tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52227809465404853792024-03-13T11:50:28.560-04:00Here OnlyMy thoughts, reflections, and moments of insanity from the many places that have been and will be home...Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.comBlogger340125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-32141881178203219782012-02-20T12:43:00.000-05:002012-02-20T12:43:28.767-05:00This will not be a cancer blog... okay?But. The "C" word has invaded our lives. There's some of you who might still check this and might only get this news if I type the words here. And, well, if it were you, I'd want to know.<br />
<br />
Several weeks ago, an MRI showed a large brain tumor on the front right lobe of my brain. I've had surgery which was deemed "successful," in that I'm alive, have brain function and the tumor - as far as it was visible - has been removed. Unfortunately, pathology shows that the tumor is a grade 3 anaplastic astrocytoma. That's not the worst kind of brain tumor you can have, but it does have signs of malignancy. Grade 3s turn into grade 4s. And, to be honest, Grade 4s (statistically) kill you.<br />
<br />
Oh, and you know what else I forgot to tell you? I'm pregnant. Oh yes, this situation is a wee bit complicated. I am 17 weeks pregnant with what appears to be a little boy. He made it fabulously through the surgery and has passed all of his prenatal tests with flying colors. And I thank God every day for the gift of life I have growing inside me.<br />
<br />
I will need to begin radiation therapy in the next several weeks. The first step is healing from surgery. And there is a lot to be determined and talked through about how to protect Baby while we effectively treat me.<br />
<br />
So, this is scary. I'm not scared of death. I'm scared of leaving my family. I kind of feel like they need me around. : )<br />
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Ok, I'm closing comments on this one. Not because I don't appreciate your words. The prayers and encouragement of strangers have been humbling and appreciated. But, because I'm needing to guard myself against a few things:<br />
<br />
1) Because we live and exist primarily in the Christian world, there are a lot of "Christian" things to say. Some of things are just not true. God loves me, and He has great promises that I can rely on. But He has never promised my health, security or an easy day. He has never promised me that every prayer I pray (with as much faith as I can muster) will be returned with the answer I want. And, still I ask Him to heal me. I ask Him that I will stand next to Ben during every happy and sad moment in his life, and that I will be the one to have an opinion on my kids' boyfriends and girlfriends and micromanage their lives.<br />
<br />
2) I need to guard myself against false encouragement. Everyone is quick to tell me how "great I'm doing." You all are so sweet! Well, to be honest, I'm lying on the couch. Which is fine. I'm pretty sure that's expected. I have like 100 stitches in my head and a large air-filled hole in my brain where a tumor used to be. I'm pregnant and my back hurts. I don't think I should be "handling" this differently. But even kind words can send a message that there's a right way and a wrong way to trust Jesus when life is scary. I'm still working out what it looks like for me.<br />
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But I hope it means worship. Worshipping Him when there's nothing in it for me. Well, there is, it's just not what I necessarily wanted :)<br />
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A few more thoughts: When you find a good man, marry him. When you say "in sickness and in health," mean it realizing that it can really, really suck and be really, really ugly. Gosh, I need Ben right now. To get me a chicago-style hot dog from sonic. And to do a number of other things for me that are embarrassing and horrible and sweet and patient.<br />
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And when you get to 10 years, spend the money, use the frequent-flyer miles and go to Hawaii. Because you seriously have no idea what year 11 will bring.<br />
<br />
And develop good friendships. Because your husband isn't the best one to pick out cute hair accessories or paint your nails.<br />
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This will probably be the last post here. Ben and I (with the help of good friends) have re-launched our family site, and you can get more info there. <a href="http://www.benandsusiethomas.com/">www.benandsusiethomas.com</a>. There's a sweet video update from him with more details and stuff. Thanks for your prayers for all of us!Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-68259650886518423982011-10-16T15:27:00.000-04:002011-10-16T15:27:32.008-04:00Halloween, Part IWhat better to bring me out of my blogging funk than my favorite holiday? Halloween!<br />
<br />
Let's review: I love making costumes. I love candy. I love cool, sunny days. I love pumpkins. I love making costumes. I force my kids to have coordinating costumes (at least two of them anyway).<br />
<br />
<a href="http://elizabethkoproski.blogspot.com/">E</a> mocks me for spending time doing what Party City has already done. Yes, well. I prefer not buying poorly made scraps of polyester in favor of littering my house with poorly made scraps of fleece, felt, and hot glue. To each her own.<br />
<br />
Well, I thought I'd go ahead and post my kids' costumes because they had an early party this year, which means that I had to get it together early this year, which means that if you're looking for an easy DIY costume, you can take these ideas and run with them. Because they are cheap, accessible, and easy.<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-52l7WCEQ1go/Tpssec2leCI/AAAAAAAAEcY/UAMv0i1CFdc/s1600/photo+1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-52l7WCEQ1go/Tpssec2leCI/AAAAAAAAEcY/UAMv0i1CFdc/s320/photo+1.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a><br />
<b>Simon & Charlie wanted to be Mario and Luigi. </b>Well, Charlie hasn't a clue who Luigi is. But he likes to do whatever Simon is doing, so it all works out well. These costumes were perfect and so easy.<br />
1) Overalls. Overalls for a two-year-old are a cinch to find. For a six-year-old? Not so much. Beg on facebook until you find some.<br />
2) Green shirt, red shirt. Plato's closet.<br />
3) Mustashes: dollar store.<br />
4) Hats. Found these on Amazon for a few of bucks each. (Plus, they're prime eligible).<br />
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</div><a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/61VK7M72mqL._SL1000_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/61VK7M72mqL._SL1000_.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/511PGcfnV6L._SL1000_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/511PGcfnV6L._SL1000_.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="200" /></a><br />
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</div>5) Gloves. Amazon again.<br />
<a href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41mgsHN7+yL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41mgsHN7+yL._SL500_AA300_.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
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6) White craft foam for the M & L circles.<br />
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Too much cuteness!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZZxiMaWO1yg/TpssfmYE9yI/AAAAAAAAEco/c52JF3yV8Y0/s1600/photo+3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZZxiMaWO1yg/TpssfmYE9yI/AAAAAAAAEco/c52JF3yV8Y0/s320/photo+3.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<b>Simon wanted Ben to be Toad. </b><br />
Ben was thrilled.<br />
He loves Halloween as much as I do.<br />
In fact, every year he begs me to think of costume ideas for him. He especially loves it when my ideas include him wearing tights or being shirtless or wearing ridiculous things on his head.<br />
<br />
So, when I made him this giant mushroom head, he could barely contain himself. I know your husband wants one too, so here you go: (adapted from <a href="http://www.groovykidstuff.com/?p=167">here</a>)<br />
<br />
1) Buy 1/2 yard of white fleece. Fleece is stretchy, which works out perfectly here.<br />
2) Double up the material and cut out a circle - so you end up with two large circles.<br />
3) In one circle, cut another small circle in the middle so you have a doughnut. This is the head hole, but make it a a LOT smaller than the head you are fitting.<br />
4) Put the two circles together and sew around the edge. Flip it inside out.<br />
5) Tear apart a pillow and put the stuffing into your mushroom.<br />
6) So that the stuffing doesn't fall out all over your husband's head (even though he is SO in the spirit of the holiday that he wouldn't even mind), take a piece of fabric (I used a cloth napkin) and lay it over the stuffing. You're too lazy to sew it, so just place it there and tell him to be careful.<br />
7) Cut circles of red felt and hot glue them on.<br />
8) Stick it on his head and tell him how much you love him.<br />
9) Put pictures of him on facebook and then giggle with each comment that comes in.<br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bj7IfnleoiU/TpssfKW2h_I/AAAAAAAAEcg/L2-nO1qx4j8/s1600/photo+2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Bj7IfnleoiU/TpssfKW2h_I/AAAAAAAAEcg/L2-nO1qx4j8/s320/photo+2.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a><br />
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Talya wanted to be My Little Pony. I have no idea why. But, since I liked My Little Pony when I was a little girl, she is more than allowed to like it today. After figuring out to dye and curl dollar store hair, I canned that idea. Too much work and kinda gross looking in the end.<br />
<br />
I went with a ribbon headpiece which was cute.<br />
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She wouldn't let me take pictures, but if I can get some I'll post more about her costume because it was cute.Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-60761869885071627972011-08-27T12:22:00.000-04:002011-08-27T12:22:28.696-04:00Help! Conflicted about The HelpI'm not sure if I'm going to publish this. It's kind of a charged subject and I am certainly not the expert.<br />
<br />
<i>The Help.</i><br />
<br />
I read it. I loved it. Like, really, really loved it. I've been waiting/dying for a chance to see it in the theater. And then I did the thing that I usually do that generally sucks the fun from what I like (see Thanksgiving). I did <a href="http://therumpus.net/2011/08/the-solace-of-preparing-fried-foods-and-other-quaint-remembrances-from-1960s-mississippi-thoughts-on-the-help/#author-bio">some reading</a>. <b>I tried to see the thing that gave me joy through the eyes of someone else. Someone who was crying tears of hurt and anger while I was weeping with sentimentality and warmth.</b><br />
<br />
Ugh. The thing is that I live in this world and you live in this world, but depending on who you are, where you were born, what color your skin is, how much money you have, etc., our worlds are not at all the same. And I need to know that. I need to see it. Because if someone doesn't show it to me, I will go along ignorantly celebrating things that hurt people.<br />
<br />
I have to come to grips with White Privilege. And when I think I start to, I get blindsided again by another reminder that I haven't at all. That I have so far to go. I'm embarrassed and ashamed each time my eyes are opened again and my head is turned towards The Ugly (and I realize I'm looking at myself).<br />
<br />
When I was in college, I learned how to do thoughtful feminist media criticism. I had this great teacher. She was a single, older woman who had a very-easy-to-mock way of speaking. Most people hated taking her classes, and I did at first too. But then I jumped all in to a paper critiquing <i>Fried Green Tomatoes</i> from a feminist perspective. I typed terms like "patriarchy" and "phallic symbol" and other things the likes of which my 3.5" disk drive had never known before. And I learned. I learned to look for meaning and symbolism and types and it made me a better thinker.<br />
<br />
It was empowering for me to look at things through that lens because I was a (young, naive) woman.<br />
<br />
I never looked at a film through the lens of a different oppressed minority. It never really crossed my mind.<br />
<br />
In the past few years, I've been trying to do that. See my things and my purchases through the lens of poverty. See Thanksgiving through the eyes of someone living on an Indian reservation. Read a patriotic slogan with the eyes of an innocent Muslim that's been randomly searched too many times. Hear my spiritual cliches through the ears of someone who is hurting and rejected.<br />
<br />
I'll be honest - it's pretty depressing. What's even more depressing is thinking I'm doing it, and realizing I'm not doing it well enough.<br />
<br />
So, here's the thing about <i>The Help</i>. Someone could probably argue the racial harmlessness of the book. (I guess?) But, if it hurts others, if it reinforces ugly stereotypes, if it assuages in any way necessary responsibility for racial harm, then I don't want my voice to be in the chorus of "oooohs" that you hear in the back of the theater.<br />
<br />
After getting a different perspective on <i>The Help</i>, I was a little devastated. (Can you be "a little" devastated? That's what I was - wrecked, but probably not enough) And, then I listened to the Voice.<br />
<br />
<blockquote>The gospel is for this too. For every time that I should have known better and didn't. For every time I have valued my entertainment over someone else's reality. For every time I thought I was thinking through race "better" than someone else. For every time my heart is defensive. For every time I don't "consider others higher than myself."</blockquote><br />
Which is a lot.<br />
<br />
The gospel is for this; it is for me. It's to make my heart soft and my mind sharp. It's to do the difficult, messy work of restoration - not to make it look like no work is needed. And it is to forgive me, even before I realize how much I need it.<br />
<br />
<br />
Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-29803253364943440282011-08-24T20:17:00.001-04:002011-08-24T20:22:10.385-04:00KindergartenThis school year started out rough. I planned our vacation right over the first day. Simon and Ben had to fly back early to be here for school. I was unprepared on many levels: 1) That school could possibly start as early as the 18th. I mean, really? 2) That in "real school" there are "absences" and "tardies." I was late every day last year for 9:00 pre-K and this year he starts at 8:15. Eek. 3) Uniforms. The girl who once wore gus macker men's boxer shorts to school as clothing is now mother to a rule-following young man who must be in logo-free polo shirts every day.<br />
<br />
I at least managed to find all of the school supplies, including the very specific and elusive 6 x 8, 24-page spiral bound sketch book. I was minutes from stapling some copy paper together when I resorted to Amazon. I'm still delinquent in coming up with the smock that must be large enough to fit over his clothes, but not so baggy that it gets in the paint, but also can not go over the head.<br />
<br />
But the ramification of all-day school that I'm living with now is one that you moms who have preceded me probably know all too well: the contempt.<br />
<br />
I am the dumbest person my son has ever met. I swear. If this is 6, I am NOT going to do well with 16.<br />
<br />
So far tonight,<br />
<br />
<ul><li>I've been blamed for the fact that he hasn't done his "homework," which is coloring two sheets. It doesn't actually appear to be due back to school. He told me I'm "distracting" him by asking him questions, like, "Do you want to watch a movie?"</li>
<li>He indignantly demanded that he needs to do his "practice reading." The first two words of the book were "I have." He told me that he sounded them out and it says, "itch." I told him that that was a great guess, and explained about that little space that tells us where one words starts and one ends. He informed me just how wrong I am and that there is no way that I by itself is a word. I offered to read him the story and he told me that I couldn't because I would read it wrong.</li>
<li>He has told me numerous times tonight that he's angry with me. Apparently for walking into the room.</li>
<li>Pretty much if eye-rolling were a tone of voice (and I think we can all agree that it is), that's all I've been hearing tonight.</li>
</ul><div>Day 5 of Kindergarten and my baby has already decided he's smarter than me. At least my two-year-old's temper tantrums are seeming adorable in comparison.</div>Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-64739423358052225872011-08-08T15:38:00.000-04:002011-08-08T15:38:31.209-04:00Pin-it Cynic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DTW6TqdG6oM/TkA4lwCHN1I/AAAAAAAAEcM/zH_yBKp4r_w/s1600/pin-it+cynic.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="136" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DTW6TqdG6oM/TkA4lwCHN1I/AAAAAAAAEcM/zH_yBKp4r_w/s320/pin-it+cynic.png" width="320" /></a></div><div>So, I've been gone a while. I have lots of reasons for that - big and small; good and trivial. I'm sort of in process of figuring out if I want to keep this bloggity-blog going, or if I'm ready to shut 'er down.</div><div><br />
</div><div>One of the trivial reasons that I haven't been writing may or may not have something to do with the inordinate amount of time I spend on <a href="http://www.pinterest.com/">pinterest</a>. I only have so much time-to-waste-on-the-internet, and I've got to spend it somewhere. Time wasted on pinterest is equal to the time you waste surfing pinterest multiplied the time you spend shopping for and implementing pinterest projects. Like this:</div><div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Heb-1AfUzYU/TkA0bHpHfEI/AAAAAAAAEcE/_iKUf6HS7A8/s1600/pinterest.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="26" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Heb-1AfUzYU/TkA0bHpHfEI/AAAAAAAAEcE/_iKUf6HS7A8/s400/pinterest.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As you can see, facebook is a much more efficient waste of your time. That equation looks a little like this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aXtvfRPClYg/TkA1v4WXBLI/AAAAAAAAEcI/3UFcZMnWnG4/s1600/facebook.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="28" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-aXtvfRPClYg/TkA1v4WXBLI/AAAAAAAAEcI/3UFcZMnWnG4/s400/facebook.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ok, they're both kind of time-sucks.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyway, while I figure out the deep meaning of my blog and my relationship with the internet, I thought I'd start a little series entitled, "The Pin-it Cynic." In this series, I will illustrate why we pinners can get a little pin-happy and start calling things "brilliant" that are, in fact, really bad ideas.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Obviously, this is just my opinion. It might be an idea that completely works for you. So don't let me stop you. And please don't get offended if I feature something that you pinned. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Oh, and this is probably a good time to point out that I loooooooove Pinterest. It's the organizational system I've used with the most consistency to date. That's saying something.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here's an example of something you might see on the Pin-it Cynic:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div><div style="line-height: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/102935620/" target="_blank"><img 667'="" border="0" src="http://d30opm7hsgivgh.cloudfront.net/upload/102935620_i7bMzKfC_c.jpg" width="500 height =" /></a></div><div style="float: left; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><div style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px;">Source: <a href="http://lace-nail-art.tumblr.com/page/3" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;">lace-nail-art.tumblr.com</a> via <a href="http://pinterest.com/kmorganh13/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Karen</a> on <a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div></div></div><div><br />
<br />
<i>In the time it took that girl to paint her nails like cupcakes, I could have baked a whole batch of the real thing. In the time it takes for her artwork to flake off while doing the dishes, I could consume about 6 of them.</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
But they are cute.<br />
<br />
<br />
</div><div style="line-height: 0px; padding-bottom: 2px;"><a href="http://pinterest.com/pin/22339757/" target="_blank"><img 500'="" border="0" src="http://d30opm7hsgivgh.cloudfront.net/upload/22339757_DaFoGRaF_c.jpg" width="375 height =" /></a></div><div style="float: left; padding-bottom: 0px; padding-top: 0px;"><div style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px;">Source: <a href="http://www.decorpad.com/photo.htm?photoId=83584&index=14&searchQuery=laundry%20rooms&searchType=photos&spaceId=22" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;">decorpad.com</a> via <a href="http://pinterest.com/ambra/" style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Ambra</a> on <a href="http://pinterest.com/" style="color: #76838b; text-decoration: underline;" target="_blank">Pinterest</a></div><div style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #76838b; font-size: 10px;"></div><div style="color: black; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #76838b; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 10px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This isn't a real laundry room. In a real house, those subway tiles, stainless steel and gray granite would be smeared with goo with little pieces of dryer lint stuck over it all. The lids to the cute canisters would be thrown to the side and paper towels would be falling on your head because you'd be too lazy to get out the stool and you'd try to chuck them up there and make them stick. And what is in that urn? </span></span></i></span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #76838b; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 10px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></i></span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #76838b; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Well, in my laundry room anyway. Which reminds me. Time to go pick little pieces of accidentally-washed cardboard off my wet clothes before I throw them in the dryer! Happy naptime to all!</span></span></span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #76838b; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></span></span></div><div style="color: black; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #76838b; font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 10px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: black;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Oh, and seriously? If you're not on pinterest, please join. It's so fun! (Just let me know if you need an invite!)</span></span></span></span></div></div>Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-45499455372290455542011-06-13T22:49:00.001-04:002011-06-13T22:51:27.416-04:00ThreeIt's late. I'm partied out, exhausted but grateful for great days of celebrating my kids.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1wH6dsfm0sM/TfbIrgyNzQI/AAAAAAAAEZo/6V4SyxKgO18/s1600/14619926415.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="202" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1wH6dsfm0sM/TfbIrgyNzQI/AAAAAAAAEZo/6V4SyxKgO18/s400/14619926415.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>About Talya, I don't even know what to say. She's our free spirit. I've been called that a lot in my life by people who think "free spirit" means "dresses weird" or "paints her house bright colors" or "says things she shouldn't." But, really, freeing my spirit from caring what others think - and what I think God would think - is a long and windy process of growth.<br />
<br />
With T, the phrase makes sense. She's completely unpredictable; she's entirely and uniquely herself. She wears her freedom like a beautiful dress that I hope she never outgrows.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-583fewgjemQ/TfbIQk2CUNI/AAAAAAAAEZk/ZgwdhLiII9A/s1600/14619887244.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="151" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-583fewgjemQ/TfbIQk2CUNI/AAAAAAAAEZk/ZgwdhLiII9A/s400/14619887244.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
(She's also a sister wholly devoted to both of her brothers, which is one part of her that I completely get. )<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7OZ0vzz85_U/TfbGoBqDdgI/AAAAAAAAEZU/pK1pM5oHPVw/s1600/DSC_2704.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7OZ0vzz85_U/TfbGoBqDdgI/AAAAAAAAEZU/pK1pM5oHPVw/s320/DSC_2704.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-42003653996492658722011-06-10T14:53:00.001-04:002011-06-10T14:53:58.748-04:00TwosFor three days, I have two two-year-olds. But, today, I have one with a birthday.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WYkQXQPWq4U/TfJlLDwGQfI/AAAAAAAAET0/BBcmE_87AvA/s1600/IMG_5502.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WYkQXQPWq4U/TfJlLDwGQfI/AAAAAAAAET0/BBcmE_87AvA/s320/IMG_5502.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I really love this kid. Because none of what makes him amazing can be genetically attributed to me, I feel very free to brag about him. I tell everyone how smart he is and how he is talking so much earlier than my other two were at this age. How he can count to, like 17, depending on the day. How I've been too busy to teach him one darn thing, but how he knows absolutely everything, as if his brain is extra-spongey.<br />
<br />
I look at him, and the ease with which he accomplishes everything, and it is easy for me to predict what he is going to be when he grows up: a soccer play, a football player, an actor, a singer, a dancer. So, pretty much he is going to have a very risky career path, but it will ultimately be very fulfilling and make lots of others jealous.<br />
<br />
When he was still in the orphanage, our friend/advocate wrote to me and said "He loves to smile." I was filled with a moment of pride (as if I, having never met this 6 month old baby, had a thing to do with it) and then the cynic in me took over and I was filled with dread. <i>What if that goes away?</i> I thought. <i>What if he comes home with us and he doesn't smile and I'll know it wasn't just his melancholy personality but that he used to love to smile and then he met me and never smiles again? </i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-crp5YAmIJa4/TfJneMO42xI/AAAAAAAAEUU/2tdAMZXk5C8/s1600/14548000451.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="127" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-crp5YAmIJa4/TfJneMO42xI/AAAAAAAAEUU/2tdAMZXk5C8/s400/14548000451.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><i><br />
</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
Over-dramatic much?<br />
<br />
When a child has a birthday, the mother usually posts some pictures of what they looked like on their birth-day, and goes through a series of "A year ago, I was rushing to the hospital" or "Two years ago today I became a mother." Even with my other two, there's a sense that their birthday is more than a little bit about me. In fact, Ben used to give me presents on Simon's birthdays because I did all the work.<br />
<br />
Hmmm. Two years ago, a child was born but I was not his mother. His birthday is not about me. But it's no less sentimental. It's a celebration of the day his story began. It's a recognition that we don't need to know the details of those beginnings to hold them sacred. It's a prayer for his birth mother and for Charlie that God would heal any hurt that took root two years ago.<br />
<br />
When I picked him up from childcare at the Y today, he yelled "Mommy!" An older boy looked at him and said emphatically, "That is not your mommy." I said, "I am his mommy." The boy looked at me, looked at Charlie, and said, "But you're white and he's black so I didn't think you could be his mommy." I explained to him what adoption is, and have never been so proud to say, "So, I am his mommy."<br />
<br />
Because it's his birthday, and I don't need memories of his birth to know it happened and to know that it changed my life.Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-2863900680230936612011-06-06T15:16:00.000-04:002011-06-06T15:16:55.710-04:00Help Wanted, Immediate OpeningSeeking an Idea Executer. Candidate should be able to plan, shop for and implement ideas that I come up with, or that I steal from others via <a href="http://pinterest.com/susiebthomas/">pinterest</a>. Candidate will need to be an experienced fundraiser, as no ideas currently have funding. Candidates should be able to draw, use power tools, and have the ability to see what I'm envisioning in my mind. Candidates should be proficient in Sharpie, Xacto, Photoshop, Sewing Machine, and Piping Bags.<br />
<br />
Job includes lots of fun parties, just-because art projects, trips to Home Depot, Target, Michaels and the Dollar Store. <br />
<br />
The position is currently being filled by my husband, but his job satisfaction is very low and it is becoming harder to motivate him to fulfill his responsibilities. <br />
<br />
Compensation includes: eating whatever I envision you to bake, which will likely include a lot of food coloring, so applicants with chemical sensitivities need not apply.Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-17524119980841473322011-05-18T17:14:00.002-04:002011-05-22T00:51:37.807-04:00Mama Miti turned beautiful Wall Art<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gIPVaTLeYOg/TdQzfVIj7HI/AAAAAAAAERk/SXeL-E-zDWA/s1600/DSCN8231.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gIPVaTLeYOg/TdQzfVIj7HI/AAAAAAAAERk/SXeL-E-zDWA/s320/DSCN8231.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>We bought a piano on Craigslist. Then we decided to finally officially admit that our dining room has absolutely nothing to do with dining, so we've made it the piano/play room. So, we needed to artwork. Actually, we've needed new artwork in there for over a year now, but now that we spend time in there, it felt more important.<br />
<br />
What to do, what to do?<br />
<br />
A while back, I'd picked up the picture book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Mama-Miti-Wangari-Maathai-Trees/dp/1416935053/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1305753073&sr=8-1">Mama Miti </a>at the library. I fell in love with it - it's a beautiful story with the most beautiful illustrations reflecting the beauty of East Africa. The story encapsulated a lot of things I think are beautiful - mothers and children, the wisdom of the elderly, women helping women, resourcing people who need it, and creative problem solving.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NYY__FgT44w/TdQzfhvSjoI/AAAAAAAAERo/eSv-0irnvcM/s1600/DSCN8234.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-NYY__FgT44w/TdQzfhvSjoI/AAAAAAAAERo/eSv-0irnvcM/s320/DSCN8234.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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Since I can't describe the book without saying beautiful multiple times in one paragraph, I obviously wanted to cut it to pieces and hang it on my wall. But, it was a library book. So I bought my own and cut it up.<br />
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I also bought 6 hideous pieces of art from the thrift store and spent a couple of days, cleaning, disassembling, painting frames, recovering the old artwork with burlap, taping a haphazard chevron pattern on the burlap, painting the burlap, ripping tape off, and reassembling.<br />
<br />
And hanging.<br />
<br />
I love it. Simon told me he doesn't, but we don't have the same taste in art.<br />
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By the way, Mama Miti is written by Donna Jo Napoli, and illustrated by Kadir Nelson. You can buy the entire book of "artwork" for $11.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rY1iszyhmpk/TdQzutXgjaI/AAAAAAAAERs/UGD8adQ12D0/s1600/DSCN8232.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-rY1iszyhmpk/TdQzutXgjaI/AAAAAAAAERs/UGD8adQ12D0/s320/DSCN8232.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;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">See other creative ideas here:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><a border="0" href="http://tatertotsandjello.blogspot.com/" target="_blank"><img alt="Join us Saturdays at tatertotsandjello.com for the weekend wrap
up party!" src="http://hadfield.smugmug.com/photos/825895175_xmTVA-O.jpg" /></a><br />
<a href="http://www.bystephanielynn.com/search/label/Link%20Parties" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="UndertheTableandDreaming" src="http://i693.photobucket.com/albums/vv298/theliebertfamily/party.png" /></a>Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-48913967137001836212011-04-30T15:32:00.002-04:002011-05-01T16:08:46.886-04:00FascinatingI don't know a thing about the Royals. I was like 3 when Diana got married and (I'm about to make some blasphemous statements here) I never saw what all the fuss was about. Where others saw beauty and style, I only saw feathered hair. Even the funeral barely registered with me. Also (I'm sorry if this offends you even more), I kind of have a thing against England.* Mostly because of colonization, especially as it pertains to India, but I'm sure the people of Trinidad and Tobago and British Guiana might have something to say too.<br />
<br />
Anyway. Despite that, there was a wedding! (What, you didn't know?) For months, the news coverage proved to be extremely annoying what with all the obsessive hoopla cutting into my normal Good Morning America watching. But then, when it was actually the week of the wedding, I was hooked. A prince getting married! To a "commoner" <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(blech - who says that? The English)</i></span>! A princess-to-be <span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>(actually duchess to be, but that doesn't sound as cool)</i></span>! What a brilliant excuse for a party, even at 5:30 in the morning!<br />
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I found a few friends to join me in my excitement and I began planning. Obviously, we needed tea and scones. Megan brought crumpets. I bought lemon curd for the scones because that sounded fussy and British. I downloaded and used <a href="http://designeditor.typepad.com/design_editor/2011/04/free-royal-wedding-party-printables.html">these</a> adorable decorations.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PLNF2_1YY_o/TbxgSS-khfI/AAAAAAAAEQg/D-c5GKtMR5g/s1600/DSCN8217.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PLNF2_1YY_o/TbxgSS-khfI/AAAAAAAAEQg/D-c5GKtMR5g/s320/DSCN8217.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-exNjWZaLBLs/Tbxgi1WzoPI/AAAAAAAAEQw/_RcY69RewM0/s1600/DSCN8222.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-exNjWZaLBLs/Tbxgi1WzoPI/AAAAAAAAEQw/_RcY69RewM0/s320/DSCN8222.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<br />
Only one thing left. Fascinators.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GCfgp2_Lbbw/TbxjF7LKsyI/AAAAAAAAEQ8/Timj5B0YsUc/s1600/DSCN8204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GCfgp2_Lbbw/TbxjF7LKsyI/AAAAAAAAEQ8/Timj5B0YsUc/s320/DSCN8204.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
The truth is that I got hooked on the wedding not because I love Royalty but because I'm obsessed with Kate. Which is probably what happened 30 years ago for women around the world with Diana. I didn't get the Di thing, but Kate? With her tiny little hats and her perfect outfits and that expression on her face that says, "I don't need to be princess but I'm not afraid of it either"? She's just precious.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2010/04/16/article-0-09232F51000005DC-94_306x423.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://i.dailymail.co.uk/i/pix/2010/04/16/article-0-09232F51000005DC-94_306x423.jpg" width="231" /></a></div><br />
<br />
So, my wedding-watching friends and I needed fascinators.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7JuvPTEi_cc/TbxgUOzqeTI/AAAAAAAAEQk/wR4lNflKuJA/s1600/DSCN8208.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7JuvPTEi_cc/TbxgUOzqeTI/AAAAAAAAEQk/wR4lNflKuJA/s320/DSCN8208.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-60EDEVQ6j8Q/TbxgcjuhrQI/AAAAAAAAEQo/R0LOYcLPCms/s1600/DSCN8221.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-60EDEVQ6j8Q/TbxgcjuhrQI/AAAAAAAAEQo/R0LOYcLPCms/s320/DSCN8221.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Aren't they cute? Don't you want to make them for your next tea party? Here's what I did.<br />
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First: Go to the Dollar Store and buy anything sparkly, flowery or feathery. Plus, buy circle-shaped craft foam. Then go to Wal-Mart and buy a small length of netting, a feather duster, and a few bags of party-favor sparkly rings, and some alligator hair clips.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jsgNCXK-OI8/TbxgAAXaFiI/AAAAAAAAEQQ/o5nzXJYrS6U/s1600/DSCN8198.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jsgNCXK-OI8/TbxgAAXaFiI/AAAAAAAAEQQ/o5nzXJYrS6U/s320/DSCN8198.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Second: Cut a slit in your foam circle to the middle and overlap the edges to form a shallow cone. Hot glue it in place. Realize you're going to be working with plastic, netting, foam and everything is going to melt easily so be careful.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-21zusNHumnY/Tbxfy3EDTrI/AAAAAAAAEQI/UKaHpmL2smg/s1600/DSCN8199.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-21zusNHumnY/Tbxfy3EDTrI/AAAAAAAAEQI/UKaHpmL2smg/s320/DSCN8199.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Third: Start ripping feathers out of your feather duster and glue them to your hat. Hot glue and feathers don't work well together, but you can figure it out. Dismantle flower stems and start adding flowers to cover up the ends of the feathers. Cut apart your plastic jewels and glue those on too.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2aLLlnw90RY/TbxgFQhvLCI/AAAAAAAAEQY/BqT3636kY6I/s1600/DSCN8202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2aLLlnw90RY/TbxgFQhvLCI/AAAAAAAAEQY/BqT3636kY6I/s320/DSCN8202.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Fourth: Figure out how you want the fascinator to sit on your head, and glue the clip and the netting on accordingly. Gluing netting to foam is tricky. I finally figured out to put the glue on the foam, let it cool a bit and then bunch the netting into it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nmhxExqnCW0/Tbxf85yYvRI/AAAAAAAAEQM/JKDkPnVML0Q/s1600/DSCN8200.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nmhxExqnCW0/Tbxf85yYvRI/AAAAAAAAEQM/JKDkPnVML0Q/s320/DSCN8200.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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There you go! Granted, the cheapness of the supplies used means you're not going to actually wear this to a wedding, but these would be so fun for your next girly party - for you or the little princess in your life.<br />
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Talya snuck out of bed at 6 am yesterday crying, "I want to go to the party," so I let her stay up with us. She put her fascinator on and watched the princess get married and the little girl giggle made the whole 5:30 am thing completely worth it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K3mvx49cGlI/TbxgQDJmSMI/AAAAAAAAEQc/eb1o0YP0RNs/s1600/DSCN8210.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-K3mvx49cGlI/TbxgQDJmSMI/AAAAAAAAEQc/eb1o0YP0RNs/s320/DSCN8210.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;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">(PS, my eyes here are a little </span></i><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5YlZflRvN48/TbMoOTAYUQI/AAAAAAAAACQ/ckuMNSwHzj4/s1600/RamonaCrazy.jpg"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Ramona-ish</span></i></a><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">, no?)</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">*See the comments for a little discussion on this. I have a "thing against" a lot of things. I'm working on that - really, I am.</span></i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Linking up here:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><a href="http://www.bystephanielynn.com/search/label/Link%20Parties" target="_blank"><img alt="UndertheTableandDreaming" border="0" src="http://i693.photobucket.com/albums/vv298/theliebertfamily/party.png" /></a>Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-46522323330078014472011-04-25T16:35:00.000-04:002011-04-25T16:35:18.559-04:00It seems like it's time for a new post...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pW1ZsJxVKq8/TbXQDOiVwNI/AAAAAAAAEPs/24eLIx3CYwY/s1600/DSCN8195.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-pW1ZsJxVKq8/TbXQDOiVwNI/AAAAAAAAEPs/24eLIx3CYwY/s320/DSCN8195.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>So, what can I write about? We had Easter. I'm going to be honest. By the time I flopped into my seat at church and flipped through the bulletin, confirming that there was not a single Easter Hymn for me to mutilate at the top of my lungs, my disappointments with the morning had piled up.<br />
<br />
Shall I catalog those for you? Hmmm, yes of course. That's why you're here, right?<br />
I stayed up late surrounded by annoying and bad-for-the-environment (yet, completely necessary, duh) Easter grass and plastic eggs to put together the baskets. I promised myself that I'd get up before the kids to sneak the dyed eggs in so they could experience the "magic" of colorful eggs on a nest of plastic grass, surrounded by plastic toys, in a plastic basket. The problem is that I do NOT get up before my kids for any reason other than catching a plane to Hawaii. That philosophy makes me late for most things in life.<br />
<br />
Charlie woke up at 6 crying, which he does from time to time, but always settles back in to sleep for another hour or two. This time was different - he was screaming "Mama! Dada!" and he sounded distressed. I gave the manipulatively moaned "Should I go check on him?" to Ben who responded appropriately with a, "No, I'll do it." I reflected on how thankful I am for that charming hunk and then realized with despair that if I wanted to get up before the kids, this was my opportunity. So, I did. Then I went back to bed, too exhausted from my journey to the kitchen to get up when the kids did so I missed the magic of them witnessing my Easter baskets.<br />
<br />
In fact, by the time I officially gave them their baskets, this is what Talya looked like:<br />
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<br />
Here's me being honest: <i>For me, the most important part of celebrating Easter is getting your whole family to look cute and then taking a great picture.</i> Sounds simple, but that's a pretty high expectation with a pretty low chance of meeting it. We got the looking cute part down, but by the time we shuffled into church (*Oh wait, there are no blocks of ten seats available on Easter Sunday for a family who arrives 5 minutes late? You've got to be kidding me!*), I realized we had no family picture. <br />
<br />
Ben, who is the hero of this post, was struck with an idea. When they announced it was time to dismiss the kids for children's church, he whispered <i>grab your camera</i> and we took a quick detour outside to get our picture while all the children of responsible parents traipsed off to learn about Jesus. We got a few pictures that aren't horrible, although Talya kept putting her hand up my dress.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zTlSf6xk-7E/TbXPuwLuLQI/AAAAAAAAEPc/b0xoVDdOIwo/s1600/DSCN8174.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zTlSf6xk-7E/TbXPuwLuLQI/AAAAAAAAEPc/b0xoVDdOIwo/s320/DSCN8174.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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Then we ran home to force the tired and hungry children to have fun hunting for eggs in the wet grass while I cooked lunch. There were major flaws in the plan that mostly related to expecting them to eat a nice dinner at the kids' table hopped up on sugar during nap time. We shuttled them to bed as soon as we could, but the sugar rush kept them up for most of the afternoon.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9UdNuBRsYaI/TbXP7TpBv4I/AAAAAAAAEPg/b4QfpfA5LJ0/s1600/DSCN8185.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-9UdNuBRsYaI/TbXP7TpBv4I/AAAAAAAAEPg/b4QfpfA5LJ0/s320/DSCN8185.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jkoOp0OFM3A/TbXP-C8TQsI/AAAAAAAAEPk/5HIGBsxRmvY/s1600/DSCN8184.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-jkoOp0OFM3A/TbXP-C8TQsI/AAAAAAAAEPk/5HIGBsxRmvY/s320/DSCN8184.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SD23kz46EUI/TbXP-9dNNkI/AAAAAAAAEPo/gokFoQVOlfk/s1600/DSCN8187.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-SD23kz46EUI/TbXP-9dNNkI/AAAAAAAAEPo/gokFoQVOlfk/s320/DSCN8187.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<br />
<b>So, here's what I learned this Easter:<br />
</b><br />
<br />
<ul><li>It's important to go to the traditional service even though it's earlier if you want to sing Up from the Grave He arose, Christ the Lord is Risen Today, or any other Easter staple. (The music in our service was beautiful, but my preference is clear.)</li>
<li>The early service is also important if you want the kids to eat lunch at lunch time, not when they should be asleep.</li>
<li>The Easter Bunny is an evil spirit who lives in small pieces of candy and wakes your kids up from much-needed naps.</li>
<li>Holidays are way too important to me.</li>
<li>Cute outfits are way too important to me. Actually, look at these pictures - they are not too important to me - they are well worth the effort. I swear.</li>
<li>Next year, I need to buy an extra bag of robin's eggs, because I'm already almost done with this one and I'm not sick of them yet.</li>
<li><a href="http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Lemon-Cake/Detail.aspx">This cake </a>is the best ever. I finished it and want to go make another one.</li>
</ul><div>Well that was an honestly shallow post that I fear has you thinking I'm a shallow person with no spiritual depth. That's not true, but it would be a lie to say that my Easter holiday was spent in spiritual reflection, and not plastic, brisket, figuring out the math on a box of Hungry Jack potato flakes, getting to church on time, and then collapsing in a heap of exhaustion to watch the Last Cake Standing.</div><div><br />
</div><div>But a few days ago, before the hoopla, we did the Resurrection Eggs with the kids. (Cute - <a href="http://www.shopfamilylife.com/res-eggs-2011.html">check them out if you want.</a>) We opened the egg that held the nails in it and talked about what Jesus went through for us, and Simon said this: "Mom, did you know that the nails didn't hold Jesus on the cross? Love held Jesus on the cross."</div><div><br />
</div><div><i>I promise you that when a five-year-old says it, it's way more moving than reading it on a facebook status.</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div>So, I'll end my long and shallow post with this from the <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Jesus-Storybook-Bible-Every-Whispers/dp/0310708257">Jesus Storybook Bible:</a></div><div><br />
</div><div><i>They nailed Jesus to the cross.</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>"Father, forgive them," Jesus gasped. "They don't understand what they're doing."</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>"You say you've come to rescue to rescue us!" people shouted. "But you can't even rescue yourself!"</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>But they were wrong. Jesus could have rescued himself. A legion of angels would have flown to his side - if he'd called.</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>"If you were really the Son of God, you could just climb down off that cross!" they said.</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>And of course they were right. Jesus could have just climbed down. Actually, he could have just said a word and made it all stop. Like when he healed that little girl. And stilled the storm. And fed 5,000 people.</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>But Jesus stayed.</i></div><div><i><br />
</i></div><div><i>You see, they didn't understand. It wasn't the nails that kept Jesus there. It was love.</i></div><div><br />
</div><div><br />
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</div>Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-82543076546171653012011-04-04T16:03:00.000-04:002011-04-04T16:03:50.321-04:00Boundaries for Dummies?So if you're a Christian or been in churchy environments, or even if you watch Dr. Phil, or are just an American living in the 21st century, you've probably heard the term "boundaries" thrown around a lot. There's a book on it, which, to be honest, I haven't read. I hear it's really good, but I'm a little bit of a snobbish pig about reading books that "everyone else" is reading. Which makes me feel like I'm my own person (see? boundaries!) but probably just means I miss out on some good ideas.<br />
<br />
Anyways, my close friends can tell you that I always roll my eyes (literally or mentally) when someone mentions boundaries, because I think that in some cases - not all - boundaries have become the "Christian" excuse for selfishness. Here's where you remind me that I haven't read the book so shuttheheckup. I KNOW, BUT... I'm basing my mental eye-rolls on how I've seen boundaries play out, not on what they are supposed to be. So humor me for a sec, okay?<br />
<br />
It's become kind of a joke between me and a couple of friends. It's ironic, don't you see? I'm putting up a boundary around Boundaries. Ha ha, I'm hilarious.<br />
<br />
Well, now that I'm parenting a child who is old enough for friendships that don't include me, maybe it would be a good time for a refresher course on healthy relationships. He had mentioned that he had a friend at school (let's call him Bob) who always wants to sit by him. We talked about how he doesn't HAVE to sit by Bob all the time, and he can have friendships with other kids too; he just has to be kind and nice to Bob.<br />
<br />
Now if that's not great boundary advice, I don't know what is. But, then again, I haven't read the book.<br />
<br />
Today Simon said, "Mom, Bob is my best friend."<br />
<br />
Well, that's weird, I thought. I said, "Oh really? Why?" Simon said, "Well, that's what Bob said."<br />
<br />
Hmmm...<br />
<br />
Then he said, "Bob always sits by me. But sometimes he lets me sit by other people. He likes to sit across from me too, so he can see me."<br />
<br />
Well, that's just creepy.<br />
<br />
Cue the conversation about what it means to be a good friend, and how a good friend doesn't make you do anything you don't want to do. I also encouraged him to continue to be friends with Bob and always be kind to him even if he doesn't want to sit by him (or across from him) sometimes.<br />
<br />
(This on a day where I managed to sneak the correct names for pee-pees and hoo-hahs into conversation just so I can not screw up my kids in that department. I also decided it's time for all children to always have underpants on all the time.)<br />
<br />
I'm rocking this parenting gig today.Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-12469278289509219182011-04-01T16:46:00.000-04:002011-04-01T16:46:48.887-04:00Things I Learned on Vacation1) Ten year celebrations are way better than honeymoons. Probably because we've known each other for a lot longer, feel a lot more comfortable sharing the bathroom, and can appreciate the fact that real life is not about the stress of assembling wedding invitations, and therefore can benefit from a holiday.<br />
<br />
2) My children can use a vacation from me once in a while. Especially if it's with their grandparents. Especially because their grandparents will do ridiculous things like take them to fly kites even when it's 40 degrees outside.<br />
<br />
3) When Ben gets home from a trip and he's jet lagged and exhausted, it's real. He's not being a baby. (I'm not sure that this realization will result in my actually being nicer to him when he can't get out of bed in the morning, but one can hope.)<br />
<br />
4) Spray tans are not worth the money when it will only take 5.5 minutes to turn your skin bright red.<br />
<br />
5) Of all of the people on the beach, only about 2 percent of them are hot enough to make you feel awkward about your baby jiggle. About 80 percent of them are large enough to make you feel pretty darn good about it.<br />
<br />
6) Reading is awesome and is best done when you don't have to cook a single meal.<br />
<br />
7) The ocean is huge and scary, and has actual animals swimming around in it, which is also scary, but very cool.<br />
<br />
8) I'm pretty convinced that there is something sketchy about Hawaii's statehood that smacks of American Imperialism. I did a little research on that, thank you wikipedia, and there seem to be at least a few native Hawaiians who would agree. (Add Hawaiian vacation to my list of fun things like Thanksgiving and the Fourth of July that I can't experience without guilt.)<br />
<br />
9) The Big Island of Hawaii might be the most amazing place on the whole earth. I mean, seriously. God put beaches, a rain forest, black sand, pretty flowers, and perfect weather on a massive volcano that still spits lava into the ocean every once in a while.<br />
<br />
10) Peanut butter and Cocoa Krispie sandwiches make a delicious breakfast.<br />
<br />
11) Just because pineapples grow in Hawaii doesn't mean that you'll automatically get to eat them while you're there. For instance, you might go for an entire week and not get a single pineapple because you eat Cocoa Krispie sandwiches for breakfast instead of hotel buffet food. If that happens, you might need to order a pool-side mai tai just because they'll stick a pineapple spear in it. Even if that mai tai costs more than lunch. Because, with a pineapple in it, it practically is lunch. Right?<br />
<br />
12) My husband? Is the best. And when the kids grow up and move out, we'll still have a lot of fun together.<br />
<br />
13) Speaking of growing up, my kids are absolutely not allowed to grow up. Because then we have to deal with teenage girls in bikinis. And, whether we're talking about my sons or my daughter, I'm going to have a problem with teenage girls in bikinis.<br />
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<br />
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><img alt="photo.php.jpg" height="300" src="webkit-fake-url://BA5D12F8-A291-456F-BFCE-1B966C7FE56F/photo.php.jpg" width="400" /></div>Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-29626171440151852482011-03-20T10:30:00.000-04:002011-03-20T10:30:09.616-04:00sprayedim sitting in the airport en route to a magnificent anniversary/birthday vacation with my man. The vacation that I've been working out for, turning down (some) sweets for, and shopping for like I'm the newest cast member of Real Housewives of Southern Ohio. I'm manied, pedied, waxed, toned, and styled for an entire week without a sippy cup or diaper. And one more thing: I'm sprayed. <br />
<br />
I ran off last night to get a spray tan. My shockingly pale rationale went something like this:I might be more disciplined with the sunscreen if I'm already a little darker shade of white. Being a google-research junkie and a spray-tan (or any kind of tan) novice, I watched a video on the Internet about what to expect. <br />
<br />
I learned that I need to be clean, which is a feat in itself. I learned that when I got there I should rub the all-important barrier cream everywhere, especially my hands and feet. I learned that they'd give me a hair net, nostril filters (so I wouldn't suffocate) and eye wear (so I wouldn't go blind). <br />
<br />
So off I went, very nervous that I'd end up either 1) orange 2) streaky 3) suffocated 4) blind or 5) on a creepy Internet video.<br />
<br />
The leathery tan lady took me through a maze of shady rooms (the kind that look apt for creepy Internet videos) to the spray tan booth. She told me what to do but once I realized there was no nostril filters or eyewear, I stopped being able to pay attention. I scanned the ceiling for cameras, stripped down, covered my hair and hopped into the phone booth. <br />
<br />
With visions of Ross Gellar's disasterous spray tan in my mind, I pushed the button. And then I realized I'd forgotten the lotion! I panicked. I almost bailed. I felt claustrophobic. I started to shake, but I'd already paid, and if I didn't close my eyes and hold my breath, I was likely to drown in brown spray paint. <br />
<br />
Unlike Ross, I remembered to turn. But I was freaking out about my hands, my feet, and being butt naked in a small place while I suffered some major anxiety. <br />
<br />
I hopped out of the booth, scrubbed the drips off me and ran to the bathroom to was my hands and feet. I was still shaking most of the way home. <br />
<br />
But, I'm not orange. My hands and feet are ok, and I can see. I guess it wasn't so bad. Mondays are only $10, maybe I'll be back to maintain my fake glow.Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-7908069687234237472011-03-05T15:31:00.000-05:002011-03-05T15:31:12.579-05:00The singles' scene at ChildcareIt's been a particularly horrendous day. Temper tantrums every time I turn around. After 24 hours without any sort of potty-mishap, T peed and pooped in her pants within 10 minutes of each other. While I cleaned her up, Charlie found the vat of vaseline and started eating it.<br />
<br />
Whine, whine.<br />
<br />
But it hasn't all been bad. First of all, I rocked Zumba today. I picked the two best people in the class to follow and just tried to keep up with them. It was really fun, even though I'm sure I looked like an idiot. (Given my pathetic lack of rhythm, I try to only Zumba at classes where I don't know anyone else.)<br />
<br />
Then, I went to pick the kids up at childcare. The teacher handed me Simon's stack of papers and I flipped through them, pulling out one that said "Josephine" and set it on the counter. Next thing I knew, a little girl snatched it up and handed it back to Simon. IT HAS HER PHONE NUMBER ON IT.<br />
<br />
Oh my. I hope Josephine's not waiting by the phone because my five-year-old will not be calling her any time soon.<br />
<br />
PS, I planned on "retiring" Simon from my blog when he turned five, but I just couldn't keep this story to myself. Sorry.Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-12413730906628688422011-02-28T16:56:00.000-05:002011-02-28T16:56:51.258-05:00Potty Training, 2.2<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-bR6NJTEEdTo/TWwZ2BE_P8I/AAAAAAAAEK8/1Y6jm3_0pC0/s1600/photo-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-bR6NJTEEdTo/TWwZ2BE_P8I/AAAAAAAAEK8/1Y6jm3_0pC0/s320/photo-1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>If any of you have stuck with me long enough (hi, Mom!) to have read about my trials with potty-training Simon, this will sound familiar. Actually, it was a piece of cake: the pee part, that is. When it came to #2, it was a year-and-a-half battle. It nearly did me in. I'm surprised my son is even speaking to me at this point, I'm sure I screwed it up so bad.<br />
<br />
But whatever, just like you all promised me, eventually he did it. And it was his choice, not mine. If there's one thing I learned it's this: <b>you can put a kid on a potty, but you can't make him poop</b>. Seriously, try it. I dare you.<br />
<br />
Well, this summer Talya decided she was ready. She pretty much potty-trained herself. We went a week in underpants (do you know how hard it is to find little girl underpants that don't have freaking princesses on them?!) with no accidents. She was peeing, she was pooping, she was a potty prodigy.<br />
<br />
Until.<br />
<br />
She decided she was scared to poop on the potty. Without hesitation, I slapped huggies back on those buns and told her to let me know when she was ready because I was NOT going down that road again.<br />
<br />
I thought it would motivate her, but I should have known better. She happily wore her diapers until... this weekend. She showed a little spark of interest, so I let her pick out some Minnie underpants (that's <i>panties</i> to you, Adrianne) and I let her wear them.<br />
<br />
We did the whole set-the-potty-timer thing and she was back on the horse. She's done great. No accidents at church or the Y or in the car. And I dare say she has the cutest little underwear-butt I've ever seen in my whole life. I would show you a picture but the creep that was on Dr. Phil this morning caused me to rethink that.<br />
<br />
But, like her big brother, she's scared to poop on the potty. It hasn't escalated to any sort of emotional level yet, so here's my plan. Let's see how long I can keep it going:<br />
<br />
<ol><li>I vow to never bring Pull-Ups into this house. That of-the-devil product can only make matters worse. I don't even want her to know that there is any option between "soil yourself" and "be a big girl."</li>
<li>I vow to remain cheerful while cleaning up the poop in the pants and remind myself that it's better (though grosser) than the alternative Pull-Ups-of-Doom, which will only prolong this process.</li>
<li>I vow to keep her in underpants during naps because she stays dry, but (and here's the hard part) I also vow to get off my internet-addicted butt and get her out of bed when she wakes up so that she can go potty.</li>
<li>I vow to make her "practice" when she has poop-in-the-pants accidents (that are in no way accidental), even when I'm in the middle of making lunch and waffles are burning and Charlie has uncapped every marker on the art table. I vow to make these practice sessions of running back and forth to the potty the perfect combination of upbeat and sucky so that she won't fall apart but she'll be motivated to avoid them. Imagine lots of sing-songy "Poopy pants are disgusting!" and you'll get the general idea. Try not to be jealous.</li>
</ol><div>Am I missing something? </div>Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-540986250997075882011-02-16T08:00:00.007-05:002011-02-16T08:00:03.377-05:00Cancer, meet Bloggy World. Bloggy World, show Cancer what you've got.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hbunObeLNYU/TT9CA59d2zI/AAAAAAAADsE/4f8DJCNlOLE/s1600/e+header.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="125" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hbunObeLNYU/TT9CA59d2zI/AAAAAAAADsE/4f8DJCNlOLE/s400/e+header.png" width="400" /></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
Remember when I mentioned my friend E? We were sitting outside her operating room <a href="http://susiehereonly.blogspot.com/2011/01/waiting.html">waiting to hear</a> if she had ovarian cancer. Well, she did. Or, I guess (though I still don't like to look at it this way) she does.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">The good news is that her doctor is great and her tumors were nice self-contained suckers that were able to be removed. The bad news is that cancer is sneaky and evil and so even a successful surgery doesn't mean it's not coming back. So, that leaves E with one more major battle to fight: chemo. Nothing like resting your hopes on pouring poison into your body for four months.</span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">But, if you've read <a href="http://elizabethkoproski.blogspot.com/">E's blog</a>, you've already seen that her hope isn't in the poison/chemo, it's in Jesus. And she's got a wicked sense of humor to help her fight. And one more thing: she has some great friends who have vowed to join her in the battle. <b>We know she will beat this, but we'd like to make the fight a little more bearable.</b></span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;">A group of bloggers who call E a friend have banded together to ask our readers to consider giving a gift to help E as she enters this next stage of her battle. We're calling our humble plea for help "GimmE 5" because we're asking our readers to consider giving $5, although you can absolutely f<a href="https://www.paypal.com/us/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_flow&SESSION=onV4nJprwPiTF5UgoYSX6hY2e_pfdSEsTXKHt8E408xFH1MkEtfUHaMiB3C&dispatch=5885d80a13c0db1f8e263663d3faee8df1d2b5c147af55b8d54f2944c97d2a2a">eel free to give any amount.</a> Just click this cute little button. </span></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-size: 13px;"><br />
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<form action="https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr" method="post"><input name="cmd" type="hidden" value="_s-xclick" /><br />
<input name="hosted_button_id" type="hidden" value="TXSV6XCVXP2M4" /><br />
<input alt="PayPal - The safer, easier way to pay online!" name="submit" src="http://momminitup.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/gimme5.jpg" type="image" /><br />
<img alt="" border="0" /></form><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">All gifts will be used for expenses incurred by the Koproski family during E's months of chemotherapy. Since E is a stay-at-home mom, these expenses will likely include paying for child care, transportation, house cleaning, and grocery shopping but will also likely include many 'unexpected' expenses that at this point we cannot imagine, and other things like insurance co-pays, and any adaptive equipment or items that E might need to be comfortable at home. Rest assured that E and Steve are grateful and humbled by this effort and will be the best stewards of your generous gifts.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">All I can say is she is one of my dearest friends, and I am so thankful for every person who seeks to touch her life the way she's touched mine. </span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Head over to <a href="http://elizabethkoproski.blogspot.com/">E's blog</a> to read more of her story and see more pictures of her adorable children (um, one five-year-old and two three-year-old boys, yikes that's a lot of work!). She starts chemo on February 21st, so please join me in praying for her. If you want to stay updated on how you can help E and her family during this time, we set up a blog for that purpose, <a href="http://caringfore.blogspot.com/">caringfore.blogspot.com</a>.</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Thanks to these ladies for participating in this "campaign":</span></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="border-collapse: collapse; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><div>Emily Berry & Jenny Rapson, <a href="http://momminitup.com/" style="color: #0000cc;" target="_blank">Mommin' It Up</a></div><div>Andrea Deckard, <a href="http://savingslifestyle.com/" style="color: #0000cc;" target="_blank">Savings Lifestyle</a></div><div>Cortney Loyd, <a href="http://evanhaslanded.com/" style="color: #0000cc;" target="_blank">Evan Has Landed</a></div><div>Becky Dell, <a href="http://randombecky.wordpress.com/" style="color: #0000cc;" target="_blank">Random Becky</a></div><div>Maria Woodall,<a href="http://thebmcreport.blogspot.com/" style="color: #0000cc;" target="_blank"> the BMC Report</a></div><div>Tricia Callahan, <a href="http://onceamonthmom.com/" style="color: #0000cc;" target="_blank">Once a Month Mom</a></div><div>Celia Emmons, <a href="http://westanawillgo.com/" style="color: #0000cc;" target="_blank">WestAnaWillGo</a></div></span></span><br />
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<img alt="" border="0" /></form>Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-66577114799919462292011-02-07T15:41:00.000-05:002011-02-07T15:41:50.304-05:00Nidhi - Desi (and not) art I loveI have a big, gaping hole on my pretty gray wall (that most people think is purple, and that I usually feel the need to correct them that it's gray, even though what's the big deal). I've shared my many rules about artwork and I've also shared how I'm cheap. So, mostly, I browse Etsy for cute things, then decide I can make it myself.<br />
<br />
Not this time.<br />
<br />
This time, I fell so in love with something that I can NOT do myself that happens to meet my rules. (Specifically, that it can't just be pretty - it must be sentimental or meaningful).<br />
<br />
Let me introduce you <a href="http://e-nidhi.com/wordpress/">Nidhi</a>, my new favorite artist/illustrator and her amazing <a href="http://www.etsy.com/shop/nidhi">Etsy shop.</a><br />
<br />
Nidhi was born in Calcutta and raised in California, and her so much of her work reflects the beauty of Indian culture. Her characters are adorable and her artistry is impeccable; things like lighting and coloring and all those things that if I knew more about, maybe I could draw things like this myself. (probably not, though)<br />
<br />
Anyway, do you want to see what I just bought?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ny-image2.etsy.com/il_fullxfull.185630622.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://ny-image2.etsy.com/il_fullxfull.185630622.jpg" width="313" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ny-image3.etsy.com/il_fullxfull.193161667.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="http://ny-image3.etsy.com/il_fullxfull.193161667.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I wanted to buy more, like:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/59823378/the-gate-illustration-print"><img border="0" height="266" src="http://ny-image2.etsy.com/il_fullxfull.186178630.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">and</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.etsy.com/listing/67030292/ek-chai-illustration-print"><img border="0" height="223" src="http://ny-image3.etsy.com/il_fullxfull.212761383.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">(My birthday's coming up.)</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: left;">Well, if you hurry over there, enter the code LOVING for 10% off before Friday.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">What do you think? Do you love this as much as I do? Which one is your favorite? Do you have other favorite Desi artists?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div>Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-41508209027205031402011-02-03T16:05:00.000-05:002011-02-03T16:05:38.663-05:00Healthy Living - a rant.I swear it wasn't a new year's resolution, so much as an impending deadline that caused me to make some changes in my life. They included "healthier" eating and a focused commitment to working out.<br />
<br />
Before you get all huffy with me about my body image, let me admit that I know I am vain and shallow. I also realize that I'm not fat, and I don't think I'm fat. I am, however, what some might term "fat-skinny," which means I'm a fat person trapped into a skinny person's body. Like, basically I eat crap and am completely out of shape but I let myself off the hook because I'm sort of slim. I was okay with that until I started morphing into "fat-kind-of-skinny," and then into "fat-used-to-be-skinny."<br />
<br />
So, in September, I started working out. I started going to classes so that I wouldn't fall into my usual fitness rut of gingerly tapping on the elliptical until I started to sweat and then hopping off with self-satisfied smugness. Fully aware of my limitations, I didn't attempt to factor good eating habits into my new routine. I told myself that I was "preparing my body" for being healthy. Haha - doesn't that sound genius?<br />
<br />
Really, I just knew my will power was no match for Halloween, Thanksgiving or Christmas.<br />
<br />
I promised that in January I'd kick it into gear.<br />
<br />
Why? Because in March, Ben and I are getting on a plane and heading to Hawaii for an early celebration of our 10th anniversary. (Yes, my very important husband leaves me too much for his job, but I've been a supportive wife and my reward is that all those frequent flier miles are paying for my vacation.) I'm so excited that I'm already sad it's going to be over.<br />
<br />
I have one goal in mind: to look good on the beach. Yes, shallow and vain, right here. Blah blah, I know, I know. But really, there was a day where I did look good in a bikini. Not, not bad, but good. I'd show you pictures to prove it, but that's just creepy. And I've had babies, nursed them and just as I was getting my body back to normal tried to induce lactation for adoption. (Unsuccessful, by the way.) All that to say, my fat-skinny body just got a little.... not sure the word for it, but "lumpy" comes to mind as does "droopy," "sad," and "squishy."<br />
<br />
It's February, and I have to say I've been doing pretty well. I've made some good choices. I stopped going to senior-citizen water aerobics and started focusing on exercise more likely to make a caloric impact. I met with the fitness counselor at the Y and came up with a game plan. I even let her measure me and pinch me with those horrible, horrible fat pinchers. She jiggled them to "separate the fat from the muscle," or "separate my dignity from my soul," not sure which. It turns out that I've made progress, but have "very poor" flexibility, so I've even gone to yoga. (once.)<br />
<br />
I've cut out snacks and desserts... well you know, except on "special occasions," like birthdays and tuesdays. I've avoided the doughnut tray at church, which might be my arch-nemesis. I've eaten an inhumane amount of oatmeal for breakfast while I flip chocolate chip pancakes for the kids.<br />
<br />
But, here it is, February 3 and I can feel myself falling off the wagon. It's cold out and I'm sick and my kid's school keeps canceling and hummus just isn't cutting it. I've spent a large amount of my discretionary "Susie Envelope" on Diet Cokes at McDonalds (because since "I don't drink Diet Coke" I don't buy it at the grocery store). I baked cinnamon rolls yesterday and I can't keep my mitts out of them.<br />
<br />
Ugh.<br />
<br />
Then, this magazine came in the mail:<br />
<br />
<div style="font: 12.0px Helvetica; margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px;"><img alt="wholeliving201101.jpg" src="webkit-fake-url://DF5C2B33-2A34-402F-A2E9-F533777DB23A/wholeliving201101.jpg" /></div><br />
<br />
Doesn't it make healthy eating look yummy and fresh and modern and even pretty? Like I could just make myself a cute smoothie, stick an avocado slice in it, and enjoy my new lifestyle? Well, I settled in with that magazine today and let me tell you, now I'm really discouraged. This magazine, along with Dr. Oz and freaking Oprah, tell me that I actually need to rid myself of Diet Coke, along with all that is yummy and eat things that don't taste good.<br />
<br />
Then, they take a pretty picture of it so I'll think that it'll be fun.<br />
<br />
Well, I'm too smart for that. I've watched the Food Network shows on Food Stylists and I know that pretty food is not necessarily yummy food.<br />
<br />
I need encouragement, so you need to comment, but there are rules:<br />
<br />
<br />
<ul><li>No telling me I'm skinny. Whatever. It's my white tummy and tushy that are going to be bared on the beach, so we'll just let me decide, mmmkay?</li>
<li>No encouraging me to eat a jar of icing. (you know who you are!) The temptation is already too great.</li>
<li>Recipes would be reallllly helpful.</li>
<li>Only yummy recipes.</li>
<li>No telling me to stop drinking Diet Coke. I'm trying, really, and I'm not easily scared by stories of chemicals. If it hasn't worked on hot dogs and Taco Bell, it's not going to work on Diet Coke.</li>
<li>Feel free to remind me how many days are left until my March 20 vacation and that spring really is coming.</li>
</ul><div>Thanks. What would I do without you?</div>Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-74439674358613181342011-01-31T16:14:00.000-05:002011-01-31T16:14:35.808-05:00It's TimeYour sister has become obsessed with her baby book - what she looked like as a baby, how she dressed for her first halloween, what Mommy looked like with her growing in my belly. She sleeps with the book, wants it read to her as a story. So, Simon dug his book out too, searching out the matching bracelets we wore in the hospital. Taly doesn't understand why her picture isn't in his book, doesn't understand the concept of "before I was here."<br />
<br />
So, it's time. Time for me to sort through mental pictures and digital ones. Time for me to make my way through the beginning - your beginnings. I know so little, and some of what I do know isn't to be put in a book, but to be guarded over in my heart until you ask for it. I'm blessed, and you are so blessed little one, that I have nothing wretched to tell you someday. I have no knowledge of darkness or evil that was once a part of your world.<br />
<br />
But in about a year or less, probably less, maybe even now - you'll want your book. You'll want me to read it to you a million times and remind you how much we wanted you. You'll scour those early pictures, sent across the ocean from your auntie's phone, for traces of truth about your home - before you were here.<br />
<br />
Oh for God to give me the grace to write it well. Your story, our story. Oh for words that speak to your heart and answer your questions. Oh that you would know how beautiful this story is, that you would see God's creative grace weaving across oceans and through the land of a thousand hills.Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-18570166910364258722011-01-23T22:34:00.000-05:002011-01-23T22:34:31.253-05:00Gotcha Day<i>What a week. <a href="http://elizabethkoproski.blogspot.com/">E</a> is a rock star at recovering from surgery. I saw her today and she looked better than I did. The doctor did find cancer, but feels confident he was able to get it all and that the chemo will kick that crap out of her for good. Keep praying!</i><br />
<i><br />
</i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hbunObeLNYU/TTzv1ceIqEI/AAAAAAAADr8/SNl0dp-H-Dk/s1600/Photo+on+2011-01-19+at+16.38+%25232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hbunObeLNYU/TTzv1ceIqEI/AAAAAAAADr8/SNl0dp-H-Dk/s320/Photo+on+2011-01-19+at+16.38+%25232.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>January 24 is the day we met our Charlie. I've spent all day today going through videos and pictures and I can't believe how much he's changed - how much we've all changed. We are beyond thankful that he is a part of our family. There is no us with out him, and we feel like the luckiest family in the world.<br />
<br />
I mean, I know there are 8 other families who think they won the Miracle of Adoption jackpot too. Want to meet them and relive all of our moments? Visit my friend <a href="http://hunterandadrianne.blogspot.com/2011/01/9-families-meeting-our-kids-1-year-ago.html">Adrianne's blog for a sweet little slideshow</a> that details the process and joy we've shared together.<br />
<br />
Adoption really is a miracle. It is with wonder that we have watched someone who was Not Ours become every bit Ours. We've felt our family be redefined and re-imagined by the Creator of the Universe. Every time I stop to think about what has taken place over the past year, I am in awe that it is all real, that our home is filled with joy birthed in Africa.<br />
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But it is not THE miracle. Seems like a weird day to be a downer, I know. But I can't think of our process without being entirely aware of the brokenness and inadequacy of adoption. Charlie was given family while many of his crib buddies have since moved to the toddler room. From there, they'll move to the big kid room. From there, they'll age out of the orphanage, and I don't know the rest of the story.<br />
<br />
Adoption was our answer, but it is not THE answer. The problems of at-risk children, poverty, women who lack education and choice, governments who make laws that are well-intended but can't bring about real change, these problems are complicated and huge. More answers are needed.<br />
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It is too easy for those of us who have experienced this miracle to want to make it everyone's miracle. To want to apply our answer universally to the problems of the world. And I do hope that more people will seek room in their hearts and homes for children who need it. But there have been two things that have smashed my tendency to think I have simple answers for complicated problems: living overseas and adopting.<br />
<br />
Looking at Charlie, I will always be torn between my joy in being his mother and my heartache that he can't know his birthmom. I will always be thankful that God has cast us in Charlie's story, while recognizing that what I want most for my son is for him to have never needed us in his story. I am glad he is mine, but if I could take away the heartache that brought him to me, I would. Or maybe I wouldn't. Maybe I'd be too selfish for that. (It's a good thing I'm not God, that's for sure.)<br />
<br />
Ahhhh, lots of rambling that probably doesn't make sense. (Well, it probably does to Adrianne. Like me, she likes to make things complicated.) The point is this (I think):<br />
<br />
The world is full of crap. It's broken and things don't work, and in the process of universal break-down, kids are falling through the cracks. Hearts are breaking. Mothers are weeping and children are dying. And God redeems this crap. He does, I believe it. God has redeemed Charlie's story. But the redemption - The Miracle, The Answer - is not that we adopted Him. There is too much pain and brokenness, potential for corruption and systemic holes for this to be The Answer. It would be arrogant and short-sighted for me to believe that I am his Happy Ending. Our adoption of Charlie is a piece of the story - a taste of real redemption, a shadow of real family, a glimpse of true love.<br />
<br />
The Happy Ending is yet to come.<br />
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But this Gotcha Day is miraculous just the same.<br />
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<br />
<i>Remember this?</i><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="youtube-player" frameborder="0" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/4PzK9PYaC4Q" title="YouTube video player" type="text/html" width="480"></iframe>Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-39524312802823246182011-01-21T11:04:00.001-05:002011-01-21T11:19:30.571-05:00WaitingA small few of us (relative to the general population) have had to experience the pain of waiting through an adoption of process. A great many more have had to experience this kind of waiting.<br />
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In an actual waiting room.<br />
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With a loved one on the other side of the door. Not knowing what the doctor's going to say.<br />
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God has given me great friends. Some that I don't even know beyond this blog or your blog. But He knows we need more than blog friends. He knows we need those in real life, flesh and blood, there to babysit your kids and meet you at Chik-fil-a friends. He knows that we need friends with whom we can actually sit in a room and cry and hug and feel despair and hope with.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://elizabethkoproski.blogspot.com/">One of my great friends - in real life - is E</a>. She's awesome, funny, and she has genuinely (non-judgingly) challenged me to take steps of faith. I really love her. And that's why I'm asking you to pray even as she's in surgery and recovery that there will be No Cancer. None.<br />
<br />
I know this little circle of friends isn't the only one sitting, waiting, hoping and trusting. I know some of you might have this kind of waiting - trying to trust in the waiting. I'm praying for you today too - even if I don't know your story.<br />
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Friends are so great, aren't they?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hbunObeLNYU/TTmxxAK8B6I/AAAAAAAADr4/yhYA41C9Jwo/s1600/41160_10150258388015300_540840299_14550967_1318277_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="208" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hbunObeLNYU/TTmxxAK8B6I/AAAAAAAADr4/yhYA41C9Jwo/s320/41160_10150258388015300_540840299_14550967_1318277_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>(E's on the left)Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-79367772028017190172011-01-12T16:45:00.000-05:002011-01-12T16:45:12.065-05:00Funny, Sad, Abusive, Culturally Interesting?Amy Chua's recent <a href="http://online.wsj.com/article/SB10001424052748704111504576059713528698754.html">essay</a> in the Wall Street Journal is making its rounds through the Internet. It's shocking. No, appalling. No, disgusting. No, hilarious.<br />
<br />
Titled, "Why Chinese Mothers are Superior," this essay is actually an excerpt from her new book, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Battle-Hymn-Tiger-Mother-Chua/dp/1594202842">Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother</a>. She makes a lot of generalizations about Western and Asian parents, summed up like this: American kids are behind because their parents coddle them and so they never live up to their potential. Chinese (as well as Indian, Korean, and most children of immigrants) excel because their parents expect them to, force them to, and will not allow anything to get the way. No parties. No drama. No sports.<br />
<blockquote><i>Chinese parents can order their kids to get straight As. Western parents can only ask their kids to try their best. Chinese parents can say, "You're lazy. All your classmates are getting ahead of you." By contrast, Western parents have to struggle with their own conflicted feelings about achievement, and try to persuade themselves that they're not disappointed about how their kids turned out. </i></blockquote><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;">You can't watch too much of the news without hearing about how American children are falling behind and how it's the schools' fault, the teachers' fault, George Bush's fault, Barack Obama's fault. Chua would contend it's the parents' fault.</div><br />
I have no idea what to make of it, but I do find it funny and her style is tongue-in-cheek enough for me to take it to heart as more of an interesting cultural insight and less of a how-to manual on parenting.<br />
<br />
In my line of work, where we often expose Americans to other cultures, I find myself routinely chanting "It's not wrong, it's just different" - a key principle for any cross-cultural traveler to try to believe. I had to chant it to myself the whole time I read this article.<br />
<br />
It is a reminder that no culture has it right. We all parent and educate out of our cultural beliefs and there's enough wisdom and crap mixed into those beliefs to shock onlookers from another world.<br />
<br />
My (Indian) husband absolutely disagrees with my (very American) embrace of mediocrity. In my defense, I don't embrace mediocrity because I'm lazy, but because I'd rather know and do a lot of things I'm interested in, rather than one thing really well. To me, mediocrity sounds like an interesting opportunity to try something else. (And sometimes I'm lazy.)<br />
<blockquote><i>For their part, many Chinese secretly believe that they care more about their children and are willing to sacrifice much more for them than Westerners, who seem perfectly content to let their children turn out badly. I think it's a misunderstanding on both sides. All decent parents want to do what's best for their children. The Chinese just have a totally different idea of how to do that.</i></blockquote>What about you? When you read this essay does it anger you or do you relate? Or like me, do you giggle because you've seen the good and bad of both "techniques"?Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-70795241630494884712011-01-05T15:58:00.002-05:002011-01-09T14:59:20.503-05:00One More Present! Felt Playhouse<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hbunObeLNYU/TSONzrCpvcI/AAAAAAAADrg/lW57YvD9tEU/s1600/DSCN7769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_hbunObeLNYU/TSONzrCpvcI/AAAAAAAADrg/lW57YvD9tEU/s320/DSCN7769.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
If you read craft blogs, you've <a href="http://homemadebyjill.blogspot.com/2009/10/felt-playhouse.html">seen these before</a> and you will know just how pathetic my attempt at it is. I lost steam at 11 pm on Christmas Eve, but Talya loves her playhouse. If you google felt playhouse or card table play house, you'll find some really talented people out there make some really great things. The idea is to make a sort of slip cover for a card table that will turn it into a house.<br />
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However, we don't have a card table, and Taly's a tall girl and I didn't think she'd have a lot of fun in a 3-foot high box. Instead, I (yes I, not Ben, miracle I didn't cut a finger off) sawed some PVC pipe to size and built my own house frame. There was no way to hide it for a month, so the kids played with PVC pipe for weeks, having no idea what the final product would be.<br />
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I used <a href="http://dollarstorecrafts.com/2010/11/make-a-no-sew-felt-playhouse/">this no-sew method</a> to make the slip cover. It's kind of like making those tie blankets that seemed so clever several years ago. Then I started gluing. And gluing. I think I used a bajillion glue sticks. I made an apple tree with removable apples, windows, a door, a mailbox....<br />
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...and a garden. I was inspired by <a href="http://www.ikatbag.com/2009/04/dirt-foam-part-5.html">Lier at ikat bag</a> over a year ago to make this garden but when we got our referral for Charlie, I put all crafty thoughts aside. At the time I began a furious search for pool noodles since high density foam is so expensive. I finally found some (it was winter) and kept them in our garage for months while Ben asked me every other minute if he could throw them away. Finally, summer came and there seemed to be no plans to make a garden so I let Ben take them to Lake George and store them in the shed full of pool noodles.<br />
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After a few months went by, the weather turned cold, pool noodles disappeared from the shelves of every store, and I decided to make a garden. I sent my dad on a mission into the Pool Noodle shed and he rescued them for me and kept them in Philadelphia until I could come them. You can imagine his annoyance when I left Philly without the pool noodles and he had to mail them to me (along with 60 other things I forgot).<br />
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But it was all worth it! I love the garden. Lier has a much cuter version, but if you want to do it quick and dirty like I did, here's a quick run-down:<br />
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</div><ol><li>Cut the pool noodles so you can jam them tightly into a box. Cover them in brown felt.<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hbunObeLNYU/TSONwmODWcI/AAAAAAAADrM/TwFedB3iRLM/s1600/DSCN7642.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_hbunObeLNYU/TSONwmODWcI/AAAAAAAADrM/TwFedB3iRLM/s320/DSCN7642.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></li>
<li>Realize the box is ugly and cover that in brown felt too.</li>
<li>Make flowers. Tutorials abound - <a href="http://www.creativejewishmom.com/2010/10/how-to-make-felt-flowers-for-a-mixed-bouquet-tutorial.html">here's a good summary.</a></li>
<li>Double up pipe cleaners and glue them to the flowers for stems.</li>
<li>Plant your flowers.<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hbunObeLNYU/TSONyDIVKtI/AAAAAAAADrU/AcWNtCo9S0k/s1600/DSCN7652.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_hbunObeLNYU/TSONyDIVKtI/AAAAAAAADrU/AcWNtCo9S0k/s320/DSCN7652.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></li>
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</div><div>I vow to decorate the inside... someday.</div><div><br />
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</div><div>Oh, and I'm not going to do another whole post for this, but don't think I didn't make Charlie something too.... I raided my friends' recycling bins of tin cans of all sizes. Then washed them, removed sharp edges, primed and painted and sealed, and he got <a href="http://choosetothrive.blogspot.com/2010/12/coolest-building-blocks-ever-out-of.html">these adorable blocks.</a> He likes to throw them at people. Which, really, it's better to be hit with an empty tin can than a traditional wooden block. Everybody wins.<br />
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<a href="http://www.bystephanielynn.com/2010/04/sunday-showcase-party-starting-this.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="UndertheTableandDreaming" src="http://i693.photobucket.com/albums/vv298/theliebertfamily/party.png" /></a>Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5222780946540485379.post-50837686540029365432011-01-04T15:38:00.001-05:002011-01-09T14:59:38.330-05:00Presents! Custom Car Mats<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/55343605@N04/5324925994/" title="Brooke's Mat by susiebthomas, on Flickr"><img alt="Brooke's Mat" height="420" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5241/5324925994_aa9f7f8dc0.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
I'm going to go ahead and post about my other favorite homemade presents for the little ones in my life - keep a little log for myself if no one else, and perhaps inspire some others who may be interested.<br />
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I am lucky to have an adorable nephew (Matty, almost 2) and niece (Brooke, just turned 1). They are two of the sweetest, best-natured kids I've ever been around, and both make me think I may have done something wrong to produce kids who cry so much. Anyway, I saw<a href="http://homemadebyjill.blogspot.com/2010/10/oscars-car-playmat.html"> this custom car mat </a>and wanted my special little kiddos to have something similar, but there is NO WAY I can pull of that kind of sewing project.<br />
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I can, however, design something like that in Adobe Illustrator. After an entire of naptime of googling, I found <a href="http://www.spoonflower.com/">Spoonflower</a>, a company that will print custom designs onto fabric. Google also led me to a variety of free vectors that made the designing of an entire town much easier. I was able to find some logos (The Hartford where Brooke's dad works, for example) in vector form and the ones I couldn't find I used Illustrator's Live Trace tool to make a quick rendition of on my own. I found a collection of free houses and buildings to use, and drew others - like Target, Stop n Shop, and Dunkin Donuts.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/55343605@N04/5324321371/" title="IMG_1008 by susiebthomas, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_1008" height="375" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5284/5324321371_cd7b25873f.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
Of course, I had to include places that I knew were special to each kid (ok, who are we kidding, the kids are too little to care...special to their parents) - like vacation spots, a favorite local bakery, their churches, and grandparents' houses. And, of course, I included the highway to Ohio with a picture of their cousins waiting for them to visit.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/55343605@N04/5324927184/" title="IMG_1010 by susiebthomas, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_1010" height="375" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5010/5324927184_ef467d58f8.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
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For my New Yorker nephew, I drew the Verrazano bridge that he has to cross to get to Amachi's house, the NYC skyline, and the Statue of Liberty.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/55343605@N04/5324926490/" title="matty_mat.ai_highres by susiebthomas, on Flickr"><img alt="matty_mat.ai_highres" height="350" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5161/5324926490_9c7c953991.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
There is nothing accurate about the maps. Grandma in Philadelphia is around the corner from Connecticut Grandma... but all street names, house numbers, and other details are true to life (which means I have to blur them in the pictures so scary people and don't go looking for these cute babies).<br />
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Spoonflower fabric is 42" wide (printable), so I designed each mat to be 42" wide by about 50 or so inches long. I ordered 2 yards, and centered each design on the 2 yards. (Spoonflower gives you all the options you need to do this, and their customer service people were very quick to help when I had a question.)<br />
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Once I received the fabric, I sat and sat as it hit me that I needed to back it with something, and I don't really sew. I found some cute printed canvas at Hobby Lobby and sewed the two sides together. Miraculously, the only mishap was melting my carpet with my iron.<br />
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The kids are too young to really appreciate it now, but I hope that as they grow the mats will be special to them. My kids are begging me to make them one too.<br />
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<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/55343605@N04/5324322017/" title="IMG_1011 by susiebthomas, on Flickr"><img alt="IMG_1011" height="500" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5001/5324322017_b71e889dd5.jpg" width="375" /></a><br />
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<a href="http://www.bystephanielynn.com/2010/04/sunday-showcase-party-starting-this.html" target="_blank"><img border="0" alt="UndertheTableandDreaming" src="http://i693.photobucket.com/albums/vv298/theliebertfamily/party.png" /></a>Susiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09063029032695060303noreply@blogger.com8