'd go black and blue<br />I'd go crawlin' down the avenue<br />No, there's nothin' that I wouldn't do<br />To make you feel my love.<br /><br />Though storms are raging on the rollin' sea<br />And on the highway of regrets<br />Though winds of change are throwing wild and free<br />You ain't seen nothin' like me yet.<br /><br />I could make you happy, make your dreams come true<br />Nothing that I wouldn't do<br />Go to the ends of the Earth for you<br />To make you feel my love.</span></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">(To Make you Feel My Love, Bob Dylan)</span></em></div>
<br />
<br />
The other day I listened to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8jY6mFKQQCU">Mick McAuley's </a>version of Make you Feel My Love. Music does wonders for my soul. It picked me up out of some sorrow I had been feeling and reminded me to be thankful: for all the wonderful, beautiful, amazing things that happen on a seemingly normal day. Here are some of those moments captured: <br />
<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/AVvXsEj8kBkv3B1vk7gUye-Zv32V6PHrbZQVawWDKah5i1l0PIaVKGxkANtujO52FYT-TkvEUnDRrFjGUvnOxGz9FaA2-mOxzSSTzl3PmqaOjNWI3SJkgRtjjV1aoB_SfYtzRB9ayfNK6zkHW6RZ/s1600/claireme.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8kBkv3B1vk7gUye-Zv32V6PHrbZQVawWDKah5i1l0PIaVKGxkANtujO52FYT-TkvEUnDRrFjGUvnOxGz9FaA2-mOxzSSTzl3PmqaOjNWI3SJkgRtjjV1aoB_SfYtzRB9ayfNK6zkHW6RZ/s320/claireme.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> We cuddle every, single, day. Thinking of the day this will stop, makes my heart ache a bit.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBF5ycBcIFeyeprdNiGt-8aXuL4aD2CTmAswCjwqr1N_QQ6cMv7XjH8xqnKskzC3EllfpIACHD6Yq6jTG6KMxVoDKz5yFugXWumh_be1-QJH2Kbwgf5-8CuyAdqf0OPCu3i0F-sK7TdMPz/s1600/funnymama.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBF5ycBcIFeyeprdNiGt-8aXuL4aD2CTmAswCjwqr1N_QQ6cMv7XjH8xqnKskzC3EllfpIACHD6Yq6jTG6KMxVoDKz5yFugXWumh_be1-QJH2Kbwgf5-8CuyAdqf0OPCu3i0F-sK7TdMPz/s320/funnymama.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Being silly with Baby. The human body amazes me.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnzJLU_csremXg29AHa07dGZBevR5sGY7lEZUI79K2qWfSi1yDDBFNDf3wfOfjMD-0q5kUTYs6Fp4BMSUMI_CZJ3ejgUfMU94tOandv2lwIoTd3EoKQN4AGkhNyBQ5C5gaBoM7kccaVxss/s1600/daddy-claire.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnzJLU_csremXg29AHa07dGZBevR5sGY7lEZUI79K2qWfSi1yDDBFNDf3wfOfjMD-0q5kUTYs6Fp4BMSUMI_CZJ3ejgUfMU94tOandv2lwIoTd3EoKQN4AGkhNyBQ5C5gaBoM7kccaVxss/s320/daddy-claire.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> A Father who takes his daughter to school every day. She'll have this memory and know she's always been cherished by him.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIiR0q16p975cbTe1WnW-p54johPdTzp33l32NuH6sv6AcyT45vi07hYWudrSzXSzf46hrdLIqcgQxBk0WVpKE-9Qd97h5RNDY2FpqudI970ftZUjbQZUQh8bePtFPToR513PoiWJIsySS/s1600/mama-mads.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIiR0q16p975cbTe1WnW-p54johPdTzp33l32NuH6sv6AcyT45vi07hYWudrSzXSzf46hrdLIqcgQxBk0WVpKE-9Qd97h5RNDY2FpqudI970ftZUjbQZUQh8bePtFPToR513PoiWJIsySS/s320/mama-mads.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> My sweet Madeline who sometimes gets 'lost' in the middle and reminds me: I'm here, be with me.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnJ8k4gErWf127hDRDHdFhl7ORJWKCp4OaVtQl-pGstKee7p4jMDzQ4cOZvABzW6e36AXDUfHqueDoXwn3vCRZ_3ZDvEsg5sKThsB8lLLw6DMxTICZNWEj8YqE0bUx3ZdpCNqFQklstEdo/s1600/maxgymnasticsgirls.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnJ8k4gErWf127hDRDHdFhl7ORJWKCp4OaVtQl-pGstKee7p4jMDzQ4cOZvABzW6e36AXDUfHqueDoXwn3vCRZ_3ZDvEsg5sKThsB8lLLw6DMxTICZNWEj8YqE0bUx3ZdpCNqFQklstEdo/s320/maxgymnasticsgirls.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> A Boy-Child who notices pretty girls.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje-hm2ucrIgtO-2hAProH9aE0yYqW8ZKxdrDvm1_kJ97wPnE1V-L8LXNjhBuoi5ZSktO3JkA_Z2vUYpdr8QN_RtDCJYwU3r9Ny2Nu3t9-U-yCymzj9yl270kvHyArxCzh_13aKZKXx-TVH/s1600/me+for+chris.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje-hm2ucrIgtO-2hAProH9aE0yYqW8ZKxdrDvm1_kJ97wPnE1V-L8LXNjhBuoi5ZSktO3JkA_Z2vUYpdr8QN_RtDCJYwU3r9Ny2Nu3t9-U-yCymzj9yl270kvHyArxCzh_13aKZKXx-TVH/s320/me+for+chris.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Over 7 years of marriage and I still try to look pretty for my man. I hope that's the case 20 years from now.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS33G58CDj2jmJdaZM-vl6RPVYyi3NpvdENHRCNIOfMjJUbJ8Rme_XsjWEYUV5kaBbrOYW7llCfy0z4-DmiCE1haqwcoW_SJyXLxJTKfZ3BgUgShS1snGpuyBjylflZPFhRZ24c03AmFzD/s1600/sweetmadeline.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS33G58CDj2jmJdaZM-vl6RPVYyi3NpvdENHRCNIOfMjJUbJ8Rme_XsjWEYUV5kaBbrOYW7llCfy0z4-DmiCE1haqwcoW_SJyXLxJTKfZ3BgUgShS1snGpuyBjylflZPFhRZ24c03AmFzD/s320/sweetmadeline.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">A princess who turns heads.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjao8grNEMrEgV5aszXXvFEA3FEvWwAV6VLcv4KA4HyhmDFyLzssi7-x52zVuMnKqVJM9cqDgDrlha-edsvCXgCPxyecHDYHVlPaHNvvxS5nXhhWHPFJHVHx_FzLS1dAGUtSLGNfqn-2IK_/s1600/1snowconemads.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjao8grNEMrEgV5aszXXvFEA3FEvWwAV6VLcv4KA4HyhmDFyLzssi7-x52zVuMnKqVJM9cqDgDrlha-edsvCXgCPxyecHDYHVlPaHNvvxS5nXhhWHPFJHVHx_FzLS1dAGUtSLGNfqn-2IK_/s320/1snowconemads.jpg" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">When you realize taking a moment to stop for snow cones makes someone's day, you want do do it more often.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxvu6WbZTnJil5A1trcubycsAUh-5wkUJZNcXz0mNmpdywgjDTIsuGJMWnHMVfmzDzXNwU_bTeqylQVjZIEELURks1LBSpT5LStxpN2piZWHj3NGa4R8C-Cyu4vaJUENi0YX2xrW3cCjED/s1600/1trainmads.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxvu6WbZTnJil5A1trcubycsAUh-5wkUJZNcXz0mNmpdywgjDTIsuGJMWnHMVfmzDzXNwU_bTeqylQVjZIEELURks1LBSpT5LStxpN2piZWHj3NGa4R8C-Cyu4vaJUENi0YX2xrW3cCjED/s320/1trainmads.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">A morning at the zoo. My heart broke a little this day. "I want to sit by myself on the train."</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzI-XRJYBhhz2chOxV9WAGr32PnyIwuerkgL3FQpQdggs3OdUdqpRuXtlxODYeGy3cP2nZcJsJYqu6yxEKPpslm33N15_DJkPVezqtVKwYr1MUMBF_9lugnIoRoCUxyj1jsitDmUNiphOa/s1600/2dancingdaddy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzI-XRJYBhhz2chOxV9WAGr32PnyIwuerkgL3FQpQdggs3OdUdqpRuXtlxODYeGy3cP2nZcJsJYqu6yxEKPpslm33N15_DJkPVezqtVKwYr1MUMBF_9lugnIoRoCUxyj1jsitDmUNiphOa/s320/2dancingdaddy.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Dancing days.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbG54xELRIHkltHe36ZsvcTUFCD7v2ouCW_SrQ9pVt87PttNPGMKSUYMgnQ-5zLQgl9_0KoI-CUAmt6XNYtTQg72M9mM-t7K1wFprLThzSZx0yBMtEvmJBj4JvJCAwMcNFpVRwsd4Gx5Dn/s1600/2max.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbG54xELRIHkltHe36ZsvcTUFCD7v2ouCW_SrQ9pVt87PttNPGMKSUYMgnQ-5zLQgl9_0KoI-CUAmt6XNYtTQg72M9mM-t7K1wFprLThzSZx0yBMtEvmJBj4JvJCAwMcNFpVRwsd4Gx5Dn/s320/2max.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">My Costco lunch date. That face. I couldn't have designed it better than He did.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNpWPzo2sDEvgUC4KdToyJ-BTF7UkJNTHOimJYO1HYdV76LAce_EYRHvB6KyEVSedD8hbCyVv14y4-QugxYl4A6d6YGr2j7joas3FtZLElCNuAvAvbULmRFx59pthTtSEtMvHyRCcWPJ1P/s1600/2twinspreschool.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNpWPzo2sDEvgUC4KdToyJ-BTF7UkJNTHOimJYO1HYdV76LAce_EYRHvB6KyEVSedD8hbCyVv14y4-QugxYl4A6d6YGr2j7joas3FtZLElCNuAvAvbULmRFx59pthTtSEtMvHyRCcWPJ1P/s320/2twinspreschool.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">First day of preschool at 3 years old and as I drove away that day I knew they would be ok. Because they have each other.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsWiQhlUmhtJln5xSwrtCakte02d8Bp8_YQXhcPlSVvzCKLdV9lQBWMSgDUhw6FUoEKQz4CmFJHHqIoYJgB-cYzK4n7-prbpGMGinHtWPssuZEjtGzPpVCxi8GUxi5EGpIAWioC40wT-uV/s1600/3princessmads.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsWiQhlUmhtJln5xSwrtCakte02d8Bp8_YQXhcPlSVvzCKLdV9lQBWMSgDUhw6FUoEKQz4CmFJHHqIoYJgB-cYzK4n7-prbpGMGinHtWPssuZEjtGzPpVCxi8GUxi5EGpIAWioC40wT-uV/s320/3princessmads.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Playing dressup: I love her confident, sassy attitude.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8MYGY1uxFjYyCt37FB66G34nQplS0BSoAdllS4k7ZaxJS8mG46JBCMUHRLh4DwXuqnIjvFLyUX5zQu6l2olwdAfNb3DWMST3p-TEVgos4fWPtMeNoPAQWvTH1cuLbRWgWU_ijzS2l1oh/s1600/3stinkymama.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8MYGY1uxFjYyCt37FB66G34nQplS0BSoAdllS4k7ZaxJS8mG46JBCMUHRLh4DwXuqnIjvFLyUX5zQu6l2olwdAfNb3DWMST3p-TEVgos4fWPtMeNoPAQWvTH1cuLbRWgWU_ijzS2l1oh/s320/3stinkymama.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I came home from a run and asked for a kiss, she plugged her little button nose. I love showing my children that mommy enjoys running. They <em>know</em> mama is a runner.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOtSe_HhNiubGNvLf91baEwAEsJCzE_W9WBiUcndX7Hgb-884PLzvbXPxKDLgFmfXYoff22IxpMVUBFOl6JNmOvkrx42Ji5yMGMZseZIsWQD9povKwGZXrTocHbcG6kO9Dj1NiQJX1MUCb/s1600/3twinshandspreschool.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOtSe_HhNiubGNvLf91baEwAEsJCzE_W9WBiUcndX7Hgb-884PLzvbXPxKDLgFmfXYoff22IxpMVUBFOl6JNmOvkrx42Ji5yMGMZseZIsWQD9povKwGZXrTocHbcG6kO9Dj1NiQJX1MUCb/s320/3twinshandspreschool.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Best Friends.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqqXfKw2BWXpbE26LG-XuJQq2cPlaeJZJXMeruPAv2REcBuMypfxhzGip0bB_BAjuDdNU8dSeXIfO4AMYYizMsZuNEaqxEbJ9qVOaQGCyu1WZWeg7GNERqa0Ry1U5tYsa_KAm-mVnshjR3/s1600/4clairefirstdayfirst.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqqXfKw2BWXpbE26LG-XuJQq2cPlaeJZJXMeruPAv2REcBuMypfxhzGip0bB_BAjuDdNU8dSeXIfO4AMYYizMsZuNEaqxEbJ9qVOaQGCyu1WZWeg7GNERqa0Ry1U5tYsa_KAm-mVnshjR3/s320/4clairefirstdayfirst.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">I cried. I laughed. My 'baby' is so big and bright.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKl6FDmFu9fdMccH-lRfHiiUqUXtI6DZSDPUj-F24WHQIWwryahB2qcHBlLKFh_SKEz7oOAFx1t5iYy7gpkUwCa2VdOYWqDO4MOL5cX3Ws4fcKVGbWT0uxlY1ooZirOf88_TJ4WK6Rt41/s1600/4spideymax.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipKl6FDmFu9fdMccH-lRfHiiUqUXtI6DZSDPUj-F24WHQIWwryahB2qcHBlLKFh_SKEz7oOAFx1t5iYy7gpkUwCa2VdOYWqDO4MOL5cX3Ws4fcKVGbWT0uxlY1ooZirOf88_TJ4WK6Rt41/s320/4spideymax.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The Boy I never knew I needed. So proud of his muscles.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVwBI-hoY88ImqYdP6_RfY84VUbpcQYVCxd9f-HZxKD_-r9Ulr40nSzN50gP6pkDGvjlXjenhWcB7DItxLFVbvK6q-5Ct5szEYf1EG1MM6hmxzF_GFHG1oTNhtdR1CsX_4dDRpBW9Iuvw4/s1600/5clairelee.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVwBI-hoY88ImqYdP6_RfY84VUbpcQYVCxd9f-HZxKD_-r9Ulr40nSzN50gP6pkDGvjlXjenhWcB7DItxLFVbvK6q-5Ct5szEYf1EG1MM6hmxzF_GFHG1oTNhtdR1CsX_4dDRpBW9Iuvw4/s320/5clairelee.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Grateful for a wonderful teacher.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnHg5J5jiwdnVTOovHv8dXzHkyho4Tvw08K7ujvAG1Hsd7idE4CESK6jdexmcJ5TzQPrccL3_fMsdnlA9M6JxxZa6EyxRnD-ErpRWjiiOdagcWNd0uIVUpnEmxbaw60-TecdSO07Y4A-E1/s1600/5wildflower.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnHg5J5jiwdnVTOovHv8dXzHkyho4Tvw08K7ujvAG1Hsd7idE4CESK6jdexmcJ5TzQPrccL3_fMsdnlA9M6JxxZa6EyxRnD-ErpRWjiiOdagcWNd0uIVUpnEmxbaw60-TecdSO07Y4A-E1/s320/5wildflower.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Three. My hands are not full, but my heart is.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVxOfL-XXQKhsOWHjXFdYtsy1JMVAp_P4rjr2hD0jeLuhF6CPCzAuiIPmY1V84jPDcISIz6f8sKseJEBIFeM2T1UWQbA9gK43d1AP5yi6tws5gmw87DLEele9PgzI9zc_9Nfm_KhHm8cT/s1600/6baby4.0.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPVxOfL-XXQKhsOWHjXFdYtsy1JMVAp_P4rjr2hD0jeLuhF6CPCzAuiIPmY1V84jPDcISIz6f8sKseJEBIFeM2T1UWQbA9gK43d1AP5yi6tws5gmw87DLEele9PgzI9zc_9Nfm_KhHm8cT/s320/6baby4.0.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Seeing Baby never, ever gets old. One of my favorite things in life is feeling Life within me.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDaOKsFMTY_yYfKgJDdISrolkgGW-z6mNRS-LDBVjLWUTZEBgABq7-KArNIpHmJ5Xe1oQFAO-oDO9X5wQxNf6lCRKxFv1TcXdWqmWHUEKcfLAOY7ggimKJu7UJhdAc9OWNaX_HW76KlQ3R/s1600/7teacherclaire.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDaOKsFMTY_yYfKgJDdISrolkgGW-z6mNRS-LDBVjLWUTZEBgABq7-KArNIpHmJ5Xe1oQFAO-oDO9X5wQxNf6lCRKxFv1TcXdWqmWHUEKcfLAOY7ggimKJu7UJhdAc9OWNaX_HW76KlQ3R/s320/7teacherclaire.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Sometimes I see myself in Claire. The little Teacher.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgANHjKebd-IyiKvcbu9hlQ81aCLy7Sr-7hBeZ3SOy-EjieeTqvEWSPuNaHnPOzpnLfP5U4PB5RgC27E3mA-MYiMsCEspstslgiU4-85bIesJ7RiBILqHHcQlvVE-RRsDC0_1mTtZ2LPzI/s1600/8stashclaire.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgANHjKebd-IyiKvcbu9hlQ81aCLy7Sr-7hBeZ3SOy-EjieeTqvEWSPuNaHnPOzpnLfP5U4PB5RgC27E3mA-MYiMsCEspstslgiU4-85bIesJ7RiBILqHHcQlvVE-RRsDC0_1mTtZ2LPzI/s320/8stashclaire.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Oh, my unique Claire. Don't ever change.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJCk4gyGh1rWuG6JKRUPYRqdH4aIP2Z-4nid4had4MwVBRWMBYqwPwbdPJcM5GulcLVQimJE3EBmQaZ3VZQZ8cPB6UFkZI7nR_j2KVe15qc4qOHIruRQpXH0hmbBMuzIbeUS6dO5wQX_au/s1600/10mamamads.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJCk4gyGh1rWuG6JKRUPYRqdH4aIP2Z-4nid4had4MwVBRWMBYqwPwbdPJcM5GulcLVQimJE3EBmQaZ3VZQZ8cPB6UFkZI7nR_j2KVe15qc4qOHIruRQpXH0hmbBMuzIbeUS6dO5wQX_au/s320/10mamamads.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Kissy time with my Mads-Mama. She is going to be an amazing woman.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglUVpOjyQRsYfNlOle1iCNSZKhW5P3m4se3kNrfDo5MTrAKGR4AgMREE2VZ_JEKRsMC_2wvNf-ZwhkaJISeq_DpE7Jq78yVwFPR7k3XAxHQzI5IBdZ6bsX5kHG55YLSXSUeI4euEdvHS-l/s1600/11sweethusband.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglUVpOjyQRsYfNlOle1iCNSZKhW5P3m4se3kNrfDo5MTrAKGR4AgMREE2VZ_JEKRsMC_2wvNf-ZwhkaJISeq_DpE7Jq78yVwFPR7k3XAxHQzI5IBdZ6bsX5kHG55YLSXSUeI4euEdvHS-l/s320/11sweethusband.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">On my birthday: he gets me. Just so.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNoEglDDsexyHh9Fl5v1ef-xwjBvT6GuGmTodcNCfHFYZt8uHGyICtdng15M6sRNEpO1pRA4TDzIji6Zi9ABXgLKFt_9qtYy6UFsqR50Y1uDwcLU-pNJgkHEBrh5jzCZFr2LcnhB-6Bchh/s1600/12maxbaby.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNoEglDDsexyHh9Fl5v1ef-xwjBvT6GuGmTodcNCfHFYZt8uHGyICtdng15M6sRNEpO1pRA4TDzIji6Zi9ABXgLKFt_9qtYy6UFsqR50Y1uDwcLU-pNJgkHEBrh5jzCZFr2LcnhB-6Bchh/s320/12maxbaby.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">"Baby in MY tummy." Oh Max, I will hold this image in my heart forever.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvnXTv5FaxTgrhegLghYOXRRO3uuUkSYEvcc8Qvyq4DaAYqwj-2pDliD8u4ZQ4qM9MU9ndL8d1onDxjcLE60vz6rCN5cLQ_JP7-yo_cM0qwwu4uIxsN1If7fO0m5q05qjNCYnvwXX7uVCa/s1600/13funnytwins.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvnXTv5FaxTgrhegLghYOXRRO3uuUkSYEvcc8Qvyq4DaAYqwj-2pDliD8u4ZQ4qM9MU9ndL8d1onDxjcLE60vz6rCN5cLQ_JP7-yo_cM0qwwu4uIxsN1If7fO0m5q05qjNCYnvwXX7uVCa/s320/13funnytwins.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> So thankful I was gifted with twins.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGvi-CgBNan03OPj7hvmOm3n40AdBjzHK8IEMC8_04dYeDXVZMLDP7b3HHRhh7YAZ62hFv5qFnHXZ0VyKBDqUer_oUK5tggdchKlRfdU4r8MyDgz-GBLfmXFXlcGX9TQbJGAMxWSUBe4Wr/s1600/14clairesiblinglove.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGvi-CgBNan03OPj7hvmOm3n40AdBjzHK8IEMC8_04dYeDXVZMLDP7b3HHRhh7YAZ62hFv5qFnHXZ0VyKBDqUer_oUK5tggdchKlRfdU4r8MyDgz-GBLfmXFXlcGX9TQbJGAMxWSUBe4Wr/s320/14clairesiblinglove.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Back to School Night and I opened her journal to find this gem. My heart couldn't have been more joyful.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf8hfbS2j4SQs_xwL5xnBVgAbvCci468GxZsRJDw4XQOmeg2ZqQ30lYDv2B1-7eI5rQZkDCc6JP3K_wdEa8PcGA6XwJnFPtaP7rH4rh0aLB7cweGEpWuYHJvh3TVLGRYK5Ju1ISYJiYZ58/s1600/16daddyducks.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf8hfbS2j4SQs_xwL5xnBVgAbvCci468GxZsRJDw4XQOmeg2ZqQ30lYDv2B1-7eI5rQZkDCc6JP3K_wdEa8PcGA6XwJnFPtaP7rH4rh0aLB7cweGEpWuYHJvh3TVLGRYK5Ju1ISYJiYZ58/s320/16daddyducks.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">They truly miss their hard-working Daddy.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1e9eEZqiy6nxc3fc2zqib8Bdb58zF9Wobps-r2qAS9ZO3EYrzzjjEahHEfSFAbav7ToXleFTxmYvVRCbDWuRSwWXnU4MwMqsgtcV5t2M8K8GIyVzhfYfb913Gk9c_10hJgKAy7g26bdNP/s1600/lovemaxdaddy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1e9eEZqiy6nxc3fc2zqib8Bdb58zF9Wobps-r2qAS9ZO3EYrzzjjEahHEfSFAbav7ToXleFTxmYvVRCbDWuRSwWXnU4MwMqsgtcV5t2M8K8GIyVzhfYfb913Gk9c_10hJgKAy7g26bdNP/s320/lovemaxdaddy.JPG" width="240" /></span></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> Daddy's birthday: Silly Daddy. Silly Max.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX-a_qfIqwUb67Ft2wYKErz3BvfK6EAijS_Mm0ZFVp05xJ-QdN7T5IdRviMr3wNUctK4qatXyGpOjI7p5ylAU0QMiQAl7A6K9qin5_ZTgLZtR4As8OX_Bdu2mQEYCzb8PZO7ZDiBv-4mTp/s1600/runninglove.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><img border="0" height="320" nea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX-a_qfIqwUb67Ft2wYKErz3BvfK6EAijS_Mm0ZFVp05xJ-QdN7T5IdRviMr3wNUctK4qatXyGpOjI7p5ylAU0QMiQAl7A6K9qin5_ZTgLZtR4As8OX_Bdu2mQEYCzb8PZO7ZDiBv-4mTp/s320/runninglove.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Out for an evening run: Beautiful views and a happy running mama.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em>And those who were seen dancing, were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music. ~Nietzsche</em></div>
<div align="center" style="text-align: center;">
<em><br /></em></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-42239208123529887622012-09-10T06:40:00.000-07:002012-09-10T06:40:08.995-07:00Stubborn Love<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><em>Hold on to me as me as we go</em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><em>As we roll down this unfamiliar road</em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><em>And although this wave is stringing us along </em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<strong><em>Just know you’re not alone</em></strong></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><em>~Phillip Phillips</em></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I'll never forget the time I was pregnant with Claire; I was hugely pregnant, due within weeks and was sitting through a teacher's workshop for hours on end. The highschool desks were killing my back and I was just at a point of sheer exhaustion in my pregnancy. As I was waddling from the lunch break back to the classroom, a friend walked up and casually asked, "How's it going?" I thought she meant, well, me. So I complained of various aches and how long the workshop felt. She looked a bit surprised and said: <em>Well why would you sign up for it if you are just going to complain?</em> Ouch. My mouth snapped closed and I muttered, an <em>I'll see you later,</em> as I contemplated, why DID I sign up for it? When I signed up for the session months before, I had no idea just how uncomfortable you get in those last weeks: it hurts to breathe, to walk, to be. Looking back on that day, I have to give my friend grace, she had not, at that time, ever experienced pregnancy. I think if she had, her words would have been a bit more sympathetic.<br />
<br />
And yet, I find myself in a similar situation. I'm only 16 weeks pregnant, and as my body is adjusting, changing, growing, I'm reminded of the old aches and pains pregnacy brings to a mother's body. I'll complain a bit here and there and yet I hear my friend's words: W<em>hy would you sign up for this if you are just going to complain?</em> Why? Oh why, indeed. Simply: Love. I already know this little person is meant to be a part of this world. Our lives. Our family. There is nothing like the experience of pregnancy in this world. Growing a baby. My body is no longer just my body, it's the safe place to grow and feed and love a tiny little human being who I have yet to lay eyes on.<br />
<br />
Every decision I make in regards to MY body first has to be good and right for the Baby. Which of course makes me want to talk about my experience and journey of being a Pregnant Running Mama. It's a new and <em>unfamiliar road</em> for me. Dear Friends and Family, let me assure you: I would never, ever do anything to put my baby in harms way. Not for the love of running. Not for <em>anything</em> in this world. So when you hear of me running a half marathon or logging a long run on the weekend, I promise you, Baby is safe, healthy and dare I say: happy. I know I'm at my happiest when I'm running. So I imagine little Baby just enjoying the ride and all the good vibes I'm putting out. <br />
<br />
And just as running has it's ups and downs, being a pregnant runner is no exception. I'm hardly even showing and yet my running has changed drastically. An easy 10 miler is no longer so easy. Ligament and back pain creeped up very early on in the pregnancy and made running uncomfortable. But as I told Chris, I got that pain in my last two pregnacies when I sat around and did nothing, I may as well get moving.<br />
<br />
The hardest thing I've had to come to terms with is my pace. I was in denial that I was slowing down. Blaming the summer heat. But the truth is, as it hit me during my long run last weekend: pregnancy is slowing me down. I had to mourn that and let it go. I've accepted it. I imagine as Baby grows bigger and my tummy gets rounder I'll slow down even more. But silly me, just as when I signed up for that seminar months before Baby Claire was due, had no idea what I signed up for when I told myself I'd continue running throughout my last pregnancy. I imagined myself with basketball sized belly running my usual route at my usual pace. My pregnant body laughed at my idealistic self and snapped me into reality last weekend as I struggled up what I call my Heartbreak Hill (And who am I kidding, I never get the cute, round, belly, just an overall largeness). My usual 8:45 pace was slowed down to a 10:45 pace. I somtimes feel like I'm barely moving when I run that pace. And yet I have to tell myself:<em> But you ARE moving. Let the pace go and accept what your body is doing. It's slowing you down for a reason. Don't forget: you are growing a Life.</em><br />
<em><br /></em>I'll admit it, I cried a little. Ok, a lot, this past week (Pregancy hormones...ugh). I felt like my body was betraying me. And then I had an OB appointment. Hearing Little Baby's heartbeat snapped me back into reality. The steady beat of Baby's heart sounded like: <strong><em>Love-Love Love-Love Love-Love</em></strong>, to me. Oh Baby, Love. I love this Baby who I haven't met. <strong><u>More than running</u>. <u>More than myself</u></strong>. So I'll continute on this Pregnant Running Mama journey for as long as Baby allows. If I make it to the end, that would be amazing. If I tucker out before that, well, then I can honestly say I gave it my all but I'll listen to my body, my doctor and that amazing, wonderful, beautiful, little thing called Love in my tummy.<br />
<br />
I often give myself little pep-talks when I'm working through a difficult run. And I heard the words of The Lumineers say it just right during a recent run: <em>It's better to feel pain, than nothing at all. The opposite of love's indifference... So keep your head up, my love. </em><br />
<br />
Keeping my head up. Happy Running.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGwDVQbFjDoWRGt6UIz_kDMQqXEprPk8Pkj7mz3knCfJqmbjqNu0NO_YIgsAvwj2Jk9G8AQL4CBOJguSkSYUXvupxEcmTNZoIwsFADpx9OMlOEQ1HemBAhmdt_IC1FGeEM2HV-HFAONszF/s1600/16+weeks+baby4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hea="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGwDVQbFjDoWRGt6UIz_kDMQqXEprPk8Pkj7mz3knCfJqmbjqNu0NO_YIgsAvwj2Jk9G8AQL4CBOJguSkSYUXvupxEcmTNZoIwsFADpx9OMlOEQ1HemBAhmdt_IC1FGeEM2HV-HFAONszF/s400/16+weeks+baby4.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Baby 4.0 and me at 16 weeks, after a great run. </span></em>tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-562462852385445492012-08-27T06:20:00.000-07:002012-08-27T06:20:41.277-07:00To My 16 Year Old Daughters, Love, Mommy<strong><em>It is not fancy hair, gold jewelry, or fine clothes that should make you beautiful. No, your beauty should come from within you--the beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit. This beauty will never disappear, and it is worth very much to God.</em></strong> 1 Peter 3:3<br />
<br />
<br />
I recently read a blog post where the author wrote a letter to the '16 year old' she used to be. It got me wondering....not what I would say to myself, but what would I say to my 16 year old daughters. <br />
<br />
My Sweet Girls are only 6 and 3 now, but time is flying and before I know, it they <em>will</em> be 16. <br />
<br />
So Darling Girls, here is what my heart wishes to tell the older you. The teenage you. The you you will be, before I can blink:<br />
<br />
<em>Dear 16 year old Claire and Madeline,<br /><br />I know it's unbelievable, but I too used to be 16. If I could go back in time I would tell myself: Nicole, you are going to have a beautiful family. A beautiful life. Take some of the worry you carry on your shoulders and give it to God. He will take it all. But this letter isn't to me, it's to you. So I would tell you both the same: don't hold on to your worry. Let it go and focus on what you can do and change and be.<br /><br />When you were little girls, you laughed loudly, loved fiercely, and held your heads tall. I vaguely remember myself as a young girl and I too acted much like you. But time went by and something happened. In my heart I lost the innocence of laughing loudly, I became too worried about what other's would think. Here's what I wish for you: never, ever, worry about what others' think. </em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><em>Comparison will steal your joy and the light that makes you sparkle and shine. Laugh</em></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><em> loudly. Be proud of who you are. You are the perfect you. </em></span><br />
<br />
<em>And my head</em> <em>was</em> <em>held high at one point in my childhood, yet it started to droop. By the time I was 16 I was trying to hide in my own skin. I didn't think I was pretty enough. Smart enough. Skinny enough. I didn't think I was enough. Here's what I want, no, here is what I <strong>need</strong> you to know: </em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><em>Don't wish away who you are in the hopes you were someone else. </em></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.296875);"><em>You are the only you in this world. </em></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-composition-fill-color: rgba(175, 192, 227, 0.230469); -webkit-composition-frame-color: rgba(77, 128, 180, 0.230469); -webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(26, 26, 26, 0.292969);"><em>You are enough.</em></span><br />
<br />
<em>I loved but not for the right reasons. I didn't realize my own self-worth. I dated my high school sweetheart for over 5 years. I wasn't strong enough to walk away from this boy who became a man. His actions proved he didn't value me and treat me the way I deserved. I wish I had the self-worth to take a stand and say: I deserve someone who is faithful. Instead, I loved without truly being loved in return. My wish for you at 16 is that you are strong enough on the inside to recognize your self-worth. You are worthy of all that is good in this world. Nothing less.</em><br />
<br />
<em>There is so much more (things about working hard, not doing drugs, going to college....). But I'm afraid the 16 year old you doesn't want to hear more from your Mom. Please know that I will always, always, love you. No matter what choices you make. What mistakes you make. You will find your way. Just as I eventually did. But please hear your Mommy's plea: love love love yourself. You are enough. You are worthy. You are the perfect you.</em><br />
<em><br />
My heart bursts with joy in anticipation of seeing your beautiful 16 year old faces and knowing your beautiful 16 year old hearts.</em><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBdCcCfhfYV3DReckoExymIwF8RyFf9OUByZSe-xTBAM-HW6pzefsq8Z0Q7-d4qZInsQlnyMDkdYDrPVo78xVn9Q60eTbl3QQ1XW3-BnEzocUZiKK092a0-a0khTmvjfEj5q9g_HgAoA5o/s1600/girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBdCcCfhfYV3DReckoExymIwF8RyFf9OUByZSe-xTBAM-HW6pzefsq8Z0Q7-d4qZInsQlnyMDkdYDrPVo78xVn9Q60eTbl3QQ1XW3-BnEzocUZiKK092a0-a0khTmvjfEj5q9g_HgAoA5o/s400/girls.jpg" width="400" yda="true" /></a></div>
<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;">Kay Harmon Photography</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">"You make beautiful things, you make beautiful things out of the dust. You make beautiful things you make beautiful things out of us."</span> ~The Michael Gungor Band</span></em><br />
<br />
<br />
<em><span style="font-size: small;">Always and With Love,</span></em><br />
<em>Your Mommy</em><br />
tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-10086302841681580952012-08-13T06:49:00.000-07:002012-08-23T06:27:13.013-07:00Love Love Love<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><strong>Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above...</strong></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">~ James 1:17</span></em></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">You are wanted. You are loved. You are meant to be a part of our family. The five of us cannot wait to welcome you into our loving arms. Sweet Baby of ours.<br /><br /></span> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdH0aFwsRwNNF36EEI5QXmVbAvAX3LV4_Ltnky7Hmwgqe8ltWYre1Mzc3Keb-tN-3s3RUJh5pJ28KVIBvP6rVRHHMYZTc9tiDMMgjHJDXWkp36zMzNJEivavN5HW9L9Uo9q1u2Ip8tHsxx/s1600/baby4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" mda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdH0aFwsRwNNF36EEI5QXmVbAvAX3LV4_Ltnky7Hmwgqe8ltWYre1Mzc3Keb-tN-3s3RUJh5pJ28KVIBvP6rVRHHMYZTc9tiDMMgjHJDXWkp36zMzNJEivavN5HW9L9Uo9q1u2Ip8tHsxx/s320/baby4.jpg" width="240" /></a></span></div>
tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-20966023350378081962012-07-18T06:07:00.000-07:002012-07-20T13:47:36.819-07:00Roots<em><strong>Home, Let me come Home<br />Home is Whenever I'm with you</strong></em><br />
<em><strong>Home, yes I am Home</strong></em><br />
<em><strong>Home is wherever I'm with you</strong></em><br />
~<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros</span></em><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqPmRWQnBmXb_CZM7zC_Pr86ilvwfOW8JvWx6W8SwEgvS3g9SNNYTEMfIpa0MhoRRrjJStQodFg0VhbO-SmZx6tFSk2DbOW05xrnT18g32MCvWEqAdAB3bQKRyzgwsJARuF6CLCw-oUU5L/s1600/first+year.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqPmRWQnBmXb_CZM7zC_Pr86ilvwfOW8JvWx6W8SwEgvS3g9SNNYTEMfIpa0MhoRRrjJStQodFg0VhbO-SmZx6tFSk2DbOW05xrnT18g32MCvWEqAdAB3bQKRyzgwsJARuF6CLCw-oUU5L/s320/first+year.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Our first year in Austin</span><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDR_Cs1bHP0slaSMgXaQ0ugyCwdpQRfvNbvBc4HM93WO0uKGU7os9k2D1X3jjBdgImlnv-vdCs0tXtipWz4Qb7sx2M25xTZtNAxI5hEjou66z75R0MLlcJCcs-JhD5h5wgZYG27okbEhpR/s1600/family2012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" hda="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDR_Cs1bHP0slaSMgXaQ0ugyCwdpQRfvNbvBc4HM93WO0uKGU7os9k2D1X3jjBdgImlnv-vdCs0tXtipWz4Qb7sx2M25xTZtNAxI5hEjou66z75R0MLlcJCcs-JhD5h5wgZYG27okbEhpR/s320/family2012.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Two years later</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
The first time I visited Austin, I was wearing my critical glasses. I saw a drab city: everything was brown, the trees were small, the freeways had funny 'access roads' which kept <em>getting us</em> lost, I missed my kids and I couldn't imagine ever, ever leaving <em>my</em> California. I knew Chris really wanted to switch jobs and though I had a say, I would leave the ultimate decision to him. He tried to point out all the positives and all I could do was see the negative. My eyes were filled with tears when I told him nothing he would say, do or show me, would convince me that Austin should be our home. I told him we would move here if that's what he wanted and I would be sure to be positive for our children's sake, but I couldn't show happiness on the day I first laid eyes on Austin. Our potential new home.<br />
<br />
Because California had my heart. The wide and vast Central Valley will always be my home. I remember every time I drove the 7 hour trek home from college in San Diego back to Merced, it felt like the wide arms of the valley would open up in a warm hug as I drove over the Grapevine into its welcoming and familiar embrace. Some see it as boring and drab, I thought The Valley was beautiful. And Southern California in all its busyness: the mix of urban, rural and the amazing Pacific Ocean had always been paradise in my eyes. It had been <em>home</em> to me since I left home at 17 to go to college. It's where I grew from a young girl to a woman. Where I found myself. Found my voice. Found my <em>worth</em>. It was where I met my husband, got married and had my three children. And beautiful San Francisco. It was the magical city my parents would take us to as kids. Trolleys, Pier 39, Alcatraz, Lombard Street, mouth watering clam chowder and the majestic Golden Gate Bridge. My favorite city. My first marathon city. My engagement city. Yes, California will always have a special place in my heart.<br />
<br />
Nearly 2 years after that first visit, I now see the beauty of Austin. My vision is no longer clouded with critical resentment. Instead, my breath catches whenever I drive by the Greenbelt. A beautiful, green, dripping with nature, gem, right in the middle of our city. I still don't know all the parts of Austin, but when my family visits, I zip in and out of places, taking them to the parts of Austin that I love and know like the back of my hand. I'm no longer shocked by the rude drivers. I can honk with the best of them. And those access roads? Easy Peasy. Austin is where I truly fell in love with running outside, where I discovered trail running, that I do, in fact, like BBQ. It's where Chris and I rediscovered date nights and the importance of Us. It's where I trained for my first marathon in the brutal heat of the summer---showing me that my heart and mind are much, much stronger than I ever thought possible. Moving here without family or friends, and wanting to make a beautiful life for my children, is without a doubt one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do. But my husband and my children are worth it. They deserve a beautiful life. So I had to ask God for grace, support and patience as I tried to transition our lives from California to Texas without any resentment or negativity.<br />
<br />
And yet Austin has always been my second home. California is the place my heart belongs. Until recently. We are in the process of buying a home. There is so much excitement to it and I feel a sense of relief that we will finally have a place to call Ours. Still, the tears flowed yesterday when I realized: we're here. We're staying. This land called Texas, which felt like a foreign country when I first saw it, is all that my children will remember. I had to adjust my heart to allow Texas to fill up the space that California used to hold. It was hard for me to let California go. My beautiful Golden State. But there is a lot of beauty in Texas. Bluebonnets. Greenbelts. Running Trails. So much more. And now: my home.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmXV_6T1FWzqC1nClq0R0NTUWPXYoxJeW7riO41yjBcLnWrjGbF8-cJVlheuICploe83D7HxJEdI3_RkfwOanLhyRveTBtF-raaOTgKfHvOQnand_uBtAIPpxNQ1FZPFIAsp54mbkzk_O1/s1600/texaslove.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmXV_6T1FWzqC1nClq0R0NTUWPXYoxJeW7riO41yjBcLnWrjGbF8-cJVlheuICploe83D7HxJEdI3_RkfwOanLhyRveTBtF-raaOTgKfHvOQnand_uBtAIPpxNQ1FZPFIAsp54mbkzk_O1/s320/texaslove.jpg" width="251" /></a></span><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-72784027891245996782012-07-16T07:15:00.001-07:002012-07-16T07:15:48.752-07:00Always<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZ9Rtv8xuRCdGq_6Cq3IyxUjPwpCdXgU5cguRXO01AIQEhr8V_44P7PvTvMxSCzZizfDC5QHS1uVFKlxu3KdD0Fc7S2hU3O_XmtIv4kUfuwZG-hvacDZDtFkCGmnBo46sc-i6BIJY6a6k/s1600/love+you.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $ca="true" border="0" height="211" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbZ9Rtv8xuRCdGq_6Cq3IyxUjPwpCdXgU5cguRXO01AIQEhr8V_44P7PvTvMxSCzZizfDC5QHS1uVFKlxu3KdD0Fc7S2hU3O_XmtIv4kUfuwZG-hvacDZDtFkCGmnBo46sc-i6BIJY6a6k/s320/love+you.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br /><br />Having children sometimes makes it seem like I have placed you on the back burner, second best. But that's the farthest from the truth. I'm so grateful to call you my husband-- my better half. I keep falling in love with you, over and over. Happy 7th anniversary, to the person that is <em>always on my mind</em>.<br /><br />
<em>Maybe I didn't love you</em><br />
<em>Quite as often as I could have</em><br />
<em>Maybe I didn't treat you</em><br />
<em>Quite as good as I should have</em><br />
<br /><em>If I made you feel second best</em><br />
<em>I'm sorry I was blind</em><br />
<em>You were always on my mind</em><br />
<em>You were always on my mind</em><br />
<br /><em>Maybe I didn't hold you</em><br />
<em>All those lonely, lonely times</em><br />
<em>And I guess I never told you</em><br />
<em>I'm so happy that you're mine</em><br />
<br /><em>Little things I should have said and done</em><br />
<em>I just never took the time</em><br />
<em>You were always on my mind</em><br />
<em>You were always on my mind</em><br />
<br /><em>Tell me</em><br />
<em>Tell me that your sweet love hasn't died</em><br />
<em>And give me</em><br />
<em>Give me one more chance to keep you satisfied</em><br />
<em>I'll keep you satisfied</em><br />
<br /><em>Little things I should have said and done</em><br />
<em>I just never took the time</em><br />
<em>You were always on my mind</em><br />
<em>You were always on my mind</em><br />
<br /><em>You were always on my mind</em><br />
<em>You were always on my mind</em><br />
<em><span style="font-size: x-small;">~lyrics by Willie Nelson</span></em><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-63170116865387013192012-07-05T05:25:00.000-07:002012-07-05T05:25:36.870-07:00So Big and So BrightHappy birthday, to my sweet Claire Rose. 6 years ago three of us were born: you--my beautiful, first baby girl, me--into the mommy I was meant to be and your Daddy-- instantly smitten with you, his baby girl.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkyW5pz9AdD2mk5DqbGJ8WwpsX96mP-si056aGgb44P0fUiX6IcgTPEPMkQYa2ao1Wbe98tOXqVqVNfnQgmI2He0-KyZdGcy51Xr8XRRp53EjYTz3kCeFYRZUlA2lazEgZ3A6WtdUmvS8b/s1600/DSCN0225.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" sca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkyW5pz9AdD2mk5DqbGJ8WwpsX96mP-si056aGgb44P0fUiX6IcgTPEPMkQYa2ao1Wbe98tOXqVqVNfnQgmI2He0-KyZdGcy51Xr8XRRp53EjYTz3kCeFYRZUlA2lazEgZ3A6WtdUmvS8b/s400/DSCN0225.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
On your birth day.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-tqxR6uqU-kqMoYICXi9p-nBGg9BpeWLE0EPHRyQb853LHnfy_d5rnLhwh34ar6A92jCmJTCy8JGD_A7jj0WZyRrjULPL07NJgyC4lDL7lEnl952cBczlKJ2mksyDll134A2b4SAADzIb/s1600/DSCN0229.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" sca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-tqxR6uqU-kqMoYICXi9p-nBGg9BpeWLE0EPHRyQb853LHnfy_d5rnLhwh34ar6A92jCmJTCy8JGD_A7jj0WZyRrjULPL07NJgyC4lDL7lEnl952cBczlKJ2mksyDll134A2b4SAADzIb/s400/DSCN0229.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
A Mommy was born...<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMqGr8DopAuMoBWjpAhUNtg11VUjLPm9M5xxsV6QUeTHOnz-R15yuZrmS8H9di7JzE1IBKnky15vBCDbe1yPN1AhqTBilPun8EGWuPw-FhdkpevEMT5XhoFUaaB6eAk50Bs7aDG6nWTjqY/s1600/DSCN0190.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" sca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMqGr8DopAuMoBWjpAhUNtg11VUjLPm9M5xxsV6QUeTHOnz-R15yuZrmS8H9di7JzE1IBKnky15vBCDbe1yPN1AhqTBilPun8EGWuPw-FhdkpevEMT5XhoFUaaB6eAk50Bs7aDG6nWTjqY/s400/DSCN0190.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
And a Daddy, too.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div align="left">
For you, my Sweets, on your birthday:<br /><br /><strong>You & Me</strong><em><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />~lyrics by Frances England</span></em><br />
<br />
<em>You and me, happy as can be</em><br />
<em>Flying through the park on our bikes</em><br />
<em>On a Sunday afternoon</em><br />
<em><br />You and me, rolling on the floor</em><br />
<em>Practicing your somersaults, cartwheels,</em><br />
<em>Your donkey kicks and more…</em><br />
<br />
<em>How did you grow so big overnight</em><br />
<em>How did you get so smart and bright</em><br />
<em>Yesterday you were asleep in my arms</em><br />
<em>Today you’re growing off the charts</em><br />
<br /><em>I’m so proud of you</em><br />
<em><br /></em><br />
<em>You and me, drawing pictures wild and free</em><br />
<em>While the paint goes flying,</em><br />
<em>Your big smile brightens up the room</em><br />
<em><br /></em><br />
<em>You and me, reading books in bed</em><br />
<em>Your head on my shoulder,</em><br />
<em>Your eyes on the pages ahead</em><br />
<em><br /></em><br />
<em>How did you grow so big overnight</em><br />
<em>How did you get so smart and bright</em><br />
<em>Yesterday you were asleep in my arms</em><br />
<em>Today you’re growing off the charts</em><br />
<br /><em>I’m so proud of you<br /></em><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsUV6pbVHxQB7PhiVV7ttfeJ6KA9Zai8qYSszAjc-Bu2t0UrHp8IWWmX7VKoEVr9k8fLw5qXwi-8OnP0xZoGDxp4dNZ-3hY1SCB0WaBAFSLXbi90fL41yB9Ylip82JEjEWY3P-O50h2Ui/s1600/clairelastdaykinder.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><em><img border="0" height="320" sca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCsUV6pbVHxQB7PhiVV7ttfeJ6KA9Zai8qYSszAjc-Bu2t0UrHp8IWWmX7VKoEVr9k8fLw5qXwi-8OnP0xZoGDxp4dNZ-3hY1SCB0WaBAFSLXbi90fL41yB9Ylip82JEjEWY3P-O50h2Ui/s320/clairelastdaykinder.jpg" width="320" /></em></a><br />
<em>So big. So bright.</em><br />
<br />
<br />
</div>tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-17272927945221123282012-06-15T14:27:00.005-07:002012-06-15T16:07:35.868-07:00A Runner's Heart<em>Runners run:</em><br />
<em></em><br />
<em>to clear our heads</em><br />
<em>to pray</em><br />
<em>to train<br />to feel joy<br />to feel powerful</em><br />
<em>to lose weight</em><br />
<em>to gain muscle</em><br />
<em>to be healthy</em><br />
<em>to run away from something</em><br />
<em>to run towards something</em><br />
<em>to be challenged</em><br />
<em>to escape reality<br />to find reality<br />to get a runner's high<br />to find peace</em><br />
<em>just because and so much more</em><br />
<br />
As Chris and I were heading out for a rare 'date run' last weekend, our neighbor approached us wide-eyed and in shock. There had been a hit and run in our neighborhood and the runner who had been hit was in critical condition. I was shocked to learn that the driver took off on foot and was trying to flee from the police. We asked our in laws to lock the doors behind us.<br />
<br />
As we ran, the heat and humidity weighed us down. So did the thoughts of what we had learned happened that morning. <br />
<br />
Throughout the day my friend and I texted back and forth about the runner in critical condition. Our day was busy with it being the last day of my in laws visit, but my thoughts kept wandering back to the runner. Then I got a text that I was hoping I wouldn't see: He passed away.<br />
<br />
After we dropped my in laws off at the airport I couldn't help but think things out loud in a whisper to Chris: He was a runner. He probably was married and had children. He likely didn't even say goodbye to his kids. They were probably still sleeping in the early morning when their dad went out for a run. It could have been any of us in the same exact situation. <br />
<br />
As we turned on the street, I noticed families eating snow cones, going to the movies, heading to the grocery store: their lives were continuing on as usual. <em>His</em> family must have felt as if time was standing still. I needed to do something. I asked Chris to stop so we could get flowers to leave in memory of the runner. And of course, I needed to pray for him. As I hurried back to the van where Chris and the kids were waiting, a lone cameraman was walking towards the site. I kept my eyes down, not wanting to talk and yet he shouted out: <em>Did you know him</em>?! <em>No</em>, I whispered. But what I really wanted to say was, yes, of course I knew him. <strong>Aren't we all connected in some way</strong>? He was a father, a husband, a teacher, a runner, a member of the Deaf Community, a principal, a businessman, a mountain climber, a neighbor in our community, a Texan, a human being. <br />
<br />
He had gone out on an early morning run on a Sunday. Something I do every, single weekend. Whenever you are out running and pass a fellow runner, it is almost a 99% guarantee that you will nod/wave/smile at each other in passing. It's because runner's share the same spirit: a runner's heart. Here in Austin, that heart is strong and mighty. It is what gets runners out and running in the brutal heat and humidity. It is what carries a runner in the early weekend morning hours, when most are still sleeping. And that was the strongest thread I had tying me to this person who I couldn't stop thinking about. So the truth is, yes, yes I did know him.<br />
<br />
It took the driver three days to turn himself in. <br />
<br />
<strong><em>There’s a darkness upon me that’s flooded in light </em></strong><br />
<strong><em>In the fine print they tell me what’s wrong and what’s right</em></strong><br />
<em><strong>And it comes in black and it comes in white</strong></em><br />
<em><strong>And I’m frightened by those who don’t see it</strong></em><br />
<em>~The Avett Brothers</em><br />
<br />
Like the lyrics in this song, I was scared by the fact that it took so long for him to do the right thing. I pray that Chris and I are raising our own children to be strong, not cowards. To do the right thing, even when it's the most difficult thing they have to do.<br />
<br />
I asked Chris to do me one favor: <em>please give me a kiss goodbye before you leave on your mid-week runs</em>. <em>I don't want to wake you</em>, he responded. <br />
<br />
<em>I won't care, please just kiss me goodbye.</em> <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<em>In memory of Mark Gobble</em><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2zJxyfigo2rvC7sOzxzHQXlFrYtyOi851hwd8EFo0FcbeBLBzxKAirtO4zFzC-0Xu1NhU9sPITR26fze8JQCiGJVt8yCAb9MbLI-t67WnxzCG4HdrYyhYvUZ3vVYnzII3E8EZMH7bPZBt/s1600/markgobble.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="260" pca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2zJxyfigo2rvC7sOzxzHQXlFrYtyOi851hwd8EFo0FcbeBLBzxKAirtO4zFzC-0Xu1NhU9sPITR26fze8JQCiGJVt8yCAb9MbLI-t67WnxzCG4HdrYyhYvUZ3vVYnzII3E8EZMH7bPZBt/s320/markgobble.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
(Please consider making a contribution to his children's <a href="http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/statesman/obituary.aspx?n=mark-edward-gobble&pid=158015266">college </a>fund.) </div>
<br />
<br />tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-47900083018749639142012-05-30T06:04:00.000-07:002012-05-30T06:04:01.551-07:00And then there were two...Did I ever tell you about the gift that I didn't even know I wanted and needed? <br /><br />
I had lost <a href="http://www.runningintoawall.blogspot.com/2010/02/pain-healing.html">two</a> little babies before you were conceived. My heart had been broken into a million and one pieces and after lots of tears and prayer, my bandaged up heart was ready to try, <em>just one more time</em>, to have another baby. <em>Just one more time</em> because though I was no longer angry at God, I knew my barely pieced together heart, was very fragile. On the verge of shattering forever.<br />
<br />
One day I took a pregnancy test and just breathed. I saw the positive sign, patted my tummy and said a prayer. I'm sure it sounded more like a plea, <em>Please, please, stay put Little One</em>. After so many losses, tears and forgiveness I was barely beginning to see the light of Hope. I knew I didn't <em>deserve</em> another baby. No, God didn't owe me anything. And yet my heart was hopeful. Even if just a little, that He would let me have you.<br />
<br />
Two weeks passed and I was so tired. So very tired that I told your Daddy something that can only be explained as mother's intuition: <em>I think I'm pregnant with twins</em>. <em>It's not normal for me to be this tired</em>. Your Daddy laughed and called me crazy. <br />
<br />
Because my faith was still shaky, I took a 4th? 5th? pregnancy test and was shocked to see that the once positive bright blue line was barely visible. I panicked and called the doctor and they wanted me to come in to get an ultrasound. Poor Claire was very sick so Daddy had to stay home with her. As I walked out the door I told your Daddy: <em>I'm afraid we'll either find out we're losing the baby or that I'm pregnant with twins</em>. Daddy called me crazy again and said: T<em>he Baby is fine. And there is only one</em>.<br />
<br />
The nurse had me take another pregnancy test and showed me the strip. <em> I'm so sorry. It looks like you are losing this baby</em>. I sat on the table and cried. <em>Again? Oh God please no, not again. </em>The doctor came in and started the ultrasound while I rested my weary head on the pillow. The words I heard stopped my heart. <em>Your baby looks great</em>. I popped up and immediately saw you. Little heart fluttering steadily. Baby. Just one.<br />
<br />
I was so grateful to see that you were indeed healthy, ALIVE, and yet was just a little surprised. <em>Hmmm, I was sure there would be two of you</em>. I went home, tears all dried up and so happy to show your Daddy and big sister your first baby picture, just a tiny little 6 week old baby. Daddy got to say <em>I told you so.</em> And I could feel my bandaged heart truly begin to heal. Band aids can only hold on for so long.<br />
<br />
There are certain moments in one's life that are as clear as the day they happened. This day is one of them: Two weeks had gone by and your Daddy and I went back to the doctor for your 8 week ultrasound. Daddy was sitting on a chair in the corner playing on his phone and right before the doctor walked in I told Daddy: <em>Now don't fall off that chair when you find out there are two babies in here. </em>He rolled his eyes and called me crazy for a third time in 2 weeks.<br />
<br />
I was holding your Daddy's hand while I looked over at the monitor and saw you. And then, I saw <em>you</em>. Two. Not one. I knew exactly what I was seeing. And yet I had to say it out loud, <em>Why are there two?</em> The doctor laughed. <em>Twins, my dear. You are having twins</em>. I remember sobbing. Crying so hard I could barely catch my breath as I said over and over, <em>Oh my God! </em>I had known all along. Yet to see both of you, two hearts happily beating in my tummy, well it was the final glue my heart needed to be mended--completely. And even though my heart knew all along, my mind had a hard time catching up with it. Both the doctor and I looked over at Daddy's shocked, pale face and asked at the same time: <em>Are you ok? </em>And I just couldn't resist saying <em>I told you so.</em><br />
<br />
And that is your story. And yours. Not one. But two. <br />
<br />
You're both 3 today. I can't help but hear one of my favorite lyrics from a song: <em>I belong with you, you belong with me, my sweetheart.</em> <em>I belong with you, you belong with me, my sweet.</em> But of course you two came together. The two of you helped fix your Mommy's broken heart. And I'll be forever thankful. The gifts I didn't even know I needed.<br />
<br />
Happy birthday, Madeline.<br />
Happy birthday, Max.<br />
<br />
You belong.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNkbQhBx9jfpVXSxib5_qtZrPHYmcGubS93Y7xJKORdisqUYlVTh-rniE_WKnmexBJu6M_77oBFtXuOF-2PtGRlLAQyNeO4dskj30X1V2aXXW_h2MacAc3_xcaA5ZTvh6j3EYZICRw4Aa/s1600/M&M3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" qba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSNkbQhBx9jfpVXSxib5_qtZrPHYmcGubS93Y7xJKORdisqUYlVTh-rniE_WKnmexBJu6M_77oBFtXuOF-2PtGRlLAQyNeO4dskj30X1V2aXXW_h2MacAc3_xcaA5ZTvh6j3EYZICRw4Aa/s320/M&M3.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBL3i2Kb_KskCnnd74EBDAP0QuGCk06OhxElJZ9sH_gZgZahpyWjQoyIQrPwQZUmjclmnfCay0kMCGr3_sUGbErcUZ8rj3lUL1CUiy1nfQEsrmkP80XJTgg9X_xp8oyUb2Ub3-G7-lkHa-/s1600/twobabes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" qba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBL3i2Kb_KskCnnd74EBDAP0QuGCk06OhxElJZ9sH_gZgZahpyWjQoyIQrPwQZUmjclmnfCay0kMCGr3_sUGbErcUZ8rj3lUL1CUiy1nfQEsrmkP80XJTgg9X_xp8oyUb2Ub3-G7-lkHa-/s320/twobabes.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
one.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCTwZAsExgmCK8MpdN0Bnxm36lLMxKAkOZ3CAAhqboEEiyCI4JgsbTssRuniZ4xaEr4KybXQAXTeCh8up2mcWOP0Ra_ZTXf5FZwQowSIp_Bv1Txd4GQdCmIraOApRuTI4PHlX38FbOwdZu/s1600/twobabies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" qba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCTwZAsExgmCK8MpdN0Bnxm36lLMxKAkOZ3CAAhqboEEiyCI4JgsbTssRuniZ4xaEr4KybXQAXTeCh8up2mcWOP0Ra_ZTXf5FZwQowSIp_Bv1Txd4GQdCmIraOApRuTI4PHlX38FbOwdZu/s320/twobabies.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
hello, two.tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-13015069060795163852012-05-21T08:22:00.001-07:002012-05-21T08:29:00.395-07:00Learning on the Run<em>The mile has all the elements of drama. ~</em>Sir Roger Bannister <br /><img border="0" height="213" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZeNJc2G6YEd68-SttjRHKHtXJ0VUbU2GBKYFr4XIGr9hrvvv0ChDDvw68k-8L4g1xtCcpkjwES9uPclbE6xeGsJQxbqwb2WteodgPtDINW_8EsG7H2-iSD14xXHu5V31EySk1ym_ZyBan/s320/dnf.jpg" width="320" /><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I found myself at a one mile race last Saturday. As soon as I walked up to the starting area, I knew I was out of my element. The race was very small and the organizers were starting us in different waves. They would wait until the last person in each wave was done before sending out the next group of runners. I watched as the 40 and older men took off. There were maybe 30 runners in that group. While I waited for that group to finish I decided to warm up a bit. I knew I was going to run this race as hard as I could and though I never warmed up for a race in my life, I had a feeling if I went out with all guns blazing I could really hurt myself if my muscles were cold. </div>
<br />
I looked around at the women in my wave. I was in the 39 and under female category. I've always said that I run a race for me. That I don't care how fast I am compared to others. But that has always been in a race that has had hundreds to thousands of runners. There were 22 of us. I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach when my mind whispered to me: <em>You really could be last! </em>My heart whispered back: <em>Does that even matter? </em>My pride shouted: <em>YES</em>! I didn't want to be last. There would be nowhere to hide coming in last with only 21 other races. Later, I found out that out of the 22 women, there were only 3 older than me. And I knew from enough races that older doesn't guarantee they would be slower. And yet the 18 women who were younger than me were significantly so. By a good 10-15 years. They all looked like college track stars. And me? Well, I looked like what I am: a 33 year old mom of 3 who loves running but isn't necessarily cut out to run a short distance speed race.<br />
<br />
<em>Take off your racing bib and bow out now, gracefully. While you still have some dignity left</em>, my mind demanded. And yet stubborness held my racing shoes firmly planted to the ground. What would I tell Claire? That I gave up before I even started because I didn't want to come in last? What kind of example would that be for her? No. I decided to run it. I wouldn't be able to face Claire if I gave up before the gun went off.<br />
<br />
As we shuffled to the starting line, a few other racers and I noticed a very young girl in the front. She looked around 10-11 years old and we joked (but were serious) that she would probably win. I joked (but was serious) that I'd come in last, but that I'd bring it in strong. They all laughed but looked me over with sympathetic eyes. Nobody <em>wants</em> to be last. The gun went off and I fumbled with my watch so I could keep an eye on my pace. It all happened so fast that I hit the wrong button and was now left without a way to track my speed. I was hoping for a 6 minute 30 second finish. Nevermind that I hadn't run a mile that fast since junior high. My most recent personal record for a non-treadmill mile was 6 minutes 59 seconds.<br />
<br />
The little girl that we gave the front line to, seemed lost and a bit confused. She started zig zagging, looking behind her, uncertain. Three of us tripped over her as we tried to get around her little doe-like body. <br />
<br />
I had no idea I should have a racing strategy. Whenever I run a half or full marathon I have an idea of how I want to run it: go out strong but not too fast. Pick up the pace at the end but have enough gas in me to finish it. With a mile race, I figured I would run with all personality and heart. That meant, persevering through pain and running on full speed. So for the first quarter mile, I was right behind the lead pack of women. I knew I had never run this fast in my life and my lungs were burning. For the first time, I ran a race without a smile on my face. <br />
<br />
I hit the quarter mile marker and a man was shouting out our times. <em>1 minute 20 seconds number (my bib) 461! </em>461? That's me! I quickly did the math in my head and realized that if I finished at that pace I would have run a 5 minute 20 second mile. That's where my heart was at. Unfortuantely, that pace was much too fast for me. I felt like I was a wind up toy. Someone wound the key in my back to the tightest setting and let me go. I was off like a freight train. But just as I passed that quarter mile marker, the key wasn't as strong and my legs were betraying me as I felt like an invisible rope was pulling me backwards. <em>No!</em> My heart shouted. <br />
<br />
The lead pack was putting significant disntance between us. Everything was a blur. Usually I take the time to notice specators, smile, and enjoy the moment. Not for this race. I had my eyes straight ahead and for once I had no music and no watch to keep me company. <em>Keep going, keep going, keep going</em>, the rhythm of my shoes chanted to me. <br />
<br />
A racer was coming up on my right at the half mile marker. And a man shouted out my time: 3 minutes! If I double that, I would finish the race in 6 minutes. And yet that rope was pulling me back even harder. I tried to resist it but it was at that moment I realized I made a huge mistake. I didn't run the first part of the race with my head. I went out fast. Way too fast. When the runner finally passed me, I realized I couldn't hear anyone else behind me. <em>I'm last. I'm going to be last</em>. I decided to take a look behind me to confirm my fear. <em>No, not last.</em> I could see runners behind me. Did that matter? <em>Yes</em>. Should it have mattered? <em>No</em>.<br />
<br />
Even though it was the shortest race I have ever run, I can't tell you much about the last half mile. My brain was turned off and I was on automatic pilot. <em>Finish the race</em>, was all I could tell myself. <em>Push</em>. I could see the finish line ahead and my one and only goal was to cross it running hard.<br />
<br />
I have never felt so vulnerable in a race. So alone. So bare. I crossed the finish line feeling a sense of relief to be out of the misery I put myself in. Grateful to be done and out from under the microscope. I have mixed emotions about this race. Disappointed in my time (6:44, placed 13 out of 22 runners) and yet proud that I did something that I did not want to do. Humbled by the expeienece and yet grateful to have learned that I want to conquer a new challenge: work on my mile time. A goal that I hadn't even considered in the past.<br />
<br />
As I ran back to the starting line, I was grateful to see my family. Claire was wearing her bib and the twins were ready for me to push them in the family fun run. I was grateful that I could look Claire in the eye and say, <em>I did it. I finished my race</em>. As I ran the next mile with her, I showed her where it got tough for me and encouraged her to keep going as it was getting tough for her. And I was able to share the lessons I learned: <em>Don't go out too fast and don't give up. No matter what. <br /></em><cite>I tell our runners to divide the race into thirds. Run the first part with your head, the middle part with your personality, and the last part with your heart.~ Mike Fanelli </cite><br />
<cite><br />Lesson learned.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgALT7IaXbqASMFg0gndv9IEJ3onjCCRj1Sk9-1IkPL6e3KIyMpjKIUCauF7uifEj5YQgjZACBldxmd2z4XXXnj_GW48SQ8d0l-mVEUKkDx9YXdV9-WDI9cGM3RnZH8B79vG5kcsC1zDf-n/s1600/running+girls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgALT7IaXbqASMFg0gndv9IEJ3onjCCRj1Sk9-1IkPL6e3KIyMpjKIUCauF7uifEj5YQgjZACBldxmd2z4XXXnj_GW48SQ8d0l-mVEUKkDx9YXdV9-WDI9cGM3RnZH8B79vG5kcsC1zDf-n/s320/running+girls.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />Running girls</cite>tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-19046585147398684812012-05-13T07:31:00.000-07:002012-05-13T14:23:56.101-07:00FamilyDear Mom,<br />
<br />
We're separated by thousands of miles and yet you are here in our hearts forever. It wasn't until I became a mom that I realized just how difficult your job was. You had to watch us grow up, make mistakes and leave your arms. Letting us go must have been the hardest thing you had to do. I don't look forward to that day with my own three Lovlies. You did it with such grace: a warm hug, tear filled eyes and a promise we'd see each other again.<br />
<br />
Mom, all the strengths I have as a mother are because of you. <em>Family First. Family Always</em>. My children are being taught the importance of Family because it is what you taught me. They are happy children. They love fiercely, they fight with each other, they give out hugs easily, they protect and annoy each other. They remind me of my relationship growing up with Jaimie, Billy, Philip and Zachary. All because of <em>you</em>. And the day they decide to leave Home, I hope I am as strong as you were. I hope to let them go, with quiet tears, a smile and a promise that we will see each other again.<br />
<br />
Happy Mother's Day to you. I miss you and of course, we'll see each other soon.<br />
<br />
Love, <br />
Nicole<br />
<img border="0" dba="true" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwk3MyZqpKLzIiRp1-TVQDJETZmpdJdpRuJsEmi8OZpew1gfZAtXMGbOzdBUNH-r5S8pExzkhyphenhyphen7LaTF_Yljai3RnO-RD85n5Q8KAdKAPv0w_15m6FdyM70R2j9NKPCWVMd3dmx2nf0Aupf/s200/clairenana.jpg" width="200" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYC7wsZ2HstCXk4lUrc9nsoYs48afSgH_tDUfZ6A6_Y5IH_oRSSIMKIQS5hOf04mC2_i-2q51K1yxGy7N2uU0zUPBcusf0V5663l2qIU5O0msup060ZirX5IiB0h2nYKA8OHwSQoLCxQED/s1600/nanatwins.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYC7wsZ2HstCXk4lUrc9nsoYs48afSgH_tDUfZ6A6_Y5IH_oRSSIMKIQS5hOf04mC2_i-2q51K1yxGy7N2uU0zUPBcusf0V5663l2qIU5O0msup060ZirX5IiB0h2nYKA8OHwSQoLCxQED/s320/nanatwins.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCSfknq3-nqkXTmCh71g-XXwQg9_tx2XelwBxWQ2zH1INfP3PvxSUa44_3MWTUfzDn5kwjQ7_KQYNeuv5k31D1mfPSj4Fg1UuM2-td02EQYSOyH0wPhUYCz5QygC9F3zBO3_793L2TvdjC/s1600/mom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCSfknq3-nqkXTmCh71g-XXwQg9_tx2XelwBxWQ2zH1INfP3PvxSUa44_3MWTUfzDn5kwjQ7_KQYNeuv5k31D1mfPSj4Fg1UuM2-td02EQYSOyH0wPhUYCz5QygC9F3zBO3_793L2TvdjC/s320/mom.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;"><em> So proud of you, Mom. Gen the R.N.</em></span>tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-3155348531759152332012-04-27T06:53:00.001-07:002012-05-03T16:50:18.466-07:00The Longest Mile<em>God made me for a purpose....and when I run, I feel His pleasure.</em> Eric Liddell<br />
<br />
Running has taught me: <br />
<br />
You have to get through the tough parts to get to the good. Sometimes when I take off for a run, the first mile is so challenging I can't imagine how I can possibly make it to the end. Each step is a battle mentally and physically. It's the longest mile. For whatever reason (stubbornness? determination?), I keep trekking along. One day I had a ten mile run on the schedule and I didn't 'hit my stride' until the 6th mile. That means for about an hour of running, I was hurting, both mentally and physically. But once I got my 'wind', I was feeling great. If I had stopped when it didn't feel good I never would have made it to the <em>good</em>.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3_cz2GR9XD-zc-3nA_oGMra4s2TPZwwlm5ymqI9GoUBkfBczsw8iDSN5qubkpQYLzrCTDFQvOfY__tTR4bAJfcYX96I0SmZa1R1LAah9PsddJcW4-1Xh5P0X0ZftV-u_dHra_B4bHiy0k/s1600/never.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726812356550447730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3_cz2GR9XD-zc-3nA_oGMra4s2TPZwwlm5ymqI9GoUBkfBczsw8iDSN5qubkpQYLzrCTDFQvOfY__tTR4bAJfcYX96I0SmZa1R1LAah9PsddJcW4-1Xh5P0X0ZftV-u_dHra_B4bHiy0k/s400/never.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 360px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 360px;" /></a> I can't look at the total distance. I know it's there. Whether it's 4 miles, 13.1 or 26.2. If I think of how far I have to run, my mind begins to fill with doubt and negativity. I start hearing words like: <em>Why are you doing this? You can't run that far! You're hurting, just stop</em>. Instead, I have to focus on the mile I'm running. And I think of how far I've come. I have a 10 mile route that I run nearly every Saturday. I focus on getting 3 miles done. And instead of letting myself think about the 7 more I have to do, I tell myself 'just 2 more miles, you can do 2 more miles'. Once I'm at my 5 mile mark, I don't let myself think 'you are only halfway there', instead I think to myself 'you just ran 5 miles! Now get 3 more miles done'...if you are doing the math with me we are at 8 miles. Not once do I let myself think "you have to run 10 miles or you have 7 more to go". If I start thinking that way, my mind will try to overpower my heart and tell me to give up. I cannot focus on how far I have to go. I have to break my run up into smaller miles and feel good about the miles that are behind me, not in front of me. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaUgR0nu9BjvNptUQZ8IwaQO45B-EdJSvHR4-jXPn4ijO63_b0huytHKCQvVeibaNUq4zbek5YH62RmzaapNCthaoqiT1Yt1vEsyeT21YonTABbkf_S7e664agO6oF8L3xLj_6cBukIeqU/s1600/don%2527tquit.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726808514135607138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaUgR0nu9BjvNptUQZ8IwaQO45B-EdJSvHR4-jXPn4ijO63_b0huytHKCQvVeibaNUq4zbek5YH62RmzaapNCthaoqiT1Yt1vEsyeT21YonTABbkf_S7e664agO6oF8L3xLj_6cBukIeqU/s400/don%2527tquit.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a> You have a strength in you that is more than muscle. It's a strength that you find deep down in the core of what makes you you. I didn't have the words to describe it until I found a poster on pinterest that described it perfectly: Beast Mode. If you think you don't have it, you are wrong. It's in you. You may have seen it when you went "Mama Bear" and had to stand up for your kids. Trust me, it's there. You don't always need to use it. But when you do, it's what will help you get through something that you thought was impossible. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn7HfZjM5o6lkBL51Re86OF0j6wJ-o1TUIgPqnOodah1GT_f8ExlxgMnGOerjy4GMtzCBdBLYZeST5_ndrsPhaFWaCnW6_IY6RtfNvS7Vsk3zBNY_zBir0fMc-3t7tQ0EB7eOVlNiSQ0i6/s1600/beast.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726808372731394146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn7HfZjM5o6lkBL51Re86OF0j6wJ-o1TUIgPqnOodah1GT_f8ExlxgMnGOerjy4GMtzCBdBLYZeST5_ndrsPhaFWaCnW6_IY6RtfNvS7Vsk3zBNY_zBir0fMc-3t7tQ0EB7eOVlNiSQ0i6/s400/beast.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a> You cannot compare, judge or worry how you match up to someone else. Focus on yourself. I'm never the fastest, thinnest, or strongest runner out there. I have learned that someone out there is always judging you: for exercising too much, for exercising too little, for being a stay at home mom, for being a working mom. The list goes on and on. The only person I can worry about is me. When I run, whether it's on the treadmill at the gym, a route in my neighborhood, a race with thousands of people, I run for me. Everyone else is running their own race. Let them. And focus on you.</div>
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHyR9xFI4Ajf4ufyYMyQ5kl6LVQyDnh6Zq8lGDasSuKKOeBbpY7g8FzDcQpWBh2uLMCqlTudjwOAibPMNmDv2rQp0oaGfvOIu6W3wzMmfLBuNrQWkAla8Z7iPMrRomsUtEipawzg5JhAfr/s1600/focusonyou.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5726808640473178562" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHyR9xFI4Ajf4ufyYMyQ5kl6LVQyDnh6Zq8lGDasSuKKOeBbpY7g8FzDcQpWBh2uLMCqlTudjwOAibPMNmDv2rQp0oaGfvOIu6W3wzMmfLBuNrQWkAla8Z7iPMrRomsUtEipawzg5JhAfr/s400/focusonyou.jpg" style="cursor: hand; display: block; height: 333px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a> <br />
Here's what I truly love about running. Every single lesson it has taught me, can be applied to my life. My running coach has a saying: "Run with Joy". Not only do I want to run with joy, I want to live with joy. I hope you do too.tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-69060672934982262142012-03-09T15:56:00.056-08:002012-03-12T07:03:00.498-07:00Slowing Down<div align="left"><em><strong>Let's waste time<br />Chasing cars<br />Around our heads<br /><br />I need your grace<br />To remind me<br />To find my own<br /></strong></em><span style="font-size:78%;"><em>~Snow Patrol, Chasing Cars<br /><br /></em></span>Sometimes I feel like I'm always trying to get through life in the fast lane. I know I need to take the time to enjoy each moment with my children because days, months, years, are flying by. I'll blink and they will be graduating from high school, getting married, having children of their own. And yet I always feel like I'm saying <em>hurry up</em>.<br /><br />A few months ago, I heard a little voice in my head. It warned me:<br /><br /><em><strong>Mommy, slow down</strong>.<br /><br /></em>I was in the midst of marathon training. I had a scheduled 4 mile run that day and needed to do it at race pace. I had the twins with me and Max was in a particularly cranky mood. He kept throwing his blanket out of the stroller, picking on his sister, whining about everything. I had to hurry. I needed to finish this run in 36 minutes. Every time I had to stop for his flying blue blanket, I'd pause my garmin and tell him to stop being so naughty. Threatening to put him in time out.<br /><br /><strong><em>Mommy, slow down.<br /><br /></em></strong>The sixth time I picked up the blanket and handed it back to him, I had a moment where I realized: nothing, is more important than my children's happiness. Certainly not a training run. So I stopped my watch and pulled the stroller over to a shaded tree. I sat with them and we looked for birds and pretty flowers. He calmed down and was happy again. My boy just wanted my attention. So the rest of the run home we talked about the things we saw during the run: the birds, the clouds, the doggies on leashes....all three of us were happy. Even with a slower run time. Before I know it, Madeline and Max will be off to Kindergarten. Not giving me a backward glance as I whisper: <em>Babies, please, please, slow down.<br /><br /></em>Just the other day, it happened again: <em>Hurry! We're going to be late! Where are your shoes? Why did you take them off again?! We just got them on!</em> I paused. I took a deep breath and heard that voice whisper to my heart:<br /><br /><strong><em>Mommy, slow down</em>.<br /><br /></strong>So I sat down to look at chubby little two year old feet. Madeline wanted to admire her sparkly, painted toe nails one last time before we left for our friend's house that morning. Looking at her pretty toes was important to her. We sat for a few extra minutes, talked about the color purple and how it matched her dress. I'm going to blink and Madeline is going to be old enough to go out on a date. Before I know it, she'll be painting her nails and walking down the aisle at her wedding. I'll beg her, <em>Madeline, my Sweet Girl, slow down.<br /><br /></em>Max is a mama's boy and every once in a while he takes steps to become independent. One of his favorite things to do is to brush his own teeth. He always, always makes a huge mess with the toothpaste while I grumble in a mean mommy voice: <em>I told you to let me do it! I told you it would make a mess, you always do! </em>I cringe whenever my voice gets that way. It's not one I'm proud of using. I apologize to him, because inevitably, he's in tears, crushed by my tone and lack of faith in his tooth-paste-squeezing ability. One day after particulary big tooth paste explosion (it somehow splattered on the counter, the mirror, my jeans, everywhere but his green, Santa-singing toothbrush), I snapped. He cried. I apologized. I held him gently against me as I sang <em>Jesus Loves Me</em>. He quieted down and then started crying his little eyes out, overwhelmed by emotions.<br /><br />And I heard that voice again:<br /><br /><em><strong>Mommy, slow down</strong>.<br /><br /></em>So what if he makes a mess. It's just toothpaste. It's clear and can be cleaned up easily. But it's much more difficult to fix a broken heart. I was tired of breaking my Boy's heart. He tries so hard to be a big boy and the fact that he wants to try to brush his own teeth should be celebrated. Who cares if I have to take extra time to allow him to take steps towards indepedence. He now smiles up at me with his big Max grin, so proud of himself for putting the toothpaste on his brush while I cheer him on with an encouraging, G<em>reat job, Little Man!</em> And together, we clean up the mess. Before I know it, he'll be 18 and driving away from me. I'll plead, <em>Max, my Boy, slow down.<br /><br /></em>With a heavy heart I have to admit to myself: I have not been a patient mother. Why am I always rushing them through life? Hurrying them, as if I have somewhere more important to be? Something more important to do? The truth is, nothing, absolutely nothing, is more important to me than my three children.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpZmUh5tvbzZRxurT33W-_8B_zCT2TeYdB2-_bZ9VNx5fp3aPWqOGWC6b3DeAsTHPR8hkTNb36fIJf2eaIOxq64aIGLsJ8GuzJyp7zpTQjDhbVsoTV26__h2i8j9tQkXd8YjEiFWAhuKt2/s1600/happykids.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5718414016347731794" border="0" alt="" align="left" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpZmUh5tvbzZRxurT33W-_8B_zCT2TeYdB2-_bZ9VNx5fp3aPWqOGWC6b3DeAsTHPR8hkTNb36fIJf2eaIOxq64aIGLsJ8GuzJyp7zpTQjDhbVsoTV26__h2i8j9tQkXd8YjEiFWAhuKt2/s400/happykids.jpg" /><em></em></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><br /><span style="font-size:78%;"><em></em></span></p><br /><br /><p><span style="font-size:78%;"><em>Kay Harmon Photography<br /></em><br /><em><strong><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /></span></strong></em></span><span style="font-size:78%;"><em><strong><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><br />My Lovlies, thank you for giving me Grace as I try to slow down. Samesies, ok?</span></strong></em></span></p>tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-55821385988221030692012-02-21T05:52:00.000-08:002012-02-21T09:11:37.456-08:00A Letter To YouDear You,<br /><br />I needed to write this letter to you. I was hoping to run out the feelings I had but God decided to use that last race for pure love. Only love was in my heart that day. Funny how that Guy is all about Goodness.<br /><br />I'm still angry, hurt, shocked, sad and so many more emotions that I have a difficult time knowing exactly how I feel about what you did that day.<br /><br />The police officer called it a crime of opportunity. I stupidly left my purse on my passenger seat. My twins are learning to share but when they hold on to something that they want to keep, they will shout out "MINES!". Yes, I thought 'mines' when I left my purse on my seat. Not yours.<br /><br />The officer also said you likely watched me go into the gym. He said People Like You will target women. Knowing a woman going into a gym empty handed likely left her purse in the car. I have strong feelings about this. <strong>How dare you</strong> watch me?! How dare you watch me as I held my daughter's hand. I remember smiling down at her as she asked me if I was going to run fast. How dare you look at US?! If there is one moment in life I could take back, it would be that one. I'd rewind the clock and as we walked by you, I would scream <strong>get your eyes off of MY kid!<br /><br /></strong>You made me feel like a victim. Helpless. Stupid. Weak. But I will not let you define who I am. I am not any of those things. I still tear up every time I think of that day, but that doesn't make you the winner. If anything, it is you who is helpless, stupid and weak.<br /><br />What kind of man shatters a car window to steal something that doesn't belong to him? A weak one.<br /><br />I wonder what you felt, as your body was hanging in my driver side window, reaching frantically across to the passenger seat to go through my purse. Surely you must have felt ashamed. No pride left in you. Stupid.<br /><br />I wonder what you felt when you certainly saw the pictures on the dashboard of MY family and Jesus as you reached for my GPS.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglAxtDq9_GhnOqslb9-wYj2oIPHRvCBiJnlffskht4aowUVHVhHB5CNBTiA6dOzuecb0KvKU9ONl4JFP8FsHDr6pKltqmkPMZP27O1ul1aEeYcTFsoVbwE77Mo4y93pMphCM9_KOyWF106/s1600/jesus.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5711599140637419378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglAxtDq9_GhnOqslb9-wYj2oIPHRvCBiJnlffskht4aowUVHVhHB5CNBTiA6dOzuecb0KvKU9ONl4JFP8FsHDr6pKltqmkPMZP27O1ul1aEeYcTFsoVbwE77Mo4y93pMphCM9_KOyWF106/s400/jesus.jpg" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjykOcvkkM5WLv6q_hj1PnHpCKzc18_E6nzKWnU0uibv6AZ5HHH0DYbkY0hrvM0k86wr3rHxtZgdnApNrnd3BZxcYnMPo1PBWeQVB2MVMEHZPl11vd8UCpjGby0ohZAlbTfV8ocrfFp9_A0/s1600/carpic.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5711599056375617890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjykOcvkkM5WLv6q_hj1PnHpCKzc18_E6nzKWnU0uibv6AZ5HHH0DYbkY0hrvM0k86wr3rHxtZgdnApNrnd3BZxcYnMPo1PBWeQVB2MVMEHZPl11vd8UCpjGby0ohZAlbTfV8ocrfFp9_A0/s400/carpic.jpg" /></a><br />Did you feel helpless by the decision you made that day to steal from me? Or did you feel powerful and thank me for being so blindingly trusting. Mines. You stole my things. You broke my car. But you didn't break me.<br /><br />When I walked out to my car and saw the glass on the ground. My window shattered into thousands of pieces, it took me a second to process what had happened. I grabbed my daughter and ran back to the gym.<br /><br />I remember the girl at the counter talking but I couldn't hear her. I needed to talk to my husband. But of course, you took my phone. It took me a while to figure out how to track him down, and when I finally heard his voice. The voice of a GOOD man. All I heard was "I'll be right there". I never even had to ask him to come.<br /><br />The girl handed me a form but I couldn't read the words. I stood there staring at the paper with the pen in my shaking hand. At that moment, the manager walked up and took the paper from me, telling me he would fill it out. The girl called the police. All the while I just stood there.<br /><br />Shocked.<br /><br />My daugter came up and I felt her tug on my hand "Why are you crying, Mommy?" <em>Oh. What?</em> I hadn't realized I was crying.<br /><br />When the officer on the phone started asking me questions, I had a hard time retrieving the answers. <em>What kind of car? A honda. What kind? I....what? I don't know. I can't remember.</em> I know those answers. But what you did temporarily made my brain feel like it was on slow-motion. I hated that you had that power over me.<br /><br />I recently read a story about a man who invited the thief who attempted to steal his wallet to lunch. To talk. He wanted to mentor him and show him good. The thief went with him and eventually, when it was time to pay, he gave the victim his wallet back. A good, heart warming story. Maybe my heart is hard. But I won't be inviting you out to lunch. If I was so lucky to hear that you were caught, I'd hope you'd go to jail. Enjoy your lunch there.<br /><br />But there is <strong>good</strong> from this. Lots of good.<br /><br />You didn't enter my mind. Not once, on my race last Sunday. I'm grateful to God that he allowed my heart to feel only love that day for the people I was running for and that there was no room for the blackness I feel when I think of you.<br /><br />When I spoke with Chris that day and tried to tell him what happened on the phone, I wasn't even able to speak in coherent sentences. I remember saying: <em>The gym....window is broken...my things are gone</em>. Hearing the words: <em>I'll be right there </em>made me realize I married <em>the best man</em>.<br /><br />The police officer who came out was so patient and kind with me. He tried to make me smile. I knew from the moment he looked at the car that he knew he wouldn't be able to get any fingerprints. And yet he patiently took the time to try to find something. Anything to catch you.<br /><br />The custodian who brought a broom out so that I could sweep the glass off my seat, ignored my request for the broom. <em>I'll do it for you, </em>he told me quietly<em>. </em>When I told him that wasn't necessary, he ignored me and took the time to sweep the glass and put down a towel on my seat. Apologizing for not being able to get the tiniest of pieces.<br /><br />As for me? Well, I walked away from this experience a slightly different person. You made me realize people like you are out there. Parasites in a community of good people. I'll be more cautious and a little less trusting because of you.<br /><br />And will I pray for you? Oh yes. I'll pray you are caught.<br /><br />Sincerely,<br />Me<br /></p>tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-3915914682778103242012-02-20T07:49:00.001-08:002012-02-20T13:25:04.469-08:00Racing With My Heart On My SleeveWhen Chris signed me up for the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Livestrong</span> Austin Half-Marathon, I inwardly groaned. I had just committed to running the 3M half marathon on January 29<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">th</span> and the thought of running another half-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">mary</span> 3 weeks later wasn't really this runner's idea of a good time. I felt like my body had been asking for a break. I pushed myself especially hard on the 3M race, to the point that my whole body ached for a few days after. I never get sore after a 13.1 mile run, so I knew I gave it my all that day, when I woke up the next morning moving like a 90 year old lady. But all that pain was rewarded with a PR (personal record) and I was happy to float on that runner's high for a while.<br /><br />So when Chris told me he signed us up for the Austin half, I wasn't too happy. I knew the hills were brutal. My new positive thinking is to not limit what I can do by saying <em>it's impossible,</em> but my practical side knew it <em>was</em> <em>impossible</em> to beat the PR I had just set 3 weeks earlier. My running coach said to expect to add 10 minutes to my 3M time. That's how much harder Austin is for runners. <em>So why run the race?</em> I wasn't sure. But I knew once the fee was paid, I was running it. And though I <em>said</em> I would "take it easy" on this one, I knew once the gun went off, I'd be running with all heart.<br /><br />Sometimes I don't see the big picture. But when He turns on the light for me, it's the best A-HA moment ever. During the race I could clearly see why this race was <em>chosen</em> for me.<br /><br />Chris and I were in the chute, nervously adjusting our music, bibs, shoelaces and just channeling the positive energy that is buzzing through runners getting ready to start a race. That's when I first noticed him. A few feet ahead of me there was a man with a mask around his neck. I noticed his arms, legs and head were <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">completely</span> hairless. It looked like he had gone through chemotherapy. His shirt said Cancer Survivor. As the runners started walking towards the start line, he adjusted his mask over his mouth and took deep breaths. Humbling.<br /><br />When the gun went off, Chris and I gave <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">each other</span> a farewell kiss and hug. We'd see each other at the finish line. As I turned back to the front, that's when I noticed a group of women. Proudly wearing pink. On their backs were pictures of the loved ones they lost to Cancer. They were all smiling, laughing and their energy was contagious. Amazing.<br /><br />After a few downhills, the pack I was in, headed up Congress. I say up because it's just about 3 miles of uphill. I noticed the man running directly in front of me. He had an <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ironman</span> tattoo on the back of his calf and he didn't let the hill slow him down. His shirt read, I beat Cancer. Inspiring.<br /><br />If you ever want to know why someone runs, they may give you a list of reasons. This race reminded me of one of the reasons I run. For me. My health. My life. A year after Claire was born, I had a routine checkup with my doctor. A few weeks later I got a call. I remember hearing the words: <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">Abnormal</span> cells. It's probably nothing. Biopsy to rule out something.</em> It shook me to my very core. I went back to the doctor who, with kind eyes, reassured me there could be a million reasons for abnormal test results. He never said it, but I knew there could only be one reason for what he wanted to rule out. That big, ugly C word. Cancer. I had a biopsy done. The doctor wanted to show me: <em>See? It's nothing</em>. But a few days later I got another call. <em>Come in</em>. That nothing was indeed something. I remember the doctor being much less light hearted this time. He sketched out a diagram that looked like a flowchart <em>Stage 1. Stage 2. Stage 3. Stage 4</em>. The last word he wrote was Cancer. He circled Stage 4. The words he spoke next will forever be ingrained in my head: <em>You have stage 4 precancerous cells. We need to remove them. As soon as possible.<br /><br /></em>That memory replayed in my head as I barrelled through the toughest of the hills. I appreciated the pain I felt as I ran up those hills. It was a reminder: I'm alive. I'm healthy. The race I ran on Sunday was for me. For loved ones lost to Cancer. For those who beat Cancer. For those who are at this very moment, fighting Cancer. For those who are at risk of Cancer. It was a race of pure love. I prayed and thanked God during the race. <em>Thank you for allowing me to run. Thank you for this wonderful gift</em>. I went back every 4 months for 2 years to make sure my precancerous cells didn't come back. I thanked God for giving me good news 6 times in a row. Grateful. I prayed I will continue to be healthy. I prayed for the health of those running by my side. And I prayed for the hearts of those who lost loved ones.<br /><br />I didn't beat my 3M time. And it didn't matter. I ran with pure heart and enjoyed every step. Grateful. Thankful. Humbled. Inspired.<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 324px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 219px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5711254516981585490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipvZG6_5YeGdgh9QkwaeCCTkAYYfoZpFsdfKrclwf1U7J2sVmPyYRPIxmtgMsPI71QD74x5jmawvf6oR6VSdn3kmScl6mmE19DIwj0VF6FdCOcGC0siiknU74KZaWcofFkJ1FUcZrxjgBR/s400/grandpa+vincent.jpg" /><em><span style="font-size:78%;"> For my Grandpa Vincent. A true example of endurance and strength.</span></em>tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-39614010939512800592012-02-13T06:12:00.000-08:002012-02-14T05:39:52.231-08:00Marriage Is...<span style="font-size:100%;"><em><span style="font-size:78%;">Run the mile that you're in. Especially for longer races (but even for short ones, like 5-Ks), it can be tempting to dwell on the total distance or on how far you are from the finish line. Try not to. Instead, focus on the mile you're running at that particular moment. Be mindful of the full distance, of course; mentally and physically, you should be aware of how far you've got to go. Primarily, though, keep your head in the here and now. That's a nice metaphor for life, too, by the way. In case you were looking for one. -Mark Remy<br /><br /></span></em>Recently a friend blogged about running and her 'aha' moment when she realized that running was more than a sport. Because I'm not athletic at all, I've never even considered running a sport. Instead, I have always seen it as my outlet to ponder through my worries, prayers, joys and sorrows; and I just happen to be running. I have used it as my 'me time'. The rare time I have alone to just be me. My running coach, Gilbert has said "running is my freedom. Running is my therapy." Those words are truth to me.<br /><br />So when Chris and I set out for our Valentine's Date 10 mile trail run on the Greenbelt, it should be of no surprise that I saw that run as more than a run. But a metaphor for our relationship.<br /><br />The first few miles were easy. I fell into a relaxed pace and chatted about running, the trail, the kids. Whatever popped into my head. Our marriage was like that at the beginning. <em><span style="font-size:130%;">Marriage can and should have it's moments of being: Easy. Light. Fun</span><strong><span style="font-size:130%;">.<br /><br /></span></strong></em>We headed out for that long trail run on a very cold day. Chris warned me that the trail would get rough and we would have to do some climbing. He took the lead but I quickly realized, that wasn't going to work for me. Because he is taller than me, I couldn't see what was coming ahead which made it dangerous. So after a mile, he let me take over, even though I knew he would have preferred the lead position. <em><span style="font-size:130%;">Marriage is about Give and Take.<br /></span></em><br />Chris took over when we got to the 3rd mile. It got very rocky and narrow. It was hard to see which way we were supposed to go on the path. As we traversed a narrow path on a cliff, our pace slowed down to a 17 minute mile as we had to mostly walk for safety. I didn't like this mile. The pace was too slow. It wasn't easy. I wanted to turn around and go back to the fork and veer right instead of the way we came. Chris encouraged me to continue on. He was certain if we continued on, we would find an open path again. And we did. <em><span style="font-size:130%;">Marriage is persevering through the toughest times and having Faith even when you can't see what lies ahead.<br /><br /></span></em>Throughout the run, Chris stayed behind me. Knowing he was there, even when I couldn't see him, made me feel safe. Every so often, I would turn around and run back to him, encouraging him to continue on to the next checkpoint. Often times, my feet would slip out from under me because it had started snowing and we would reach out to steady each other. Marriage can be so fragile. <em><span style="font-size:130%;">But marriage is also about two people who are there to support and encourage each other. That is how it will withstand even the toughest times.<br /><br /></span></em>As we rounded the corner, we saw the mile marker showing us we were in the last mile. I wanted to push the pace and sprint to the finish and yet I knew Chris wanted the exact opposite. So I slowed down and we eventually fell in step, side by side as the trail widened and we could see more of what was coming ahead. I smiled. He smiled. Our marriage still has it's moments of being easy.light.fun. But it also has more depth to it because of the life moments and growing pains that have made us stronger. During those tough moments we have realized that one or both of us must say: <em>I'm sorry</em>. And we must ask ourselves and each other what we can do to make the <em>other person</em> happy. <em><span style="font-size:130%;">Marriage is about Giving, Grace and Forgiveness.<br /><br /></span></em>We occasionally hit rough patches in our marriage. Without fail, we always, always work things out. Our 'full distance' is being in it for the long haul...you know, <strong>forever</strong>. But focusing on the here and now is what will get us to the finish line.<br /><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTiN593XCkJi5697hSt2VZr3-ZeRspa_PXbqabtmSu8pSYQuLPoTBh16TJfP2cieoyCkFki0cgtY-ZgX0oyMl8pQu8hP5Jf-4G0w7g74nFTxX6xDdKk3iEIpHGW0Ls3zx8JDmZmMBwqhD/s1600/loveso.jpg"><span style="font-size:100%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 266px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708637553975779810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigTiN593XCkJi5697hSt2VZr3-ZeRspa_PXbqabtmSu8pSYQuLPoTBh16TJfP2cieoyCkFki0cgtY-ZgX0oyMl8pQu8hP5Jf-4G0w7g74nFTxX6xDdKk3iEIpHGW0Ls3zx8JDmZmMBwqhD/s400/loveso.jpg" /></span></a><em><span style="font-size:78%;"> Kay Harmon Photography</span></em><em><span style="font-size:78%;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></em>tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-65219041288022056342012-02-05T11:21:00.000-08:002012-02-06T14:50:42.704-08:00Spaghetti Arms<span style="font-size:100%;"><em><span style="font-size:85%;">The very thing that we resist is the thing we must be compelled to investigate or address. ~Kristin Armstrong</span></em><br /><br />For Christmas, Chris surprised me with an amazing gift: four personal training sessions with a running coach. Not just any running coach. But somewhat of a local legend here in Austin, <a href="http://www.gilbertsgazelles.com/gilbert_bio.php">Gilbert Tuhabonye</a>. </span><span style="font-size:100%;">If you haven't heard of him, read his biography and you too will likely be as awed and inspired as I was.....<br /><br />He leads a local running club: Gilbert's Gazelles. I had dabbled in the thought of joining a running group a few months back but realized the schedule just wouldn't work for me unless I wanted to take Madeline and Max to my workouts. So when Christmas came and I opened up a gift certificate for my own personal coaching sessions (no need to work around group session schedule, yay!) I cried like a baby at the thoughtfulness of the gift.<br /><br />But I have to confess: I.was.scared. For about a month Chris asked me every day, <em>Did you call to set up your coaching sessions with Gilbert </em>(who in my head I call Mr. Gazelle)? I had a million excuses why I didn't call each day: <em>I forgot... I had to go to the grocery store... I folded laundry today... I decided to alphabetize our books...What? A phone? What's that? I don't think I know how to use one....</em> But here is what it really came down to: running with a coach would put me so far out of my comfort zone, the thought made me want to chew my nails to stubs while running in circles chasing my non-existent tail. It would keep me up at night as I tried to talk myself into just making the call and setting up the sessions. </span>I knew I needed to do this to become a better runner and yet fear was holding me back.<br /><br />Eventually, I called. Rather, emailed.<br /><br />As I drove over to meet with Gilbert for our first session, I was so nervous I wasn't sure whether I wanted to puke or poop myself. Maybe both. All that nervousness was washed away when I met him and realized I had worked myself into a frenzy over nothing. 1. He is very nice. 2. He didn't even realize he was supposed to be meeting with me that morning.<br /><br />So after an awkward start, we got down to business. He took me to the lake path to watch me run. Little did I know he was going to videotape me and then painfully make me watch it over and over and over (OK, really it was only one time, but it felt like forever!). Now, I already knew that I have bad posture and somewhat of a funny looking run. Thanks to modern day technology you can see yourself running because race photographers have videos set up at the finish line to catch you crossing the tape in all your glory. So I had already seen my floppy fish arms. It's like they have a mind of their own. Remember this picture from the San Francisco Marathon? Well, I totally lied to you. I wasn't just doing the peace sign, I do run like Phoebe Buffay!<br /><br />See, this?:<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBakdG7nj522XbmGB2xfV_0pfPD5jgBMeqGHuX44QCqdc5L96tpG-x00bl3OaInLHEAs_rhlPOr-I3OOvtkYqTUxjI40BuugSmaDmKipRnmCXEF5lpGF_5UAXmV6XNLO8EjGJs-tH630z/s1600/GGbridge9.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 265px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705772423677203026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIBakdG7nj522XbmGB2xfV_0pfPD5jgBMeqGHuX44QCqdc5L96tpG-x00bl3OaInLHEAs_rhlPOr-I3OOvtkYqTUxjI40BuugSmaDmKipRnmCXEF5lpGF_5UAXmV6XNLO8EjGJs-tH630z/s400/GGbridge9.jpg" /></a><br />Pretty similar to this:<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6d8ZRquyG-5H6iflBCU2ch-RCdQ3dIzoEaZPLRFhSRuTZSc89l_UsAuudu40LWA49hBdJXfSBNWgz_VXw9uyp_-yOODjvNFZch5EW9D72xudpHtVZInmYhedoj6pENEeYi6Ds6QHd8AuJ/s1600/Friendsphoeberuns.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 337px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 233px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705773532728521042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6d8ZRquyG-5H6iflBCU2ch-RCdQ3dIzoEaZPLRFhSRuTZSc89l_UsAuudu40LWA49hBdJXfSBNWgz_VXw9uyp_-yOODjvNFZch5EW9D72xudpHtVZInmYhedoj6pENEeYi6Ds6QHd8AuJ/s400/Friendsphoeberuns.jpg" /></a></p><em><span style="font-size:78%;">As you can see from both of our faces, this style of running makes for a happy runner!</span></em><br /><br />As he played the video back, he mumbled to himself, "I wonder why you run that way?" I answered in a half-truth, "I don't know, it feels comfortable." The truth is, it <em>does</em> feel natural to run like Phoebe, and if I was honest with him, I wouldn't have said,<em> I don't know,</em> but: Two reasons...1. years of growing up feeling like the Ugly Duckling and wanting to hide in my own skin equals horrible posture and 2. years of running and listening to 'horrible' lyrics like this:<br /><br /><em>Now wait a minute, y'all<br />This dance ain't for everybody<br />Only the sexy people<br />So all you fly mothers, get on out there and dance<br />Dance, I said!<br /><br /></em>I dare you to listen to a classic like Salt N Peppa's Push It and run while keeping perfect form! Any time someone calls you a "Fly Mother" you can't help but get a little wiggly and drop it like you're hot. Fo' realz.<br /><br />Anyway, we walked back to the training room and he put me through a series of torture err exercises like step ups, forward and backward lunges, sprinting with my hands locked behind my back (?!). All the while I couldn't help but feel like we were acting out our own scene from Dirty Dancing. Remember how Johnny yells at Baby to keep her spaghetti arms in place? Well, yeah, I got to be Baby. Gilbert played an admirably nice Johnny. He already instructed me to keep my floppy fish arms from crossing my mid line and it's like those fishies had a mind of their own! Lunge-flop-lunge-flop. He'd patiently grab my arm to steady it and reposition them into the correct running form. "I'm surprised. Doesn't your back hurt you after a long run with all the wiggling you do". Me, "No (pant pant), no back pain...how many more lunges?"<br /><br />Later as I was sprinting in the parking lot with my hands behind my back and got the go ahead to start using my arms, Gilbert shouted, "Arms down! No, don't keep them still, just keep them down! You can pump them!" Now as much as I'd like to say we made it to the final scene, where Johnny lifts Baby into the air in a beautifully graceful lift, we're not quite there yet. Because I still have a lot to learn as his student. I still have floppy fish arms and I'm working on correcting my form(keeping those fishies in check is taking my smile away but I have faith it'll come back).<br /><br />And when we to get to that final 'lift scene', I'd be lying if I'd say I deserve to keep the part as Baby. Because I outweigh Gilbert by a good 20 pounds (OK OK, if I'm truly honest, closer to 40 pounds). If anyone gets to be Johnny in the final scene, it's me. And I guess that would make Gilbert, Baby.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz9hzo74exFxkkE8ygVMrbL3klZlPHl2-ndtbqfsZd-OPsMvGJ3_fUPEmOBEtMzrZ7qRCtLti__yXo0-2OfxkpG-fFp_eD7BxYrgzFDNJgiIUgUbArHE04jseEUFR5eGM73uLoE8CDno0R/s1600/dd.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 268px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5705766648199789394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz9hzo74exFxkkE8ygVMrbL3klZlPHl2-ndtbqfsZd-OPsMvGJ3_fUPEmOBEtMzrZ7qRCtLti__yXo0-2OfxkpG-fFp_eD7BxYrgzFDNJgiIUgUbArHE04jseEUFR5eGM73uLoE8CDno0R/s400/dd.jpg" /></a><br />I'm glad I made the call (email). Stepping out of the safety of my comfort zone has been painful, both physically, mentally and emotionally, but I have faith that confronting what I had been resisting will make me a better runner.<br /><br />Here's to stepping out of our comfort zones and growing.<br />Happy Running.tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-402405976317382669.post-88852788349301470192012-01-30T06:31:00.000-08:002012-01-30T13:23:12.175-08:0013 and .1 milesOne thing I like about running is you always have room for improvement. My new year's resolution included: be a smarter/better runner and set some new <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">PRs</span> (personal records). To become a smarter runner (train injury free and run faster), I had to do two things. I had to slow down my long runs and increase my pace on speed work runs. Slowing down seems counter intuitive to becoming a faster runner, but I truly believe in the equation.<br /><br />I trained diligently, week after week. I had a race pace goal of an 8.30 minute mile. Every Saturday I would run anywhere from 3-5 miles at race pace only, to finish the run feeling like running a full 13.1 miles at that pace simply wasn't doable. Then on Sunday I would run my 'long run', anywhere from 9-12 miles at an 'easy pace' of about a 9.30-10 minute mile. I welcomed those long runs. That pace felt so comfortable and light compared to the pace I was pushing for the day before.<br /><br />The week before the race I had been fighting off allergies? a cold? Taking vitamins, pretending the achy body I had was all in my head and popping Motrin like I was eating candy. The night before the race, Madeline was up 3 times from 12 am-3am and there was nothing for me to do but to suck it up and be a mom and tend to my Madeline. I'd deal with being a runner later.<br /><br />Race day came. I decided to dedicate each mile of the race to someone near and dear to my heart. The usual suspects made the list:<br /><br />Mile 1 was for Madeline. Oh Madeline. My stubbornly sweet girl. She says funny things to me like "Me-<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">sa</span> good girl". "Me pretty. I smart.". Yes, my Little Mama is all those things and more. I thought of how GOOD she is. So good that my heart bursts with joy knowing I was given the gift of a child like Madeline. Madeline. Good. Running. Joy. It all just tied together as a neat little present for me to wrap my head around. Enjoy the race my heart told me, just as you enjoy being a mother to Madeline. And I did.<br /><br />Max was on my mind around mile 3. He's such a funny, sweet kid. I thanked God for giving me my only son. Images of Max's funny expressions kept popping into my head for that mile and I couldn't help but run the whole dang mile with a silly "Max grin' plastered on my face. I also noticed smiling is contagious. Maybe the spectators thought I was nuts but they were smiling back at me.<br /><br />Mile 6 was for Chris. I knew he was running his own race and I knew this mile could be one of the toughest in a half marathon because it's at this point you realize you are barely half-way there. It can be discouraging or it can be a feeling of relief. I imagined running alongside of him like we do when we have a rare long-run date. I chatter non-stop next to him with my horrible running form, while he has a look of sheer concentration and perfect posture, not saying a word. Yin and Yang. Peas and Carrots. Love him so. My prayer for him was that he would meet his goal. There is something so amazing in achieving a goal you set for yourself. I saw it when he ran the San Antonio Marathon. A feeling that makes you want to scream to the world: I DID IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!<br /><br />Mile 9 was dedicated to my Dear Claire. I couldn't help but remember the words she said to me the night before. "Mommy, I want you to win that race".<em> OK, Baby Girl.</em> I wanted to 'win' the race for my Girl. Mile 9 was one of my toughest because of all the energy I had spent speeding through the first 8 miles and because of the hill it was on. I thought of how tough Claire has been in her first year of kindergarten, working through some anxiety issues that no 5 year old should have to deal with. I thought of how I watched her in art class as she started to cry because she was nervous and thought she couldn't do the work. And then how a light switch turned on inside her and she composed herself with a deep breath and tackled the lesson in front of her like a pro. I took my own deep breath and powered through that mile. Each step was for Claire.<br /><br />Mile 12 was for my brother Philip. It was my slowest mile. Sometimes the slowest ones are the best. Because if you can come out of that mile and power through the next one, you know you have some grit in you. I thought of Philip and his goal to walk 6 days a week. I prayed that he's still powering through. Getting through the tough days where he surely wants to throw in the towel. I prayed for him. And I thought, if Philip can walk every day, surely I can pick up my pace. So I did.<br /><br />Mile 13 was for my mom. I like to think I got the gift of persevering from her. My mom has a goal to walk her first 5k in the Spring. Staying 'on track' is one of the toughest things to do in life. We all fall off the track but I think it's the ability to get back on it that defines a person. My mom always, always, gets back on track. So I thought of my mom as I knew I was nearly done with this race. I knew the finish line was around the corner and I imagined what it would be like for her to see her own finish line. I could hear some spectators shouting "Go Pink!" (I probably should have considered a less showy race shirt, but the pink one was too cute ;)) as I sprinted for that finish line as fast as my two dead legs would carry me. I got my first sub 8 minute mile in a half marathon (never mind that it was 7.59;)). For you, Mom.<br /><br />And the last .1? Well, that was for me. Sometimes as moms, we forget to take care of ourselves. Twice this past week, I 'forgot' to eat breakfast. That's being a mom. We need to take the time to take care of ourselves if we are going to be the rock for our children. That is what running is for me. Taking care of myself so that I can take care of all those who depend on me. My race strategy was to physically push myself as hard as I could without bonking it at the end. So I pushed myself. Hard. I did not let myself think of any discomfort or pain I was feeling for the first 13 miles. Those miles were for the people I dedicated each step to. But .1? Mine. All mine. And that was when a few tears of joy, pain and relief slipped out.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUGJZuwlRRynmMaijfySqEjK5DvekT8hveLmijkWHFOguQFgnCW0YaHRfRNde45Ti2XuDPE0mvu1MZUe07Dx4BzPp-VlS_zy7v0Q6dQp-SqJq3cRGPbbaMnLKPPvA-LVN9p8SV-tZbQXzz/s1600/tears.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 215px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 184px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5703448751642562066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUGJZuwlRRynmMaijfySqEjK5DvekT8hveLmijkWHFOguQFgnCW0YaHRfRNde45Ti2XuDPE0mvu1MZUe07Dx4BzPp-VlS_zy7v0Q6dQp-SqJq3cRGPbbaMnLKPPvA-LVN9p8SV-tZbQXzz/s400/tears.jpg" /></a> <span style="font-size:85%;">13.1 miles. 1 hour 48 minutes and 40 seconds. PR done.</span>tolleyrosehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13283279152909278333noreply@blogger.com1