tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12588459204253383692024-03-05T02:22:28.133-05:00Ashes RisingAshleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-303508929782895492012-09-29T15:47:00.002-04:002012-09-29T16:16:42.897-04:00The Power of a NameNames are powerful.<br />
<br />
Just ask Madonna/Esther, Stefani/Lady Gaga, Prince Michael Jackson II, known as Blanket, or the guy shown below.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="https://encrypted-tbn0.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQW5adxvVDh3XY8Wt5x2Dgcnhbe42kI5hSikn2Ha-msRw85BGnQZmy7ORGuHw" />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Tafkap</div>
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(The artist formerly known as Prince, but unrelated to the Prince known as Blanket...)</div>
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<br /></div>
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One of the more eye-opening lessons I've learned in 2012 is just how powerful a name can be.</div>
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The day after we found out that Peanut was on his way, STBX and I drove to his brother's home for a family birthday party. Since I had just received my new Mailbox magazine, I brought it for some light browsing on the 70 minute trip. While looking at bulletin board designs I started rattling names listed on the bulletin board picture to STBX. On a whim, I added one of my favorite names, Jonah.</div>
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He nodded, then grinned. "It reminds me of <i>Sleepless in Seattle</i>," he responded. "I like it." </div>
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<br /></div>
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We had a short list of possible names for a long time, but Jonah held its place at the top. I started identifying Peanut as Jonah when we were alone. I even talked to him using his "name" on occasion. Even so, I didn't want to announce a baby name in case Peanut came out looking nothing like a Jonah. </div>
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<br /></div>
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After the life shattering news of STBX's crazy "relationship" with his 16-year-old student broke, I felt lost in lots of ways while being required to make lots of important decisions alone. The decision to name Peanut would now be solely mine, and I didn't just have to choose his first and middle name, anymore.<br />
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<img height="240" src="http://cdn.blogs.babble.com/being-pregnant/files/2012/07/hello-my-name-is.jpg" width="320" /></div>
</div>
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<br /></div>
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For 2 solid months I was regularly asked what I was going to name the baby. Each time someone asked, my anxiety level would rise and my brain would go into overdrive. It was a trigger question for me. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I asked several friends for their opinions, and all of them thought that Peanut should only have my maiden name as his last name, especially since I would be returning to it after the divorce was final. My lawyer recommended hyphenating, stating that STBX could bring this issue before a judge, and this would most likely be the judge's decision. </div>
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<br /></div>
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I wavered for a long time, but in the end, decided to hyphenate for a few reasons.</div>
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1) STBX's dad and step-mom are incredible and have been so amazing throughout these challenges. I wanted to honor them.</div>
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2) It was what the judge would have probably ruled. To me this means that it is the unemotional choice. (Unemotional? Me? Genau.)</div>
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3) If I ever get brave enough to remarry, I want Peanut to share a name with members of his biological family, like my parents.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Once his last name was chosen, it was important to start deciding his first and middle. </div>
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I knew I wanted to name Peanut after men with integrity who possessed a close relationship with Jesus. I started by looking through the Bible, and then on to names of family and friends. I was telling two friends from abroad about my name dilemma and telling them some of the names in the running. When I mentioned using the names of my grandfathers, one of them shared that she liked that idea because in her religion there is a verse about living up to the names of those before you. (Or something of that sort...)</div>
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<br /></div>
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It felt right. </div>
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If Peanut was named after two incredible men, he would have a lot to live up to. Both of my grandpas are/were incredibly loving, kind, funny, intelligent, hard-working, generous men who put their families second only to Christ.<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">E. Parker West and lots of his family on Christmas circa 1985.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(My cousin, Jamie, and I are sitting on his lap and I think he is dressed entirely in green.)</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Leon Reser Jr. and his lovely Annie on Christmas morning 2009.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">What an honor it will be to parent Leon Parker in a way that will help him develop his character in the same way. </span></div>
</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-79748580197752070152012-09-29T14:28:00.005-04:002012-09-29T14:33:07.889-04:00Books<br />
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I love books. Always have.</div>
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<br /></div>
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When I was in elementary school and had
to clean my room, I would always start with my bookshelves. I'd
start by pulling every book off the shelves, dust the bookcase, and
the books and then methodically replace the books keeping the series
in number order and then focusing on height so that my books could
be best displayed and I could find the correct reread simply by
height and spine color.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Reading is still one of my passions,
and having the opportunity to pass on my joy in it to my students and
Peanut is an honor.</div>
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<br /></div>
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In order to expose my students to
engaging and quality literature I am a proud member of Scholastic
book clubs. Monthly, I send home flyers with students so that they
can fill their lives with books, and so my classroom can be filled
with new books for us to enjoy and learn from.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<img align="BOTTOM" border="0" height="378" name="graphics3" src="http://speechmommy.files.wordpress.com/2011/11/scholastic-flyers.jpg" width="566" />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Remember
getting these flyers and circling books like crazy?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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Well, it used to be for my students.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Now, it seems to be for my Peanut.</div>
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<br /></div>
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My September book order total was
$104.17. Fifty-eight dollars of that total were books I bought. My
classroom got 15 new books from that total. Peanut got 22.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Each day since my order came in, I've
been taking home one or two books each day. A few days ago I brought
home these two.</div>
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I had never read either book, but was
won over by the glowing reviews online and reasonable prices of the
discount flyer. While reading these to Leo after a delicious dinner
of pureed squash and rice cereal (him) and a PBB sandwich (me), I
sobbed. Yes, both books made me cry.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The book, <u>Count Your Blessings</u>,
is a 1-10 book where a baby bear counts the things he is grateful
for. One, he is thankful for his home. Then, BAM, out of an
illustrator's imagination comes a sucker punch. The little bear is
thankful for his parents.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Yes, Peanut has two parents. Yes, they
love him. Still, the picture above brought me to tears. I had a
beautiful and blessed childhood where my parents loved each other.
It was evident all of the time in our house. I realized when looking
at this page, Peanut won't have these images in his mind. Will he
ever have a picture with him and both of his parents? Perhaps not.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We didn't take one of the three of us
at the hospital when Peanut was born. I felt like doing so might
make me sick and thankfully no one mentioned it. How sad, though. On
this beautiful day that Peanut was born, his mother felt ill at the
thought of being near his father.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I've packed up the pictures of STBX and
myself, including our wedding photos in a box for Peanut someday. I
want him to know that there was a time when we loved one another and
that he is a product of love.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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Yet, children's books that show happy
families all together make me sad. I wanted my baby to have that joy
of a mommy and daddy who love one another. Most of the time I know P
and I are better off without the tension of needing to tiptoe around
a scary temper, but sometimes I remember the good times and wish that
those good times could have been our family's everyday life.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The second book brought me to tears
too, but for an entirely different reason. Mommy Hugs is a counting
book about 10 different hugs mommy and baby share during the day. It
felt so sweet to read to Peanut about wake-up hugs,
going-down-the-slide hugs, and owie hugs.
</div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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This book looked like our family. Mama,
Peanut, and Wolfie. (The cat is like a cousin who visits occasionally
and demands to be fed.)
</div>
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<br /></div>
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This family has love in abundance. </div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-58958605828571134872012-09-04T20:50:00.000-04:002012-09-04T20:50:00.841-04:00"In a word? Moisture."<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="color: #673091; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">People often ask me, "What's the difference between couplehood and babyhood?" </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="background-color: #edecf6; color: #673091; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">In a word? Moisture. </span></i></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="color: #673091; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">Everything in my life is now more moist. Between your spittle, your diapers, your spit-up and drool, you got your baby food, your wipes, your formula, your leaky bottles, sweaty baby backs, and numerous other untraceable sources--</i><i style="color: #673091; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">all creating an ever-present moistness in my life, which heretofore was mainly dry. </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="color: #673091; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;">- Paul Reiser</i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i style="color: #673091; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; line-height: 18px;"><br /></i></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">After Thomas Jefferson, Mother Theresa, Haim Ginott, Erma Bombeck, and Missy Elliott (fo' shizzle), I think Paul Reiser speaks the most truth. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(No, he isn't related to me. Yes, I know my dad told you otherwise...) </span>Today, I had an experience that supports his honest brilliance.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">It was recess. It was rainy. There were 36 4th graders in one room. And, it was the first rainy recess of the 2012-2013 school year.</span></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">As any teacher will agree, this is <strike>bad news</strike> <strike>horrid</strike> <strike>a recipe for disaster</strike> not a situation to be coveted.</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We discussed expectations. Recess began and</span><span style="font-family: Courier New, Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">(YIPPEE!)</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> the kids were doing a great job! They were drawing! They were talking quietly! They were playing board games with the standard rules! They were (gasp!) doing their homework <b>IN ADVANCE</b>!</span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;">With everyone safe and accounted for, I took the opportunity to look over my lesson plan for the reading mini lesson immediately following recess. As I flipped through my plan book, my eye caught the image of my adorable Peanut. I smiled like a teenager in love.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Admit it, you smiled when you looked at him too!</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;">And then, my body betrayed me.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;">Nope. Not like <a href="http://ourduetasatrio.blogspot.com/2012/01/you-sneaky.html">this entry</a>...</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;">My arm felt moist. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;">Now, as any parent of an infant would admit, noticing moist spots on your body is a common event. Did baby wet through his diaper? Spit up? Cry? Unfortunately, Peanut was having a good time with his (incredible) caretaker, and could not be responsible for the wet spot on my forearm. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;">I think my body knew before my brain because I spun to the wall and glanced down before really knowing what I was looking for.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;">There it was, a wet spot worthy of La Leche League's Top 10.</span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<img src="http://www.imageenvision.com/150/34483-clip-art-graphic-of-a-blue-guy-character-standing-with-his-arms-crossed-by-jester-arts.jpg" />
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><i>La Leche League Salute</i></span></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;">I saluted tightly and hustled to the hallway watching for my co-teacher to return from her errand. I think the look on my face was panicked because as I pulled one arm from my body and showed her the evidence she waved her hand at me, telling me that she had everything under control while pointing at the office. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;">Down the hallway I hustled. While hurtling toward the office I saw glory hanging from a coat hook. I stepped into our guidance counselor's office and said, "I need your help!" </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;">She quickly turned to me and I pulled away my arm while blurting, "Can I please borrow your white shrug?"</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;">"Of course!" she responded while handing it to me.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;">Relief.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 18px;">Lesson learned: Keep an extra top in the car because babies aren't the only ones who leak.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-19233499595426047902012-08-28T22:01:00.000-04:002012-08-28T22:01:58.591-04:00Artistry(Written over the course of several
days in May)<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
How?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
How did this happen?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
How did I let this happen in my life?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
One of the most challenging questions I
dwell on is 'How did I let him make me believe that I was less than I
am?'</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Finally one night I asked the question
out loud and rather than try to answer it, get upset or become angry-
I was still and silent.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
He was a sculptor. He took the piece,
flawed, but whole, and began by sanding the edges. There were new
grooves and fuzzier corners, but the piece remained easily
distinguishable. Hammer to scalpel, he slowly removed splintered
chinks, one by one. Where there once was a unique flaw, a void
remained after his handiwork, but the actions to get there were so
minute it was difficult to see the changes from day to day. After
many months, the piece was small and insignificant.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I was small and insignificant.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My confidence was gone and I thought I
was alone. I thought I was trapped. I feared I would live for years
among the put-downs, the yelling, the silent-treatment, the raging
temper, the secrecy, the isolation and the manipulations. I took my
vows seriously and that I was living in the "for worse"
portion of those vows. It meant "for better" was
attainable. I wanted the "for better."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I thought I was dealing with someone in
a valley of mental illness. I thought he was self-medicating. I
thought his self-medication was interfering with a prescription. I
thought he wanted to get better. To be better.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I thought wrong.</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-64399239228695699442012-08-19T14:57:00.003-04:002012-08-19T20:47:46.995-04:00Starbucks Holiday Cups, Church Signs, and the Zingbot<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
</div>
I love Starbucks.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Really, I do. I cried when I saw them building a Starbucks in Danville and knew I was moving away. The Starbucks on the corner of Friedrichstrasse and Kochstrasse in Berlin knew my order when I walked in and would bring it to me, rather than make me wait in line with the tourists. I've been known to leave my house 40 minutes early to drive to Marysville for a Starbucks confection and return to Bellefontaine for work before 7:30am. I especially love the delightful fall and winter holiday drinks. (Tell me that the words "Pumpkin Spice Latte" don't cause you to salivate. What, Pavlov's dog? Exactly.) <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What I don't love is the preachy Starbucks cup.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://coffeeshopjournal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/coffeecup2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://coffeeshopjournal.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/09/coffeecup2.jpg" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I just don't need my coffee with a side of "I told you so." </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Like the Starbucks cup, there is a church on my morning commute with outstanding and smart, but preachy signs. It is a church and therefore permitted to be preachy at me. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Usually, I can chuckle at the sign or take a moment to consider the thoughtfulness of the words or the interesting plays on phrases they make. This week, though, the sign knew. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
It knew me.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmsjXdD0e9B16rpd9IZeXftpHk9-_iXpsGTool8asYPSyqpr4FEBPk-bqIoL4AK73iVvzsBd82wzJhFUc4auqM47uDwJstYVxsg7E3WluxNp7b6TyrB9zaoxxMDG6EOCsD-ShGu8pE8AE/s1600/P8190033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmsjXdD0e9B16rpd9IZeXftpHk9-_iXpsGTool8asYPSyqpr4FEBPk-bqIoL4AK73iVvzsBd82wzJhFUc4auqM47uDwJstYVxsg7E3WluxNp7b6TyrB9zaoxxMDG6EOCsD-ShGu8pE8AE/s320/P8190033.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Sometimes I want so badly to call out the people who have hurt or are continuing to hurt my family and me. I just want to fire off a list of grievances. Take that! And that! And THAT! </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I want to tell them and others all of the ways they have wronged us and I, like the Zingbot 3000, want it to be bitingly painful. I want them to feel at least half of the pain they have inflicted. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(And I hate that I want to hurt their feelings, but it is true. Sometimes I do.)</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img src="http://t0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcR_1TohSkIRohStLLSrsn_1R18dP2cT7o6fgbTsnR1EBNfM6FXUV_I0UXBpZw" />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So, I was driving down Ludlow Rd., making internal lists of things I wish everyone knew about a few, select people, when the sign reached out and punched me in the throat.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
"Don't let the littleness in others</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
bring out the littleness in you."</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
-Preachy Sign 2012</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I was letting it happen. I was letting their smallness bring out the evil in me. I was allowing myself to be controlled by their hate. I was brimming with hate and vengefulness and spending my time imagining retaliation. None of it was worth my time or energy. None of it was worth sacrificing my character. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
So, as much as I want to write and post a blog entry about the wrongs that have been committed and the wrongs that still seem to be coming at me from a few individuals, I refuse to let hate control me. </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
God is love, so I choose to be fueled by love. <span style="font-size: x-small;">(With a side of fair trade coffee...)</span></div>
</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-5244097705371850952012-08-17T20:28:00.001-04:002012-08-17T20:28:42.178-04:00Back to School<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I don't want to go back to school.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There. I said it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I love my job. No, really. I LOVE IT.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It's just... I love my days with Peanut
more.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Just the thought of spending my days
away from him tightens my chest and encourages sneaky, lurking tears
to make an appearance. I'm <b><i>so</i></b> jealous of mothers who can spend each
day, all day raising their children. Although I love my job and
having the opportunity to spend time with other incredible children,
I want to be with mine. (Stomps foot.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I've <b>never</b> felt bummed about the
start of the school year and it weirds me out, to be honest.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Usually I'm eagerly doodling bulletin
boards and researching new ways to teach inferencing by July 15th.
When August first hits I've knocked off at least 6 professional books
and have bought out the majority of Staples. My classroom is
generally ready to go one week before school starts.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Not this year.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm trying to soak up everysinglesecond
of Peanut time I can. I pause while walking the hallway to smell his
neck, ignore phone calls to enjoy his coos, and have super simple
meals to spend more time singing <i>The Wheels on the Bus</i>. It is
amazing how my world has shifted and I wouldn't have it any other
way.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'd love to say that "I have to go
to work," but the truth is that I <b>choose</b> to go to work.
I suppose I could quit my job and be at home with Peanut all day. I
just don't like the consequences of that, including losing my house
and being unable to support my child. (Note: August is Child Support
Awareness month. As I learn the ins and outs of this system- which
currently feels entirely ineffective- I hope you'll take a moment to
read the stats provided <a href="http://singleparents.about.com/b/2012/08/05/august-is-child-support-awareness-month.htm">here</a>.)
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When you get down to it there are SO
many things I'm looking forward to this school year. I'll have a new
group of students, get to implement The Leader in Me with the Western
staff and be a member of the Lighthouse Team, truly co-teach with
36ish 4th graders, 2 teachers, and 1 room, continue to develop a
rigorous and engaging reading/language arts curriculum with a great
team, and much, much more.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It would be just peachy-perfect if I
could do this while baby-wearing...</div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-73339787063680177242012-08-14T23:17:00.001-04:002012-08-14T23:17:37.482-04:00Grey's Anatomy Is Good Medicine for a Pity Party (See what I did there?)When I really get down about all of the
restm<span style="font-family: Times New Roman, serif;">ü</span>ll (German
reference) in my life, I turn to <i>Grey's Anatomy.</i> No matter
what else is going on, the characters at Seattle Grace can really put
life into perspective. Let me tell you some of the ways their lives
suck more than mine.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
1) I'm not sharing a pole through my
spine with another man and the only way to save him is for me to be
slid off the pole and die before my fiance can get to the hospital
and we can say goodbye.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<img align="BOTTOM" border="0" height="136" name="graphics2" src="http://images.wikia.com/greysanatomy/images/7/74/In2ulikeatrain.jpg" width="320" />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
2) I didn't cut the LVAD wire on my
fiance's heart device in order to put him higher on the transplant
list (which worked, bt-dub) but then watched him die of a stroke. To
make matters worse, he was a millionaire and left 8.7 million to me
and I'm paralyzed with grief and can't use it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<img align="BOTTOM" border="0" height="186" name="graphics1" src="https://encrypted-tbn3.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT4SR7MSZ6fVXK_0-rmKUSG6q_gewrhB-VhjWy4jRipLAKri3I8xA" width="271" />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
3) I don't have the syph via Alex Karev
via a nurse.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<img height="240" src="http://i.ytimg.com/vi/x_rSluJUGYY/0.jpg" width="320" />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
4) I don't have a lesbian lover who got
pregnant via a mutual friend while we were broken up and I was in
Africa. Then, when I asked her to marry me got into a car accident
and I nearly lost said baby and said fiance.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<img height="213" src="http://s3.sidereel.com/cms/posts/159895/large/uploaded_file20110429-10763-29neo5-0." width="320" />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
5) I'm not a world famous surgeon with
a secret hand tremor.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<img height="141" src="http://images.teamsugar.com/files/usr/1/13839/04.preview.jpg" width="320" />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
6) I don't have my hand on an
unexploded bomb inside a man's chest.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<img height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPk4bMmGD39Hs234xJRxpoU5YjtrgohLBWZlEbDMhasdHthKbUxV9Cee4QDFD6NlNRCAlLuxrTZb0hVi7Uq9HhtFyZZlqih1S8M9ZYU7oyDoCsO8kkOOXWkWb8yDyRiwzee9-lYZVhyxg/s1600/meredith+with+hand+in+chest+JPEG.jpg" width="320" />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
7) I wasn't in labor while my husband's
brain was exposed on the operating table after he got in a car crash
rushing to the hospital.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<img src="http://www.aproposofanything.com/images/2006/greys.anatomy.jpg" />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
8) My mom wasn't a world class surgeon
who developed Alzheimers and asked me to keep her secret. Oh, and she
had an affair with my boss's boss's boss while I was growing up.<br />
<img src="http://www.tvedge.net/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/Kate-Burton-Greys-Anatomy-Season-8.jpg" />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And, even though their lives clearly
suck MUCH more than mine, sometimes they say things that hit home.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Addison: I never thought I'd end up
alone.</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Callie: You have not <b>ended up</b>
anywhere.</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Addison: Yeah, you're right. I
know. It's just that... um... sometimes it feels that way. This is
one of those weeks it feels that way.</i><br />
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yuppers, Addison. I
totally feel you, girl. And it sucks.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The other day I was
having dinner with a friend and she commented, "How will you
ever trust someone again?" She is absolutely right. I don't
feel like I could ever let anyone else into Peanut and my life. I
don't want to think about dating, much less remarriage. I've already
given Peanut one crummy male role model, what if I do it again? (In
the same breath, will I let STBX steal romantic love
from me? Forever? That seems, well, uncool.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Being alone is
easier than risking love again. Because, that is the truth. I
absolutely, unequivocally, whole-heartedly loved my husband. I loved
who I thought he was and I believed he loved me that way too. He
wasn't who he portrayed himself to be, and I can't afford to be wrong
twice.</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Meredith
Grey: At some point, you have to
make a decision. Boundaries don’t keep other people out. They
fence you in. Life is messy. That’s how we’re made. So, you can
waste your lives drawing lines. Or you can live your life crossing
them. But there are some lines… that are way too dangerous to
cross. </i></span></span>
</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;">Risking
love seems too dangerous. At least, for now. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">(Though not as dangerous as having my hand inside a stranger's chest touching an unexploded bomb, so that's something.)</span></div>
Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-29709688557678143222012-08-11T09:44:00.002-04:002012-08-11T09:44:44.525-04:00"I Just Don't Know What to Say!"Countless times I've encountered someone in crisis and not know what to say or how to say it. Usually I refer to my honest stand-by "I'm praying for you/your family," but there have been occasions where I've done the Wal-Mart turn around.<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You know it. You see someone coming down the aisle at you and rather than have to deal with a difficult situation you either become engrossed in the varieties of chicken stock and make your decision with the weightiness of deciding whether Luda or Coolio is the greatest hip hop/rap artist since Tupac <i style="font-weight: bold; text-decoration: underline;">or</i> turn your cart around with a sudden desire to return to the pet food aisle. Perhaps the 28 lb. bag will be insufficient.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Having been the recipient of many Wal-Mart turnarounds, I want to share what I've learned. (And if you said anything on the negative lists to me, do NOT feel bad. I know you had the best intention, and I love you for trying. I'm posting this because I think we can better help others in crisis.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><br /></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Things to say when someone is in
crisis:</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm sorry.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You don't deserve this.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Whatever decisions you make are the
right ones.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You don't have to make any decisions
right now.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Life will get better.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You are bigger than this.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You are special.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm thinking about you.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm praying for you.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm here for you.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We can talk about what is going on if
you want, but don't feel like you need to.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I want to help you. I will... (bring
food, take your child to the park, clean your bathroom, rake your
leaves, change your light bulbs, walk your dog, bring you copious
amounts of chocolate...) and I won't take no for an answer.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
How do you want me to feel?<br />
I went through something similar. If you want, we could talk about it.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Ask any concrete question about life.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
One friend made it her mission to make
me laugh. It was wonderful to hear funny stories and receive her
daily text messages of affirmation. How can you be desolate when you have
a stuffed dog shaking his hips to Sir Mix-a-Lot's best hit, "I
Like Big Butts."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>Things not to say:</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I know <i>exactly</i> how you feel. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You need to pray for the strength to
forgive.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
What are you going to do?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
How can I help?<br />
God has His reasons for this.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
How are you doing? (Followed by
sympathetic head tilt.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>The worst:</b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Say nothing.</div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-86812328499975404092012-08-08T19:58:00.002-04:002012-08-08T19:58:58.513-04:00My Secret Shame<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
From March 22, 2012</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I don't know whose brilliant idea it
was to make a pregnant woman pee in a cup on a weekly basis, but I'll
bet all the impulse buys in Target that it wasn't a woman in her 3rd
trimester.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
You see, as the rate of doctor visits
increases, the circumference of belly increases, and the volume of
liquid reduces due the frequent need to release said liquid due to
baby's increasing size and strength of kicks. This creates the
opportunity for a perfect storm in the OBGYN's tiny water closet.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
For those of you who are male or have
yet to enjoy the privilege of carrying a 39 week fetus, I have a
little experiment for you to try.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>Supplies</u></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Twelve ounces of drinkable water</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
One available toilet</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
One Dixie cup</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
One blindfold</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Two extra large pillows</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
One roll of duct tape</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
One XL bag of white flour</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>Procedure</u></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Step 1: Drink water.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Step 2: Lie on floor . Place bag of
flour on your stomach below your navel. Place extra large pillows on
top of flour. Duct tape pillows and flour to your person in a
belt-like fashion. Make it tight. Tighter.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Step 3: Stand. Waddle the floor for 15
minutes.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Step 4: Head to the toilet with a dixie
cup and blindfold. (See where we're going?)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Step 5: Tie on blind fold.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Step 6: Eliminate waste into Dixie cup.
(Note: This may take a fair amount of Cirque du Soleil-ing.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Did you have success?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yeah, me neither. Every week I am weighed (thankyouverymuchfortheextraslidetotheright, nurse), handed a
little cup, and marched into my own version of urine misery. Not
only is it nearly impossible to aim, it is definitely impossible to
see the stream, and incredibly difficult to manage the volume of product.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
If too much product makes it into the
cup I feel embarrassed about my output and generally pour the
superfluous liquid into the toilet. Sometimes then, too much is poured out and I feel the need to refill, increasing the
likelihood of splashing. On other occasions, I struggle to
eliminate anything, much less allow it to make it into the cup. This is far worse, as I then apologize profusely to the nurse as she
tips the cup angularly to check my hCG level.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
After a few mortifying sessions (yep,
I'm the cautionary tale person who dropped the plastic cup into the
porcelain), I imagined bringing a funnel to assist. Its true. I'm a
problem solver.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<img src="https://encrypted-tbn1.google.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcT75OL3yNiYD1Qplw8mZFkT3OvV5nN6cWAzJ2G-KCN2LTsZqkkQ" />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And, it worked.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(Now, you know my secret shame. And,
because I know you're wondering... I threw the funnel away at the
doctor's office. My freezer jam is safe to enjoy.)</span></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-21839766095351404462012-08-08T00:03:00.001-04:002012-08-08T00:03:09.779-04:00Happy? Un-niversary<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUTWiSwNho4jvW1Pk6IIunbrwYKA-nNc-VG6BlwE-KpCNsVgyQJ5KIuqfkYRx04D_WPHfQ9W8mDxckQ5KiZmJBWd-tTCzj2kcMW4AfMtfSBkynFSXakWfodPR0SUxD_6_mzIxymZHzFfY/s1600/7.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUTWiSwNho4jvW1Pk6IIunbrwYKA-nNc-VG6BlwE-KpCNsVgyQJ5KIuqfkYRx04D_WPHfQ9W8mDxckQ5KiZmJBWd-tTCzj2kcMW4AfMtfSBkynFSXakWfodPR0SUxD_6_mzIxymZHzFfY/s320/7.bmp" width="320" /></a></div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">Three Years Ago</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Three years ago, today, I vowed before
God, my family, and my friends to love honor and cherish my husband.
I gleefully and whole-heartedly promised to love him and to be faithful to him. My heart was light with joy
and soppy-full of happyhope. I thought that 8/8/09 was the beginning of
my happily ever after. Just over 30 months later I signed papers
filing for divorce. I felt (and sometimes still feel) like a failure.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Going to a Christian counselor was one
of the best decisions I made these past 6 months and he has really
helped me handle this feeling, "I am a failure."
Basically, he explained that just like it takes two to tango, it
takes two committed people to make a marriage. When one person
refused to be committed and actively chose to break vows repeatedly,
the other cannot make a marriage alone. It just isn't possible. Even
so, I regularly have to talk myself through his example to keep from
getting down on myself.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm not sure how to celebrate this
'un-niversary.' Technically, today I have been married for 3 years.
Do I cry about the loss of the marriage I thought I had? Do I hide
out in my living room order to spare anyone the uncomfortable
situation of seeing me today? Do I go on as though life is normal?
Does Hallmark even have a card for this? (If not, I bet
someecards.com does...)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<img align="BOTTOM" border="0" height="220" name="graphics2" src="http://static.someecards.com/someecards/usercards/1344234357070_5275782.png" width="320" />
</div>
<div align="CENTER" style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">(And, they did!)</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I feel some sadness at the loss of
those dreams I imagined. On our wedding day, I could picture being
surrounded by family and friends 10, 25, and 50 years down the road.
I never visualized that exactly three years later I would be alone
listening to the deep breathing of our sleeping son and he would be
serving jail time. Who could have forseen this?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I don't miss STBX (soon to be ex- which
is the nicest acronym I can come up with) and don't want him back.
(Ever. Evereverevereverever.) I don't want my marriage back. I'm so
much less lonely now than I was living with him.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Even so, today I'm mourning. This
should have been a day marked with celebration, or at least happy
acknowledgment, but instead it commemorates a lost dream.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Time to dream a new dream.</div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-19870446918705599912012-08-07T02:20:00.001-04:002012-08-07T13:44:25.712-04:00He Doesn't Owe Me Squat<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
May 8, 2012</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In the days between January 25th (the
afternoon I found out about STBX's- Soon T Be eX- infidelities) and April 2nd (when
Peanut was born) I worried. A lot. To those of you who know me or
read <a href="http://ourduetasatrio.blogspot.com/"><span style="background-color: white; background-position: initial initial; background-repeat: initial initial;">this</span><span style="background-color: white;"> blog</span></a>, it
should come as no surprise that I worried.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Throughout those weeks, I was so
fearful about life. I felt certain that something would be wrong
with my little Peanut. Colic. Birth defects. Stillbirth.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My brilliant therapist said it best,
"If I were driving my car along a road and it felt a little off,
I would think, 'No big deal. I'll stop by a mechanic's shop and have
the engine looked at. This is a problem I can fix." Then, while
driving to the mechanic's out of nowhere a MAC TRUCK plows into me.
I would then think that life was unpredictable and scary."
(Metaphorical genius, he is.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
That was exactly how I felt about life.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When I shared my concerns with many
others they assured me, "Your baby will be just fine. He will
be born healthy, happy, and beautiful. God wouldn't add any more
difficulties to your life. He knows just how much you're dealing
with."
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And then, I would feel better. 'Of
course. God loves me. He doesn't want hardship to come to me. He will
protect Peanut. He wouldn't give me more to handle right now.' I
would be smug and comforted by the thought until the fears would
return.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
One day I shared my fears with one of
the most faith-filled women I know, who also happened to be a
colleague. She looked me in the eye and told me that my worries
could be true. Peanut might not be healthy. She shared, "God
doesn't owe you anything, Ashley. You owe him everything, and for
everything he gives you, you should rejoice and be thankful."</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Owie.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Her words stung, but the more I thought
about and prayed about them, the more I knew she was right. God
doesn't owe anyone anything. He loves us and wants the best for us,
sure.* But it is in hardship that many find faith or deepen their
relationship with Him. Isn't that a blessing in itself?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was only through her words that I
gained true relief. Whatever happened to Peanut and me would be okay
because we had a powerful, loving God who gave his son for us (and
you). He doesn't owe me anything, so I should give thanks for
everything.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Everything.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*I assume and hope based on the
experiences of my faith journey. It seems awfully cocky to say I know
what God is thinking. </span></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-16546751177681599692012-08-05T10:02:00.002-04:002012-08-05T10:07:44.116-04:00Sleep Training Isn't for Sissies or In Which I Get Belligerent with a Book<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Mommy hearts aren't meant to let their
sweet babies cry. As I sit here in the overstuffed armchair my dad
reclaims on every visit to my home, all I want to do is go rescue my
adorable son from his loneliness. You see, we are sleep training. He is in his Rock'n'Play. Alone. I am in the living room. Alone. The dog is pacing the hallway, clearly unsure of why I am letting his little brother cry (evidenced by the way he nudges my hand or knee every three laps.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Peanut is sad. I am sad. We are sad. (Je
vous en prie, repete, "Peanut est desole. Je suis desole. Nous
sommes desole.")</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
(Aside: That French was probably VERY
inaccurate. Since studying French I've <i>attempted</i> German and
Russian. Truthfully, I stink at them all. Sorry Madame Hodge, Keeta, and Maike.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I could fix our saddies SO easily. Walk
into the room. Pick up Peanut. Cuddle. Problem fixed.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxjvzzLNz1HPFGJmRRf7JlRua7HXwwUWw1JLy_Nkr-N-p2vtRo1tSVOeuqw-SG5Z8XqXUGiix68Z1KTumk-THgFEWLp1K82Oq4XUvrvqPefIdSvNdQDa3xV2ROq_590hUXIF5eWcL27Y/s1600/P6070053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxjvzzLNz1HPFGJmRRf7JlRua7HXwwUWw1JLy_Nkr-N-p2vtRo1tSVOeuqw-SG5Z8XqXUGiix68Z1KTumk-THgFEWLp1K82Oq4XUvrvqPefIdSvNdQDa3xV2ROq_590hUXIF5eWcL27Y/s320/P6070053.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<b><i>Yay! Mommy fixed the saddies!</i></b></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
For now.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Unfortunately, I want Peanut to learn
to self-soothe. For a few nights I've attempted to put him to bed
awake, but drowsy after our nighttime routine. Every night except
last night he fell asleep before I put him down. Last night he was
drowsy and whimpered for a few minutes before crashing.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Tonight he was drowsy, but has now
worked himself into a frenzy equal to the crowd waiting in line for deep fried Oreos at the Ohio state fair. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
In an effort to keep my tush in this
chair I am reading and rereading <u>Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child</u>
by Marc Weissbluth. My belligerance with this author is
increasing. Example:</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>HSHHC: This may be the first time
you will ignore your child's protests.</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Me: No shit, Sherlock. Baby cries.
Mommy fixes. Repeat. I want him to know that he can rely on me.
Always. Leo+Mommy=Rainbows, push up pops, and cherry kool-aid
happiness</i></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimEoTPzfv9R3LV3Zh_jsFlyAGHAUBYif1spGR3_IljS9paaOfzQcwBCbr1CJkRZ_CQZvWKVLLQb2Y5V7JmgKeu-zB1xjWRj7jyVzHuF6ZRJy8J7-f8Z0zjDPnK6BSGW19Z5DX-RxU6eYs/s1600/June+2011+122.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimEoTPzfv9R3LV3Zh_jsFlyAGHAUBYif1spGR3_IljS9paaOfzQcwBCbr1CJkRZ_CQZvWKVLLQb2Y5V7JmgKeu-zB1xjWRj7jyVzHuF6ZRJy8J7-f8Z0zjDPnK6BSGW19Z5DX-RxU6eYs/s320/June+2011+122.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
<i><b>See how happy cherry kool-aid can make one?</b></i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>HSHHC: When your child is crying and
he is not hungry, say to yourself, "My baby is crying because he
loves me so much he wants my company, but he needs to sleep."</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Me: Precisely! I will cuddle him as
he sleeps. Agreed! (Begins to get up from chair as the next sentence
catches her eye.)</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>HSHHC: I know the value of good
sleep...</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Me: (Warily agreeing) Yes...</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>HSHHC: ... and I love my baby so
much that I am going to let him sleep.</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Me: Damn you, Weissy. (Internal
dilemna) Now if I go get him, The Weisster will accuse me of not
loving him enough to give him quality sleep. Grr. (Booty resumes
imprinting on chair.)</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>HSHHC: At some future point you will
teach other health habits such as hand washing or tooth brushing...
Later still, you're not going to risk brain damage by letting him
ride his bike without a helmet.</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Me: You're seriously equating
picking up my crying, lonely 4 month infant with potential brain
damage!? If I refill his disposable water bottle at socer practice
when he is four, I suppose I'd be supporting cancer too, huh. </i>
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>HSHCC: Starting early and being
consistent are the keys to establishing good habits.</i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Me: Grrrr. Every once in awhile I
agree with your drivel, and there you go, hitting my beginning of the
school year theory perfectly. Rats. </i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i>Hey... Leo is silent... Thanks, Dr. Weissbluth. (Until tomorrow, you blizzard-hating sadist.)</i></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-5979802498443556612012-08-04T08:23:00.002-04:002012-08-04T08:23:26.196-04:00Soldier On<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm totally overwhelmed by the response to this blog.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
April 19, 2012
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
When I found out that my husband made
choices which caused him to lose his job via resignation and deeply
threatened the fiber of our marriage, I got out of bed. Despite the
fact that I was 32 weeks pregnant, I got out of bed. Even though all
I wanted to do was hide in bed with my dog and a box of Puffs Plus
Lotion or do a full-out Jimi Hendrix on my kitchen floor, I got up.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Why?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Simple. I didn't have a choice.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I had a mortgage. I had a classroom of
twenty-eight 4th graders who were in the middle of writing personal
narratives. I had a car payment, a credit card bill, and utilities to
pay. There were pets to feed. I had a baby on the way and a life to
make for him.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'd love to say it was my faith, or my
family, or my friends, or my own determination that gave me the power
to go on with day-to-day life, but the truth is starkly clear. I had no choice.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
My life was falling apart all around
me. If I laid in bed it would only continue to collapse, and I felt
like I was dealing with enough problems for the moment. Someone had
to step up and use the initial bits of duct tape and WD40 to begin to
repair my life. That someone, by default, was me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So, if you wondered how I went to work,
or the grocery store, or to the doctor those days immediately
following January 25th, now you know. I didn't have a choice.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-76232929171317499972012-08-02T06:14:00.000-04:002012-08-02T06:14:12.591-04:00woManning Up<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="background-color: white;">From July 24, 2012</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
While revising and editing another blog
entry I felt my spine tingle and then a trickle of wiggling snaked
from my right shoulder to my left and back.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Was is a poignant observation?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A moment of foreboding?
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
A tickle of woman's intuition?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Nope. It was a bug. A shiny, jadeblack,
six-legged creature. On my person.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Twelve months ago I might have shrieked
and called in back-ups to kill it. I would have wiggled and itched
and been creeped out simply by sitting in the same chair.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Not any more. When I reached around to
scratch the wiggly spot and felt the bug move between my fingers I
grabbed and threw that sucker to the ground in surprise. Then, I
grabbed a paper towel and tracked down the invading creature,
determine to destroy (or perhaps trap under a glass and release in
the wild) the cretin.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I found. I smooshed. I flushed.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Victory.</div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-62024447493381380232012-08-01T13:53:00.001-04:002012-08-01T22:26:35.331-04:00Do You Think God Uses Microsoft Publisher?<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
How do you know when you've really,
truly, waydowninthedepthsofyourheart forgiven? Is it when you don't
feel angry, sad, or lost at the mention of their name? Is it when you
can calmly occupy the same space? Is it when you can pray that good
things will come to them?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I'm still not sure.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Beginning in May I began giving real
effort to forgiving those people who hurt me. I prayed for peace in
my heart. During May, June, and the early part of July I cried every
time I said the Lord's Prayer.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
What kind of a hypocrite was I? Daily,
I would ask God to forgive me as I forgave those who trespassed
against me (or whatever language you use- debtors, sinners...) yet I
was holding on to pain and anger and not forgiving.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I told myself that I had to do it, even
though they weren't asking for forgiveness. I wasn't forgiving them
for their sake, I was forgiving them for my sake. Finally I talked
about this with my counselor. I wanted to know how I would know
that I had really forgiven. I think I asked about a certificate
signed and dated by God with a shiny foil seal. (Maybe stamped with a
cross or a Jesusfish...) He laughed and then mentioned that perhaps
it wasn't <i>them</i> I was failing to forgive.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
It was me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I couldn't forgive myself for not
giving my sweet Peanut an intact, loving, two-parent family. When I
got married I did it believing I was choosing the best father for my
children- a real man who would provide spiritually, emotionally,
financially, and physically. A man who would put his family before
himself. I come from a long line of men who have done this and
Peanut was named for two of the greatest examples I've known of what
it means to be an upstanding, loving man.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I chose... poorly. (Indiana Jones
reference intended.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I couldn't forgive my inaccurate
assessment and the way my choice in a partner would affect Peanut's
life forever.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Now, I think I'm closer than ever to
forgiving myself. The grief is not as stinging and comes at less
frequent intervals. Above all, it took the two of us to make the one
amazing little Peanut. I would go through the hardships of the past
8-10 months one million more times just to have him again.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
So when it happens, I'd really like a Microsoft
Publisher certificate acknowledging my achievement.</div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-55126055679466020802012-08-01T00:25:00.002-04:002012-08-01T00:25:38.039-04:00Beginning with the End in Mind<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I loved being pregnant. Every day felt
like an opportunity to give my sweet baby the best start that I and
life had to offer. In spite of the weight gain, bad skin, lack of
red wine, and morning sickness (one of the best kept pregnancy
secrets is that puking can't tell time...), I felt like I held the
most glee-filled, chocolate doughnutty, confetti tossing secret ever.
I was making a person. A bone fide eyelashes, spleen, and toenail
possessing b-a-b-y.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Despite my love of pregnancy, life at
home wasn't good. I'm sure I'll share more details about life during
those months as I continue to blog, but in short, I was spending a
lot of extra time at school. I felt capable and respected there. I
didn't have to tiptoe to maintain peace or fudge the truth to make
others believe that all was well. Neither I, nor any of my family
members, nor any friend knew all of what was lurking beneath the
surface of my well-manicured life.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I mentioned <a href="http://ourduetasatrio.blogspot.com/">here</a> that I was using my
blog as an escape. It wasn't that I lied in my blog, but I made the
decision to look for the most silverypink moments in my life, take the
time to document them, and be grateful for the beauty God was giving
me.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Please accept my apology for keeping
many truths from you. This blog will be different. It is a place
for me to heal, to find humor in life with a growing (far too quickly
for my liking) baby boy, to help others in crisis, and to regain the
heart I nearly lost. </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #93c47d;"><u>Gratitude List</u></span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #93c47d;">Coffee at Sweet Aromas with mom and
Peanut</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #93c47d;">A 40 minute late morning nap</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #93c47d;">Getting two 'prep for school' tasks
finished</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #93c47d;">Watching G-Mac improvise an awesome
dino story for Peanut</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #93c47d;">Safe travels for the 'Six Pack'</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #93c47d;">Wolfie was fine after taking a tumble
in the backyard</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #93c47d;">Dinner and HP1 with Robbie</span></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: #93c47d;">Blogging while snacking on one of Margie's chocolate chippers</span></div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-15126455216572634252012-07-30T18:18:00.001-04:002012-07-30T18:18:37.303-04:00DIY<span style="background-color: white;">7.16.12</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Time to come clean.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Today I used a serrated knife and a
glass cutting board to cut a roll of paper towels in half. Then, I
made my own baby wipes.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
The appeal of saving money was too
great for me resist any longer. I am becoming a granola-mama.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I baby-wear. I breastfeed exclusively.
I carefully considered buying a bracelet made of teething beads. I
google baby food recipes. I grew food in my own garden to use in the
baby-food-making endeavor. I don't even like the outside, so how in
the world did I become mother-earth?</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Pinterest.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
As soon as I heard of Pinterest last
summer I knew it would be trouble. Crafts? Recipes? Cleaning tips?
Classroom ideas? Dream home decorating and baby picture taking? I
love all of those things. I knew Pinterest would be my kryptonite.
(Second only to absinthe-kryptonite... Long story involving a Russian
train, a lighter, honey beer, a toothbrush, and an embarrassingly
nice train attendant. Maybe I'll tell about it later.)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I held out as friends, family members,
and acquaintances invited me to join their craft cult for 11 months.
Then, I gave in. It's no big deal, I told myself. Maybe you can just
look...</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
They were making the cutest crafts, the
most delicious desserts, to do lists from frames, chicken wire,
staples, dryer lint, and spit, not to mention they now knew 101 ways
to make their windows shine. It was like MacGyver hooked up with
Martha Stewart (pre-prison) and I needed in on their craft baby. Now,
I limit my Pinterest time to 1 nursing session per day (okay, 2
single-sides...) Also, I promised myself that I must accomplish 2
things on my boards each week. So far, success.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
And so, tonight I made my own baby
wipes. They smell like lovely, clean baby tush. I'm totally doing it
again.<br />
<br />
And then, I'll chop down a sapling to create a teething toy.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<u>Gratitude list from 7/16/2012</u></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Listening to Leo's baby snores while
blogging</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Swimming with mom, Leo, Aunt Jill and
her girls today</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Catching up with Shanel at the grocery
store</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Good weigh-in session with Saundra, the
lactation consultant at MRH</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Getting to repin "DIY Diaper
Wipes" on the "Did It" board</div>
</div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1258845920425338369.post-69375382842247080222012-07-30T02:40:00.003-04:002012-07-30T02:40:54.767-04:00One Year<span style="background-color: white;">Exactly one year ago I found out that I
would become a mommy. At the time I tried to imagine what my life
would be like in a year, and I saw so many changes in my future like
strollers, mommy and me groups, dirty diapers and toothless grins. I
saw a little trio crowding a hospital bed, at the baptismal font, and
pushing a stroller to the board office on a walk around the park. I
saw pumpkin carving, Christmas family photos in red and green clothes, and blowing out the
candles on a first birthday cake. I thought, "Next year, my life
will be SO different than it is now."</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I could have never imagined exactly how
true this sentiment would prove to be.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I never imagined I would be getting
divorced.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I never imagined how overwhelming
childbirth could be or how loving hospital nurses could be.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I never imagined so many living things
would depend on me alone.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I never imagined I would worry so much
about finances or the fear of breaking a bone (How would I carry a
diaper bag and a car seat?) or the fear of someone breaking into my
home.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I never imagined the fortitude and
faith of my family.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I never imagined the people who
betrayed, manipulated, and lied to me.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I never imagined the friendships that
reconnected.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I never imagined that I would accept
blame I didn't deserve and abuse I shouldn't have received.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I never imagined the depth of
relationship with Jesus I could have.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I never imagined the number of friends
and family who came to my aid the moment I needed them and stayed
involved in my life despite my desire to grieve alone.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I never imagined I would have a lawyer
and a therapist on my speed dial.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I never imagined exactly how much I
would need my parents, brother, and sister-in-law and how those
relationships were tightly woven.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I never imagined the strength of the
community that surrounded me and my Peanut with love and prayers.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Most of all, I never imagined the
fierce, all-encompassing love I would have for my beautiful, strong
baby boy.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
I never imagined exactly how much
better my life would be, but one year later here we are. Rising.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFkgde-xpKjh-E_RDzkf1O3iePupsNhXEd703dJKSq6dyl0G4mqCYBzssmV_INi_XHWNUI644gJ16g6ahzwEV_KMQGbCimstROO7Ua1uaWR70XrHTKWZtcr9V2d_jjJScEzNl2C7srH-k/s1600/Stanford164.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFkgde-xpKjh-E_RDzkf1O3iePupsNhXEd703dJKSq6dyl0G4mqCYBzssmV_INi_XHWNUI644gJ16g6ahzwEV_KMQGbCimstROO7Ua1uaWR70XrHTKWZtcr9V2d_jjJScEzNl2C7srH-k/s320/Stanford164.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: center;">
Photo Courtesy of Kodi Moser (Memories for a Lifetime)</div>Ashleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01373188055719223691noreply@blogger.com1