tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52513482992583441082024-03-12T21:16:41.968-07:00Everyday RebelThe family that knits together, stays together. The every day rants, raves and regular activities of a family that refuses to be anything other than who we are which is just a little rebellious.Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.comBlogger116125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-75589526248366103252010-10-22T13:57:00.000-07:002010-10-22T14:28:26.338-07:00This Moment<div style="text-align: justify;"><i>{this moment} - A Friday ritual from <a href="http://www.soulemama.com/soulemama/">Soule Mama</a>, one of my favorite bloggers. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week. A simple, special, extraordinary moment. A moment I want to pause, savor and remember. If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and see. </i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><i>Wishing everyone a lovely weekend!</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_uhJYVCEriquICJ0bsYZ9ntjszk7H_h8kBFaHS2bu1OikZhM2R3y4YsWqXEStRqRvXMioh-9-hsOuCkwtxf1vxVDp7VjApsgJKl98Lcz7NftNxXcmfwUsBo-aqARrGF-roLvfW3xzLV0/s1600/photo-24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_uhJYVCEriquICJ0bsYZ9ntjszk7H_h8kBFaHS2bu1OikZhM2R3y4YsWqXEStRqRvXMioh-9-hsOuCkwtxf1vxVDp7VjApsgJKl98Lcz7NftNxXcmfwUsBo-aqARrGF-roLvfW3xzLV0/s320/photo-24.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-12415885939697301082010-10-13T16:37:00.000-07:002010-10-13T16:37:52.774-07:00Wordless Wednesday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Don't count on this as a regular thing. I don't even blog enough as a regular thing.</div><br />
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</div>Wordless (or not so wordless but less wordy) Wednesday brought to you by Park School and the Tulgey Wood Gang with all but the last taken with the Hipstamatic App on my iPhone.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-19070875442476909272010-09-22T22:03:00.000-07:002010-09-22T22:51:57.911-07:00On to lighter topics... The Rebel Bakes<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwKyKUQCnM8_b6SLUD-n0G9loGAfjeevs3ssURXyTkQdYeCWKDgXVU70yQh8GhfE2WN_DcH6ejx7tZgNzgAXeunIH_MZ42FDQ7WGjxk_SD_fbZt8L6cfzkcb4598SM_WWidxfYqW4Zj4E/s1600/IMG_6618_2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwKyKUQCnM8_b6SLUD-n0G9loGAfjeevs3ssURXyTkQdYeCWKDgXVU70yQh8GhfE2WN_DcH6ejx7tZgNzgAXeunIH_MZ42FDQ7WGjxk_SD_fbZt8L6cfzkcb4598SM_WWidxfYqW4Zj4E/s320/IMG_6618_2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519426312012818050" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">My recent view at the computer.</span><br /></span></div><br />I made pretzels last week.<br /><br />Lately I've been wondering what makes me an "everyday rebel" particularly when I'm posting pics of knitting and sewing like I'm some kind of Martha Stewart. Which, I'm not. Actually, I think Martha Stewart is an evil minion of Satan sent to earth to make everyone else feel inadequate in all things domestic. I don't let it get to me though, I'm the queen of the <a href="http://thestir.cafemom.com/home_garden/109534/how_martha_stewart_ruined_entertaining">dirty house dinner party</a>. In fact, it is possible that if you end up at my house for a dinner party, you'll find yourself cooking. Or maybe folding laundry so you have some place to sit. Or clearing the table so we can eat on it. But just when I was thinking I was at least trying to become Mrs. Steward, I go and make that <a href="http://everydayrebel.blogspot.com/2010/09/birth-rape-or-negative-birth-experience.html">last post</a>.<br /><br />Right. I remember now. One second I'm making pretzels and the next I'm writing about controversial birth topics. And you didn't even hear what I was talking about while I was making the bread. Ah yes, that's right, I do have rebel moments.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQfJ__j_wLIVKPpz6yXSglPUoCemLcOPZNV_318NItqO5SusEIlKDV6eMLGWwHqA-BlaqUx1bE1bD0QeENS6cxb0nzCGrwtgdmu5fBP0rPAUT478QOJlqTAkPE4dsMyapmO86xm5Kk45M/s1600/IMG_6580.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQfJ__j_wLIVKPpz6yXSglPUoCemLcOPZNV_318NItqO5SusEIlKDV6eMLGWwHqA-BlaqUx1bE1bD0QeENS6cxb0nzCGrwtgdmu5fBP0rPAUT478QOJlqTAkPE4dsMyapmO86xm5Kk45M/s320/IMG_6580.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519962858256525746" border="0" /></a><br />I'm working on being content. Not just with stuff but with circumstances. And with who I am. I've long held the belief that if you kind of don't like your circumstances you should learn to be content. If you really don't like them then get off your butt and change them. Reality has served me up a double portion of "It-ain't-always-so-simple" and had me reevaluating. Meaning: If you really don't like your circumstances sometimes you just have to suck it up. Or the nicer way of saying it: develop more contentment. So I've decided I'm <span style="font-style: italic;">discontent with my level of contentment</span>. I'm working on that.<br /><br />Homemaker is a difficult term for me. It sends shivers down my spine and I feel as though someone has died. I avoid it. I also avoid baking. Not because of shivers up or down my spine but because I'm terrible at it. Did you know that baking is really more science than anything? Chemistry to be exact. This fact explains everything. It's really not the science as much as the directions but science, particularly the chemistry variety, likes directions. I read ingredient lists as suggestions and measurements and directions as a road map: this is one way to get there but there is this other way here and another way here... and maybe we don't really want to go <span style="font-style: italic;">there</span> anyway. But science isn't really about suggestions, not if you don't want to blow things up. Did I mention I was terrible at baking? Jeremy is good at baking. Like, talented, even more so if it involves chocolate. It's kind of disgusting. Disgustingly yummy and his time in the "lab" is making me fat. But I digress.<br /><br />This last week, I didn't avoid baking. Nope, I rushed in and embraced it head on tackling baked goods that were even lacking in chocolate and, in an atypical but noteworthy event, required following directions! *gasp*<br /><br />Also noteworthy: they didn't come out of a box.<br /><br />You have no idea how hard this is for me, the following directions part that is. The box part too for that matter. But I did it and started with a recipe a friend on Facebook shared for soft pretzels. I am never paying $3 for a pretzel at the mall again. I can't believe I'm going to say this but not only were they edible, they were delicious! And yes, I realize I'm bragging but I don't care. I made something yummy that was baked. You bet I'm going to get braggy about it. Oh yeah, and Evangeline helped.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPVYd5HtjqBzNJo3EUi-2TmsWFIpLQB08MWd2JoYNB3WqrKbTZDFU-Cz513SDATkCmLyCJo4had21tQK1dcaGhe7NqM1THfaaDJ-tkkX-bW8UhPC9H-qDIqhCdvBVbDpwSf2DKF1wrUI0/s1600/IMG_6435.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPVYd5HtjqBzNJo3EUi-2TmsWFIpLQB08MWd2JoYNB3WqrKbTZDFU-Cz513SDATkCmLyCJo4had21tQK1dcaGhe7NqM1THfaaDJ-tkkX-bW8UhPC9H-qDIqhCdvBVbDpwSf2DKF1wrUI0/s320/IMG_6435.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519962813410635394" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUSl6xc9L7ZRWr7AqR7gx3g2_7OKKTZtdZSuQ64binicrZf2J3iuiE-sze0Hav3fAUNRyRZ0uDYMZiWVfdwQ4V_WWpV476jZrBqW7DwSIJhw5aR5S91J14_BBECflEMenV2Bg5Fn1-l74/s1600/IMG_6442.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUSl6xc9L7ZRWr7AqR7gx3g2_7OKKTZtdZSuQ64binicrZf2J3iuiE-sze0Hav3fAUNRyRZ0uDYMZiWVfdwQ4V_WWpV476jZrBqW7DwSIJhw5aR5S91J14_BBECflEMenV2Bg5Fn1-l74/s320/IMG_6442.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519962817790803970" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdWWgxO_hdNFua9nAHfhPpKBR_SsQ1OksWlzPZhwfQSRI1XKlSHI5AI9Vu0JZbAP5cz686J3q3ksvBUwin45Vo8bs2L_mas_ehqZDyZdC7yHf6sSIKGOdHDa5mz8_xjw8f98vS6AwAzaE/s1600/IMG_6443.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 283px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdWWgxO_hdNFua9nAHfhPpKBR_SsQ1OksWlzPZhwfQSRI1XKlSHI5AI9Vu0JZbAP5cz686J3q3ksvBUwin45Vo8bs2L_mas_ehqZDyZdC7yHf6sSIKGOdHDa5mz8_xjw8f98vS6AwAzaE/s320/IMG_6443.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519962828955855682" border="0" /></a><br />I'm really hoping the whole "you're going to get worms if you eat raw flour" thing I used to hear as a kid isn't true because seriously, Evangeline ate cups of the stuff.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVIonfVFvn0tjQQoMbrNLX-fw_wbc0r2eNEJJUSEPqz9se-mzocYYOjLfZtrFvzX2NkTJWVlZpihazO2yD97V2Sb19ZY3a10neAN5isY_EAiie-V205AB8vB8Gl_ffXRYM7er2D1uV-co/s1600/IMG_6610.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVIonfVFvn0tjQQoMbrNLX-fw_wbc0r2eNEJJUSEPqz9se-mzocYYOjLfZtrFvzX2NkTJWVlZpihazO2yD97V2Sb19ZY3a10neAN5isY_EAiie-V205AB8vB8Gl_ffXRYM7er2D1uV-co/s320/IMG_6610.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519975498867431890" border="0" /></a><br />This past week we made multiple French country boule loves, two baguettes which were better than any we've found in stores here, dinner rolls, whole wheat sandwich buns, walnut sticky buns, whole wheat country loaf, savory kolaches, flatbreads, homemade pizza and the soft pretzels. They were all delicious, actually. I couldn't believe it this morning when I looked at my plate for breakfast with an omlet and whole wheat toast and thought "wow, I made all that." The ingredients may have come from the store or farmer's market but the actual cooking and baking was all mine. MINE! Even the bread.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyf2FI0PIuEOvZD8mDRdXdx7IxOIMpnU2WLo13kev4QqGMJD_pNL8n756nBpXkZYcKoYFoj-2FsM2un44ZQ0BxnqtOwGNLKs_ucXQCV1vo2Z7Rj9Wec5jUuvK6ufMvf2TFJxVU0xB4EBo/s1600/IMG_6760.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyf2FI0PIuEOvZD8mDRdXdx7IxOIMpnU2WLo13kev4QqGMJD_pNL8n756nBpXkZYcKoYFoj-2FsM2un44ZQ0BxnqtOwGNLKs_ucXQCV1vo2Z7Rj9Wec5jUuvK6ufMvf2TFJxVU0xB4EBo/s320/IMG_6760.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519975540267333362" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC8ZUJdN4RRnUAoG45MDUPQ7ZwF3kEYUrS40u0nKKLYwTXNBCS4N0LlbQhz8L0TG4NBEYCb_bTn1RO4TeMfPXaR_FbnjzN2JJTf8fm6ZA06qYNvpQ0Eid6eTxc4MiizL6pFXut2oKR37Y/s1600/IMG_6619.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiC8ZUJdN4RRnUAoG45MDUPQ7ZwF3kEYUrS40u0nKKLYwTXNBCS4N0LlbQhz8L0TG4NBEYCb_bTn1RO4TeMfPXaR_FbnjzN2JJTf8fm6ZA06qYNvpQ0Eid6eTxc4MiizL6pFXut2oKR37Y/s320/IMG_6619.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519975505389863474" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitC1Su6vU6kBU9ummYUeBhUpjrWyrjkWlFFDtjVHUN8E7wSgPri38x2kopLeDl9UaZgHkRHmoiumohbpeU-xzxhZkIhXSw3cEfbc9fKoyKUexkNl-KaNrH3AVajMqn3kB5qTqNX4x_bLw/s1600/IMG_6625.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitC1Su6vU6kBU9ummYUeBhUpjrWyrjkWlFFDtjVHUN8E7wSgPri38x2kopLeDl9UaZgHkRHmoiumohbpeU-xzxhZkIhXSw3cEfbc9fKoyKUexkNl-KaNrH3AVajMqn3kB5qTqNX4x_bLw/s320/IMG_6625.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519975513511253394" border="0" /></a><br />And here's the kicker: it tastes delicious and I have enjoyed the experience.<br /><br />Move over Martha Stewart! My bread is awesome and piles of laundry is the new shabby chic!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfN5TX55eE9RS3Cl1YZPX5mjbqUkaXk14S0C-DoufzWB3PNQnfZAmhXstJ9JFxso7Lu57gsF_VnlyQX8vmCzlIzkgldWD7QfKav5Mt9cVTIsg3QQbHKHb-2r4iCKTeF1uqnXncJiTkS7k/s1600/IMG_6467.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfN5TX55eE9RS3Cl1YZPX5mjbqUkaXk14S0C-DoufzWB3PNQnfZAmhXstJ9JFxso7Lu57gsF_VnlyQX8vmCzlIzkgldWD7QfKav5Mt9cVTIsg3QQbHKHb-2r4iCKTeF1uqnXncJiTkS7k/s320/IMG_6467.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519962848306289474" border="0" /></a><br />I will continue making bread. The secret? I found out making bread doesn't have to be difficult! Thanks to the recipe I'm following I can see myself making fresh dough to bake into various breads every other day. Courtesy of my neighbor, I'm exploring the recipes in <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Artisan-Bread-Five-Minutes-Revolutionizes/dp/0312362919/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1285175327&sr=8-1"><span style="font-style: italic;">Artisan Bread In Five Minutes a Day</span></a> and getting inspiration from their wonderful <a href="http://www.artisanbreadinfive.com/">website</a> and blog. This book has quickly moved to the top of my wish list, I'm going to have to return it to my neighbor eventually and I am so going to need my own. Every time I make a batch I am surprised at how easy it is and how fast I'm done.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLH4sL7U8BURefOGdhpjFFkL8IRym9CcsuwG4EDtYKF1WKiQByg0oJCpfnBzyfXzCNUbHjCw4ZofGHwRZXDtEEEzyauYU6Eo5deGSroNqY_YjuP6QP1AoTj0SBbRAdiVZxFWKEzxgqh5Y/s1600/IMG_6633.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 269px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLH4sL7U8BURefOGdhpjFFkL8IRym9CcsuwG4EDtYKF1WKiQByg0oJCpfnBzyfXzCNUbHjCw4ZofGHwRZXDtEEEzyauYU6Eo5deGSroNqY_YjuP6QP1AoTj0SBbRAdiVZxFWKEzxgqh5Y/s320/IMG_6633.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5519975529954281778" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">School snacks ready to be packed up.</span></span><br /></div><br />I felt all kinds of <span style="font-style: italic;">Little House on The Prairie</span> sending the girls off to their little homeschool classes last week with a snack of homemade bread or pretzels wrapped in red gingham sandwich wraps, fresh canteloupe in Mason Jars, their steel water bottles and a sweet little cloth napkin tucked inside. Holy crap, I need to write something controversial again quick!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-83888618634341811872010-09-16T22:08:00.000-07:002010-09-16T23:27:26.373-07:00Birth Rape or a Negative Birth Experience?I've been planning blog posts all week but I've been so busy living life I haven't had the time to write about it. Too bad too because there is some great stuff too. We've been baking, schooling, playing, crafting, sewing, knitting, cooking, dancing, meeting and of course, drinking coffee. I have even made bread. There will be a post about that, there HAS to be a post about that.<br /><br />But instead of a post on golden crust and French style homemade bread I find myself with much heavier topics on my mind.<br /><br /><br />I haven't written about birth much and haven't actually attended one since last December and I was the birthing woman. This feels strange but also right at this time. Still a birth junkie though, I've been reading as usual and today I read <a href="http://www.parenting.com/new/blogs/show-and-tell/melanie-parentingcom/why-bad-birth-experiences-are-not-birth-rape?cid=fb">this article</a> on the Parenting blog. Melanie, the author, addresses the use of the fairly new term "birth rape" when discussing bad birth experiences. She shares with her readers some of the details of her first birth, a negative experience in a hospital and then why she feels that, though it was a negative experience that led to her choosing a home birth the next go-round, the term "birth rape" is not an appropriate label. The crux of her argument is that the doctor and hospital staff at her birth were not set out to intentionally harm her.<br /><br />I want to agree with her, really I do. Maybe it is true most of the time that a bad birth experience is just that, a bad birth experience. But there are times when I feel "rape" is an appropriate term. And I say that as a rape survivor.<br /><br />Merriam-Webster defines rape as:<br /><div style="font-style: italic;" class="sblk"><div class="scnt">1<span class="ssens"><em class="sn"> a</em> (<em>archaic</em>)<strong>:</strong> to seize and take away by force </span><span class="ssens"><span class="break"> </span><em class="sn">b</em> <strong>:</strong> <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/despoil">despoil</a> </span></div></div><div class="sblk"><div class="scnt"><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">2</span><span style="font-style: italic;" class="ssens"><strong>:</strong> to commit rape on<br /><br /></span><div style="font-style: italic;" class="scnt"><span class="ssens"> <strong>1:</strong> an act or instance of robbing or despoiling or carrying away a person by force<br /><br /></span></div><div style="font-style: italic;" class="sblk"><div class="scnt">2<span class="ssens"><strong>:</strong> unlawful sexual activity and usually sexual intercourse carried out forcibly or under threat of injury against the will usually of a female or with a person who is beneath a certain age or incapable of valid consent — compare <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/sexual+assault">sexual assault</a>, <a href="http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/statutory+rape">statutory rape</a> </span></div></div><div style="font-style: italic;" class="sblk"><div class="scnt"><br />3<span class="ssens"><strong>:</strong> an outrageous violation </span></div></div><br /></div></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">To seize and take away by force</span><br />I feel I experienced birth rape once and have witnessed it twice. I was told "if you had just gotten the epidural and delivered your placenta better then I wouldn't have to do this to you" when my OB was manually performing a DNC without any pain relief to remove the retained placenta fragments after she pulled on the cord because (and these were her words) "she was so tired and ready to be done with this already." I had been told more than once that it was the end of her shift. She entered my body 3 times that I remember, telling me to be still and I would thank her later. The way she spoke to me as she forced her arm up to her elbow inside me through my freshly torn vagina and bruised cervix while she scraped the inside of my uterus and searched for the fragments and how she had my legs restrained by nurses triggered flashbacks of my rape that haunted me for 2 years. I passed out from the pain and when I came to later I was told it was my fault, that I wanted a natural birth and "well, was it worth it?" When I became more educated years later and read through my own chart I understood what happened and I know the risk of a retained placenta and immediate postparum hemorrhage but I also know that the attitude with which it was done and the blame being placed on me was all too similar to what my sexual abuser did as well. Perhaps her intent wasn't to harm me but, like a sexual predator, her actions demonstrated that she was primarily thinking about getting what she wanted.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Despoiling, to commit rape on</span><br />The 2 times I saw what I feel was birth rape included a home birth transfer and I heard the on-call doctor tell the mother "everyone would be so much nicer if you had come here in the first place. This is what you get for being stupid enough to try a home birth" and then he cut her a 4th degree episiotomy that was completely unnecessary for the 3rd time mom birthing a 6 pounder.<br /><br /><br /><span class="ssens"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Unlawful sexual activity... carried out forcibly or under threat of injury against the will usually of a female<br /></span>I have several Labor and Delivery nurse friends that tell stories. There is a OB in town that has a horrible reputation among the nurses at the hospital where he does deliveries because of his poor treatment of patients. Poor doesn't even begin to describe it. One story my friend tells is of a young woman, a teen mom having her first baby. She was afraid and refused a second vaginal exam (smart girl, in my book) because of the pain from the first one. This doctor sat there between her legs and bellowed at her that he was in charge and she was just a little slut that needed to open her legs and let him do what he needed to do. She whimpered and obeyed. He hurt her again in that exam and told her she was no good at birth and he'd probably have to cut her open to get her baby out. Yes, those are the words my friend says he used. The nurses finally stood up to him and threatened to report him if he didn't change his treatment of this patient.<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><br /><br /></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">An outrageous violation</span><br />The other birth rape experience I witnessed was by a midwife in a birth center and was even more traumatic than the first with the midwife saying "you really want me to do this, you'll be thanking me later so stop being such a whimp" as she repeatedly tried to manually dilate a posterior, slow progressing, hard cervix despite the laboring woman begging her to stop and to get out of her. All my interventions to protect my client were ignored and her actions didn't stop until the 3rd time when I told the husband that he needed to tell the midwife to remove her hands from his wife and explain what she was doing. When she did I physically put myself between my client and the midwife until we had her word that she would not do another cervical exam without the express and clear permission from the mother. That birth was one of the most horrible I have ever seen and even included a light smack on the rear of the birthing mother on hands and knees when she tried to move away from the pain the midwife was causing her. In any other situation there would be no question that language of assault would be appropriate in describing the events that took place, just because it is birth and these people are supposed to be helping does not give them license to exert dominating control over a woman's body against her will. When I left the home of that couple after getting them settled back home several hours later I sat in my car and bawled. What I had witnessed wasn't just a series of unfortunate events or even unnecessary interventions but a vile form of abuse under the guise of assisting someone in the midst of an extremely and intensely vulnerable time. I won't even go into the desperate feelings of guilt and failure as a doula that hounded me in seeing my client abused and me feeling powerless to stop it.<br /><br /><br />I understand the writers point. Not every case of an undesired intervention equal birth rape. However, there are some where the attitude is clearly not just "this is what we do to get a healthy baby" but rather one of punitive power masquerading as care. Birth rape is a strong and unsettling term and rightly it should be. It should not be used lightly but it should not be ignored. If we tell women that they cannot describe their experience with language that points to assault we put more barriers in the way of their healing and for those suffering from PTSD as a result of their birth experiences we make it even more challenging for them to find the help they need. We need to be careful that we do not dismiss these traumatic experiences and that we encourage women to use the terminology they need to accurately express what happened to them. I don't want an us vs. them attitude between doctors and women or doctors and the natural birth community but not all health care birth professionals are as benevolent as we would like to believe. There are many wonderful and talented doctors, nurses and midwives I have been privileged to work with and know. Far more truly caring ones than not and most of them love what they do and recognize the honor they have in attending birthing women. I am grateful for this. The small handful that have made me sit in my car and sob are greatly outnumbered. But they are there and they are hurting women and families, traumatizing them by looking out for themselves, their needs and wants over those of the very people they are serving. That is how rape happens, when a position of power is abused to control someone to proceed in an action by violating their body through force against their will.<br /><br /><br />Melanie may not feel that her personal negative birth experience wasn't birth rape and it sounds as though she has found healing through her second birth and that's wonderful. For me and some other women "negative birth experience" just isn't the right terminology for what we went through. Birth rape feels closer. It may make us uncomfortable but that's exactly what it should do.<br /><br />What do you think? Is Birth Rape too strong of language for birth related abuse? What would be some other terms we could use instead? Do you feel it is fitting?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-24276037470202840882010-09-08T12:14:00.000-07:002010-09-08T12:51:56.909-07:00Summer, parting is such sweet sorrow<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB4EdmXhc25gc5ku667V7hskZViz_5oDU9p5dHVtZV1QhyuRxI1bQkv95vKxFCwdksDq8FAZpNBu1y-XW20JJAE1hkb86NbYCdhA7H9qW89XpSXIaOtXlzhpeQnWyWFjuisV-G99dwqFE/s1600/IMG_6300.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB4EdmXhc25gc5ku667V7hskZViz_5oDU9p5dHVtZV1QhyuRxI1bQkv95vKxFCwdksDq8FAZpNBu1y-XW20JJAE1hkb86NbYCdhA7H9qW89XpSXIaOtXlzhpeQnWyWFjuisV-G99dwqFE/s320/IMG_6300.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514605973020339410" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Exploring some math concepts together with The Piano Man from my perspective at the sewing machine.<br /></span></span></div><br />"School" has started. Our relaxed version of schooling that includes freedom, structure, cultivating individual interests and curiosity, self-pacing, exploration, and exposure to ideas and subjects is under-way as the seasons shift. Not that it ever stopped, we just explored other subjects with a different level of freedom and self-guidance. We are once again participating in 2 different local university style classical education programs for homeschoolers. The classes the girls are taking this year are once again exciting and of their own choosing. Earth Baby is taking Greek 3, Latin 2, Jr. High Spanish, Writing and Literature 7/8 (it's actually high school level, and she loves it!), high school drama, advanced drawing, and another art class. The Storyteller is enjoying a writing class, Spanish, drama, zoology- swimming creatures, art, Latin 1, and Ancient Roman and Greek architecture. Lolie is taking a math games class and she wanted to take a reading class I think mostly to have fun discovering new books. She is also taking drama and Spanish as well as an etiquette lunch to learn how to eat a meal with polite manners. Good thing I guess, she won't get that here! All of them love the 2 days a week managing their own schedules and visiting with friends. Squiggle Bug and I love our time together to do things like make playdough, scones, dance to whatever music we want, build elaborate castles of blocks or whatever strikes our fancy, play with baby dolls, go for long walks and swinging. We like to pretend it is fall and made up a song this week about the leaves crunching under our shoes as we walked and the vibrant colors of the season. We can dream, right?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1zVfG8uQLvz0ridbJTB3_jgBqR9PrXiEPgvRipht284hOudNMNJ8PrLg052ovCszdnteIxjvdF7HgWl1Fvdua8n_843HQHSNmlMAxbXzwEKqRlJ3Ecflc1jLwYSE4IzR4ajl_uf8g3Ws/s1600/IMG_6260.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1zVfG8uQLvz0ridbJTB3_jgBqR9PrXiEPgvRipht284hOudNMNJ8PrLg052ovCszdnteIxjvdF7HgWl1Fvdua8n_843HQHSNmlMAxbXzwEKqRlJ3Ecflc1jLwYSE4IzR4ajl_uf8g3Ws/s320/IMG_6260.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514610009270081202" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Squiggle Bug enjoys a hot walk in September doing our new favorite family activity- geocaching!</span></span><br /></div><br />My sewing machine is whirring, the knitting needles are clicking, books and patterns being marked for ideas, yarn being fingered, etsy and craigslist being perused for more ideas and maybe a few deals, dress-up themes being discussed for October 31st, whispered conversations abruptly halted when another family member walks into the room, secret measuring and knowing giggles with side-ways glances echo off the walls of our home. But the ultimate tell-tale sign of the seasons shifting has been the Christmas music books making their way to the piano as we select what we want to work on this year. I am constantly humming the favorites I want to arrange for us to sing this year and will set about determining keys and parts soon so we have ample time to learn them comfortably.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3LNV_VegftGQ-N70pxXXSVAHTRbuDSrOBNqJSLITshQUCsPKr2wyuWPWyC-bQHCjGMLrw-scffYRPd6ZnZ96PQUFmgnKMLNpx74Ec5Bpjdok2YQar2-olRWrAmzyzuMuJaPCvNLp5Rm0/s1600/IMG_6305.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3LNV_VegftGQ-N70pxXXSVAHTRbuDSrOBNqJSLITshQUCsPKr2wyuWPWyC-bQHCjGMLrw-scffYRPd6ZnZ96PQUFmgnKMLNpx74Ec5Bpjdok2YQar2-olRWrAmzyzuMuJaPCvNLp5Rm0/s320/IMG_6305.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514605965298299906" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnU8AI70xICJrgrEs8Per2cl7qG0pJzNV1gszWgNb8rerLGIE-BXRXQPrE37YW1CdmRpWWUw3Fuz8c4x4Bdqqy8XIdRII2zV4uMhFL3yx3Vb6HDN_NwzirPM6GapTBzFKfjiWv-fRvuzU/s1600/IMG_6314.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnU8AI70xICJrgrEs8Per2cl7qG0pJzNV1gszWgNb8rerLGIE-BXRXQPrE37YW1CdmRpWWUw3Fuz8c4x4Bdqqy8XIdRII2zV4uMhFL3yx3Vb6HDN_NwzirPM6GapTBzFKfjiWv-fRvuzU/s320/IMG_6314.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514605986525759330" border="0" /></a><br />I refuse to think about the fact that if we are turning our attention forward to Halloween and then Christmas it means that Smunchie is closing in on her first birthday as well. Nope, impossible, she's still a newborn, right?<br /><br />Though the weather has cooled off a touch with a hurricane that made landfall only 150 miles away, we don't actually expect real change to the weather until well into November at the earliest. A fact we take into consideration when planning our Halloween costumes. Still, it feels as though we have begun to bid summer adieu and from this point out and shorts and t-shirt days will be mere stragglers of an Indian Summer. We pretend that you can't actually wear shorts and t-shirts all year here. I sit here and right this in a tank top and summer skirt. Same outfit I'll probably be wearing at some point in December.<br /><br />For years we have been listening to the 3 big girls beg to visit a waterpark but the hot temperatures, fair skin, and high cost made us balk at the idea. Thanks to some friends passing along some free-tickets, we were able to have one last horrah this summer by enjoying a day along a chlorinated lazy river, 3-story swirling tube slides, jumping fountains, fabricated showers, artificial wave pool, water obstacle courses and more. The weather had cooled off nicely with only a high around 91 degrees and even for our not-so-summer-fun-loving selves we had a good time. Sunburns were avoided, dehydration kept at bay and we enjoyed our buddy system for the day. Smunchie still hates water so she was less than thrilled but was mostly content to ride along in the lazy river as long as she wasn't getting wet and was able to breastfeed at the same time. It worked. As long as I didn't think about the <a href="http://www.southparkstudios.com/episodes/251891">SouthPark episode with Pi Pi's New York Splash Waterpark</a> too much. *shudder*<br /><br />I wasn't able to get too many photos, I was far too busy enjoying the waterpark experience but snapped a few of Smunchie staying dry on the beach.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD6QSLA2wYFRHCKFOa2hNm9f8fbTCJri5Pixzs6n8MUWqgGJ1rCGKOXUzYMuOy3y-lwjo1BW77Wj5lLHae0fKwxtWsFn_sdnXY0BT_nqeNwkl-G9K0FLlW4GalHibnoLZP_LUKyuZ1iqo/s1600/IMG_6279.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD6QSLA2wYFRHCKFOa2hNm9f8fbTCJri5Pixzs6n8MUWqgGJ1rCGKOXUzYMuOy3y-lwjo1BW77Wj5lLHae0fKwxtWsFn_sdnXY0BT_nqeNwkl-G9K0FLlW4GalHibnoLZP_LUKyuZ1iqo/s320/IMG_6279.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514374651670937186" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxpqIURPV-NkKiB6XluMJ7IOKWsi3fY1dGFD5iK-R__JOCQ3xmtaMdLE3WP2ijJwqWiupJ_NAEwZWxuoeelndcEcouxytHq6QdJCB-F8f_sDxQmTu-p386nWGDATHqmaa-pJnFr0DmZQ/s1600/IMG_6280.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqxpqIURPV-NkKiB6XluMJ7IOKWsi3fY1dGFD5iK-R__JOCQ3xmtaMdLE3WP2ijJwqWiupJ_NAEwZWxuoeelndcEcouxytHq6QdJCB-F8f_sDxQmTu-p386nWGDATHqmaa-pJnFr0DmZQ/s320/IMG_6280.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514374658280530658" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxgy9vvqdU_JulXuqBE2u4UuZZnTZ974oHqipVsha8JPBVU0_Lj-IQeBwhAf0vUjxj4tDWeJJViCKbQ1xFrudUSEiYitJZbg5mQoLwZ8xi0HGWsXUGe-zv4udJeRN4JwWPttBUEKoTD8/s1600/IMG_6281.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinxgy9vvqdU_JulXuqBE2u4UuZZnTZ974oHqipVsha8JPBVU0_Lj-IQeBwhAf0vUjxj4tDWeJJViCKbQ1xFrudUSEiYitJZbg5mQoLwZ8xi0HGWsXUGe-zv4udJeRN4JwWPttBUEKoTD8/s320/IMG_6281.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5514374668072821906" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-66050406787027696492010-08-31T02:31:00.000-07:002011-01-14T12:42:56.002-08:00Saving dishesI'm not a fan of dishes. Well, that's not true, I like dishes and all different types too, stoneware, glass, ceramics, china, and whatever else there is. What I should say is I don't like washing dishes. I suppose a dishwasher is supposed to make that chore easier but I'm not sure ours really does that. With the exception of most liquids in a cup or glass, we pretty much have to wash each dish before putting it in the dishwasher because it's not like the machine actually gets food off anything. Which makes me wonder, what's the point? I imagine we could use the cabinet space more than the appliance.<br />
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But since I also don't like waste and I have some crunchy tendencies, not to mention the prohibitive cost comparisons, we don't use disposable dishes either. Shoot, we don't even use <a href="http://everydayrebel.blogspot.com/2010/03/call-me-crazy.html">disposable paper towels or napkins</a>. So I wash dishes. Thankfully, I have helpers.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgphMFH4i8ZAUSEMEULlvGZx_KlKee2fvSWsFYNMkmgdGi6C4fMjKvwC1NFRkplX-MJ46iDVyTFxWdHxf6ULPpOXS0MAVcc84ZNTd-cIIeBCh7NtM4_gMNWvz6aBFh8iXrBuCuB3vxk26w/s1600/IMG_6121.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511691484590179682" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgphMFH4i8ZAUSEMEULlvGZx_KlKee2fvSWsFYNMkmgdGi6C4fMjKvwC1NFRkplX-MJ46iDVyTFxWdHxf6ULPpOXS0MAVcc84ZNTd-cIIeBCh7NtM4_gMNWvz6aBFh8iXrBuCuB3vxk26w/s320/IMG_6121.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">The Storyteller joyfully does the dishes. Can't you tell? That's joy all over her face.</span></span></div><br />
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These helpers help a lot, they know how to load and unload the dishwasher, scrape the plates, wipe down the counters, and put away the silver ware. And they have a magic talent. They know how to make the dishes, specifically glasses, multiply. Hot from playing outside, get a clean glass and a cold drink of water! Enjoying a captivating read? Keep a fresh glass of water close by. Can't sleep? Grab another glass and fill 'er up! Even more sweaty? Yep, more water! Can't find your glass from 5 minutes ago? That's ok, grab another one and drink up! And if you had something other than water in your glass you certainly don't want to rinse it out and re-use the glass that would be gross! So, GET ANOTHER GLASS! Yay!<br />
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Not yay.<br />
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Now, don't get me wrong, I love that the girls can chug some water and stay well hydrated, really, I do. I'm thrilled that I generally don't have to worry about their fluid intake on any given day. But I can't say that I appreciate being able to count how many glasses of water they'd had before noon just by the number of glasses cluttering up the counter. Particularly the ones that were full with only a few sips of water missing. Though I watered plenty of plants by pouring the contents of abandoned glasses into their pots, I was in desperate need of a solution. And I really didn't like having to wash all those glasses so many times in an effort to have glasses on the shelf.<br />
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We tried tape on the counter tops with names so you could get a drink and put your glass back right in front of your name. I attempted to enforce that for 2 weeks but failed miserably. Then it was designated spots, The Piano Man always keeps a glass by the sink so he can fill it up with water and just knows to set it there when he's done so it is ready for the next time. Important fact to keep in mind as to why this works for him and not for his children: He's 20-something years older than the oldest child in the family. That and I'm their mom, my DNA is in the mix too and I have a hard time remembering where I put my purse. The next effort in having the girls use the same glass all day was to label the glasses but the labels got lost, wet, removed, whatever, the point is that didn't work either.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrBUWu95Yr6WRdkcd2UiIzkxuZ0PBHfHuYY87NREjBEqAKop0vDsR1ZM581dEaXpVEyHOGEomPuf6v-XWrPCIPurdcmTCghbpvnQqegjh6D_XjaJh7QuoQd7ioupFtqMOckk4gxE69qI/s1600/IMG_4736.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511677650532814354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQrBUWu95Yr6WRdkcd2UiIzkxuZ0PBHfHuYY87NREjBEqAKop0vDsR1ZM581dEaXpVEyHOGEomPuf6v-XWrPCIPurdcmTCghbpvnQqegjh6D_XjaJh7QuoQd7ioupFtqMOckk4gxE69qI/s320/IMG_4736.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Our glasses and the glass markers.</span></span></div><br />
Finally I decided to try personalized glasses but I wasn't about to order glasses with their names etched on them. Instead, I pulled out the plain glasses we had from IKEA and picked up a set of glass paint markers. For a few days we talked about the idea of creating a custom glass, each of us designing and decorating a glass in our own unique style and the girls got excited. Thinking it was going to be quite the time consuming production, I procrastinated a few days until Lolie couldn't stand the anticipation of creating her very own glass and pestered me to no end. However much work it would be it was worth doing to get her to stop. I shouldn't have worried. The glass paint markers were simple and easy to use once we got the paint flowing into the tip of each marker. I helped the girls get going with theirs and figuring out some of the tricky maneuvering required for some of their designs. The Piano Man joined us and it wasn't long before we had 10 distinctly different glasses full of color, whimsy, energy, individuality and character. Setting all the glasses on a tray to put in the oven to bake the paint I was delighted with our mis-matched matching family glasses.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHCeyl8lbPJ8AHGczhdIUTnhSMToi0TrZsYkxT_Ypkt5Dar6Dgg5__v266Kc3hkuAqs_Pm6XkC6f2GEgwXfXbJdjCaDkk4qR-fTk7_lF3pgko0XZH9LXEkRmYXSxovohyphenhyphenCO1ZguINk658/s1600/IMG_2439.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511677626775388738" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHCeyl8lbPJ8AHGczhdIUTnhSMToi0TrZsYkxT_Ypkt5Dar6Dgg5__v266Kc3hkuAqs_Pm6XkC6f2GEgwXfXbJdjCaDkk4qR-fTk7_lF3pgko0XZH9LXEkRmYXSxovohyphenhyphenCO1ZguINk658/s320/IMG_2439.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 172px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">9 of our set of 10.</span><br />
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We have rainbows, flowers, butterflies, birds, stripes, swirls and polka-dots, hearts, a colorful henna-tattoo inspired glass, our family initials, and people jumping from mountain top to mountain top (I admit, I scratched my head at that one) decorating our glasses and "set" is proudly displayed on a shelf between the kitchen and dinning room. The light shines through them in a colorful display creating our own small stained glass collection. The most amazing thing though is that they are usually at least a few on the shelf at all times with the exception of those that are in use at any given moment.<br />
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It was really simple, wash the glasses, prep the surface by wiping them down with vinegar, shaking the paint down to the tips of the markers and getting creative. After they were painted they had to sit for 24 hours to dry and then bake for 40 minutes at 325 degrees. Each of us enjoyed seeing not only our own glasses come to life with color but what everyone else was doing as well. My original plan was to have us each create a cup for ourselves and one for guests and everyone in the family would use their personalized glass. However, we all enjoy the other glasses so much that every morning we pick a new glass. Today I have the purple people jumping on green mountains. A fun family project that has miraculously cut down on the amount of dishes.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit06UYZ2cPbhKSDx5gM152-tJhoTB4gprP47Ul9iuL41ynP9mP3twnwkp4oxwOEHhs5ub0StbXy56JWLbBpvFOEGmnoKgIiSZ1W-xsc6_9_zHqviRM02no45Kz6HYVF-0OFQnkYOu-ICs/s1600/IMG_2441.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5511677635828853458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit06UYZ2cPbhKSDx5gM152-tJhoTB4gprP47Ul9iuL41ynP9mP3twnwkp4oxwOEHhs5ub0StbXy56JWLbBpvFOEGmnoKgIiSZ1W-xsc6_9_zHqviRM02no45Kz6HYVF-0OFQnkYOu-ICs/s320/IMG_2441.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 240px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-78541785735396732772010-07-23T17:40:00.000-07:002010-07-23T23:26:40.284-07:00No More the Training Pants! It's time for big girl panties?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2efEAK75I7SibhTkwybl_z2stM6aso7swDBmFiFBghnp2jnGB9Q1eql74Wy95jvjRiwtwlgPrCmXC4onYEDbS6xH0A1_JSeOnj8VuOEPh26_q2nR93npWFN8OI8T6rBNF16znSdwxciY/s1600/IMG_2993.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2efEAK75I7SibhTkwybl_z2stM6aso7swDBmFiFBghnp2jnGB9Q1eql74Wy95jvjRiwtwlgPrCmXC4onYEDbS6xH0A1_JSeOnj8VuOEPh26_q2nR93npWFN8OI8T6rBNF16znSdwxciY/s320/IMG_2993.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497324993598798402" border="0" /></a><br />Squiggle Bug learned to use the potty a few months ago and she's pretty much a pro now. It's great, sudden hollering of "my poopoo coming! I go potty!" echo through out our little house on a regular basis followed shortly by "I did it!" and "Bye bye my poopoo! Bye bye my peepee!"<br /><br />So with regular success of bye-bye peepee and bye-bye poopoo, it was time to get Squiggle Bug some new undergarments. Panties. Deciding to couple the Target shopping expedition with family time, we first went to see Toy Story 3. I've waited a long time for this movie and was more excited than the girls. Cute flick, we all enjoyed it including 2 year old Squiggle Bug. After crying through Toy Story 3, we headed with a grumpy, napless Squiggle Bug and the rest of the crew to go buy the new panties. Buying new panties is an exciting time. No more the training pants and stretched out undies from big sisters, it's time to pick out your very own panties! The general rule regarding trademarked characters on clothing in our home is lifted and any panties with any character are permitted. Even if they have no idea who Dora is.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkcICMznClShSI_QyBOE8Dfv0FlmwKhb_2G0GiYdPRpJfN8zSM6q_aXoiZsIbEpsrUQ8WFCqUrF8Mq_Uf6QfUGLFZGOdZ3DHKgFQ_mzaWMB4wIlDYgjABlWIZi7erQvhLJn646N6l6ajA/s1600/IMG_3111.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkcICMznClShSI_QyBOE8Dfv0FlmwKhb_2G0GiYdPRpJfN8zSM6q_aXoiZsIbEpsrUQ8WFCqUrF8Mq_Uf6QfUGLFZGOdZ3DHKgFQ_mzaWMB4wIlDYgjABlWIZi7erQvhLJn646N6l6ajA/s320/IMG_3111.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497330103742036466" border="0" /></a><br />I fully expected princesses or fairies. She doesn't know who the characters are really but she knows a princesses is anyone in a pretty outfit. She really likes princesses. We found our way to the baby section with toddler panties and found the smallest size. In a regrettable move I picked out some Tinker Bell and Friends panties and showed Squiggle Bug. One look and she was screaming no and hitting the package in my hands. Shocked but a little bit pleased I hung the offending package of panties back up. Not having learned our lesson, The Piano Man presented her with a set of the Micky Mouse Princesses and received the same reaction. Over and over she stomped around saying "I want MY panties!" Bewildered, we attempted to show her other potential selections, each received with a similar reaction.<br /><br />I was determined to throw something in the cart, anything. Plain white panties weren't easy to find but I wasn't going home empty handed. Between the 5 of us there that had any hope of understanding what it was she wanted, none of us actually knew. Loitering in the toddler underwear aisle for a while was starting to feel awkward when I spotted a set of Toy Story undies. Thinking she would calm down upon recognizing the characters we just saw in the movie I showed Squiggles. It worked. She calmed down. Well, actually, she did an immediate 180, squealing and jumping up and down. Snatching the package out of my hands she squeaked "my Buzz! My Woody! My Panties!"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg2getgoziCzTM2xR9qVp60IHCq25n4bWZFSC29NXdy-fukR4I5mAlkpU8HB8LK7R2JuEe-hOLm_yV7ogBvhQdh7d4d_yAlHr4N7W-1xCYCSmABmSJrYsudUKPFG9RpJfx2JfHR9OUUdM/s1600/IMG_3242.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg2getgoziCzTM2xR9qVp60IHCq25n4bWZFSC29NXdy-fukR4I5mAlkpU8HB8LK7R2JuEe-hOLm_yV7ogBvhQdh7d4d_yAlHr4N7W-1xCYCSmABmSJrYsudUKPFG9RpJfx2JfHR9OUUdM/s320/IMG_3242.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497315110963068658" border="0" /></a><br />I looked at The Piano Man over our now enthusiastic 2 year old and tried to ignore the giggles and shocked whispers of her big sisters. He shrugged. "Boy underwear!" The Storyteller giggled uncontrollably.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFe9CdF4tJbiGLXQsT0gzOWeimkx-orF5VaT4WZMr0CZ_B7I7xpff4ulDcOAIWFqfKem-HYgvMMRMy8hmCOAX-WTId9nciDHxKlOe5bJXmu2JrBghlblMtxgm-gUCJqjh9THdYya6np0Y/s1600/IMG_3243.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFe9CdF4tJbiGLXQsT0gzOWeimkx-orF5VaT4WZMr0CZ_B7I7xpff4ulDcOAIWFqfKem-HYgvMMRMy8hmCOAX-WTId9nciDHxKlOe5bJXmu2JrBghlblMtxgm-gUCJqjh9THdYya6np0Y/s320/IMG_3243.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497315118666919698" border="0" /></a><br />And so it came to be that I bought my first package of little boy underwear. Reluctant to hand her package of undies over to the check out girl, Squiggles had to be comforted for the few seconds while it was scanned before gripping it tightly to her chest for the rest of the way to the van. As soon as we got home she wanted them on. Her favorite pair are the lime green ones with both Woody and Buzz on the butt. Modeling them for me, she got concerned when she couldn't find her new friends until twisting to look at her rear-end and then beamed up at me "There's my Woody! There's my Buzz!"<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZDLOk80IxhZqJGOnrG_LJEZp0bIb-0wjb0fUx6Xw-rj9HmzmrbAMLHC7edFpwUaIWvJIX6KGWKGHQgoh35z4KghbEoIAXTT5oMEfDZkHTrHiQJLaFKashrB88gbb0RatBUXGfQ013Uho/s1600/IMG_3244.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZDLOk80IxhZqJGOnrG_LJEZp0bIb-0wjb0fUx6Xw-rj9HmzmrbAMLHC7edFpwUaIWvJIX6KGWKGHQgoh35z4KghbEoIAXTT5oMEfDZkHTrHiQJLaFKashrB88gbb0RatBUXGfQ013Uho/s320/IMG_3244.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5497315121277996882" border="0" /></a><br />At 2 Squiggle Bug has figured out the secret I only learned a few years ago: boy undies are way more comfortable than girl panties. Screw the princesses, cowboys and spacemen rock for girls too.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-27881783459351504432010-07-22T06:19:00.000-07:002010-07-24T08:58:27.874-07:00Pressing Memories<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpmSDK1sutP7CsKn5ZVt2eqH14QaBQMtfRT6J0lMWCkUAYyLJzLYi6a7vLmLod-jAFKZFB8fvkIgFf-bE9NiRt9KdqzwzVR5JPR1vMRFZcsydkGVsvjsye7L9w-4NpzzJrscuaUt3uCMg/s1600/IMG_2398.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpmSDK1sutP7CsKn5ZVt2eqH14QaBQMtfRT6J0lMWCkUAYyLJzLYi6a7vLmLod-jAFKZFB8fvkIgFf-bE9NiRt9KdqzwzVR5JPR1vMRFZcsydkGVsvjsye7L9w-4NpzzJrscuaUt3uCMg/s320/IMG_2398.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496735325139519026" border="0" /></a><br />I finished singing the "last" song and told her it was time to go to sleep. We both laid down, her face just inches from mine with her Raffie, she tossed her delicate legs over mine and gave me a sleepy smile. For a moment we just looked at each other with sleepy smiles. Just as I was lifting my hand to stroke the hair out of her face and trace light circles across her nose and around her eyes, Squiggle Bug settled her hand on my face and said around the Raffie ear in her mouth "I love you mommy." Finger the sunshine strands on her forehead in the dim light, I smiled and whispered that I loved her too. My chest constricted and tears stung my eyes as she began to caress my face just like I do hers every night. Laying there caressing each others face I told myself to press this moment into my memory like a flower between the pages of a book to be discovered later as a sweet, faded surprise. I worried I would forget anyway. Then my mind scrambled to find other memories hidden in it's pages; first giggles, how she smelled the first time I held her, a small arm clutching my neck, cuddles in the early morning, blue eyes gazing intently into mine as I held her while she nursed. Beautiful memories but already so faded.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO-OiFNBL7lwt4tnViMC51fgvb23bp9Az7PlCZDVus9mCTf2zh-DQRGl74-72J_hoxLygjd-JgxuqGStTC5GIRGFQDr9vx18RQ-374THKe9MJtpwTYtJqb-sh9X1aiiC-yEyLrSIO4kK8/s1600/IMG_0622.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO-OiFNBL7lwt4tnViMC51fgvb23bp9Az7PlCZDVus9mCTf2zh-DQRGl74-72J_hoxLygjd-JgxuqGStTC5GIRGFQDr9vx18RQ-374THKe9MJtpwTYtJqb-sh9X1aiiC-yEyLrSIO4kK8/s320/IMG_0622.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496735319662235458" border="0" /></a><br />Her hand dropped, too drowsy to continue fingering my face and peeking through slits in her eyelids she asked me to sing again. I obliged, holding on to this moment for as long as I could. Would she? Would she remember those dusty memories? With so many more memories and knowledge coming to fill the pages of her mind, I doubted it. I reflected on my own memories as a child, realizing that the earliest one I had of even going to bed as a child was when I was at least 7 or 8, certainly not 2. Peering through the clouded lens of so many years I remember sitting next to my mom in a nightgown on the couch in my family room, the blue couch with flowers, and my brother and sister and dad there as well. Dad was playing the guitar and we had been singing. He launched into "Goodnight Ladies" replacing ladies with the names of my siblings and me, one at a time. To the tune of our names we circled the room giving hugs and goodnight kisses before dancing off to bed. I don't think my older brother cared for that part much but he awkwardly participated. In bed I listened to the end of the song for my brother and then my dad sang another song and I sang along softly. There are details missing, details like the ones I was trying to grasp to hold forever from this moment putting my own daughter to bed. No, she probably wouldn't remember.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjusqHR6RMaTZNV7wPQ1vazuOS58GEOyyKbycdyFxSlPI9MLZ1MBgMDFn84po0YLZ67EYBUheSIb5_EC8n4JwNq8PZyMH8V2MRfKcMncMM0kiuorefWnA4A799T0iPZCY1bv-SbssS3afo/s1600/IMG_0435.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjusqHR6RMaTZNV7wPQ1vazuOS58GEOyyKbycdyFxSlPI9MLZ1MBgMDFn84po0YLZ67EYBUheSIb5_EC8n4JwNq8PZyMH8V2MRfKcMncMM0kiuorefWnA4A799T0iPZCY1bv-SbssS3afo/s320/IMG_0435.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496735307198091586" border="0" /></a><br />So I'll have to tell her. Over and over again, describe how she smelled, her sweet sleepy voice requesting yet another song, her soft hand stroking my cheek as she tells me she loves me, the favorite cookie pajamas keeping her warm and snuggly, and the way her hair lays across her forehead in the gentle glow from the nightlight. And to press it in my memory I'll write it down in her journal. I know that many of the memories I have from my childhood are because of the spiral bound journal scrapbooks my mom would squeeze out time at 2am to fill for me, recording her perspective of the mundane and exciting moments of my childhood.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_EOPL4cByAyZtouWsuMMti2gLdm5k3Xro_JAJhiMud_ficdaJ1l5xBDjcvstAiIrwXCidjLo70iWboPh6SInE3ZxYg7-q2B60pnsrq6qXA602BDYqA5wZepd8qAQVMAR9MPrrEqIOLT8/s1600/IMG_0380_2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_EOPL4cByAyZtouWsuMMti2gLdm5k3Xro_JAJhiMud_ficdaJ1l5xBDjcvstAiIrwXCidjLo70iWboPh6SInE3ZxYg7-q2B60pnsrq6qXA602BDYqA5wZepd8qAQVMAR9MPrrEqIOLT8/s320/IMG_0380_2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496735316681813330" border="0" /></a><br />This weekend I'm going to go through one of those notebooks and share those musty memories with my own children. Then I'll record those precious details that slip away and press them into my memory to share with them again one day. I will continue the tradition of preserving memories in the written word to share one day with my children as my mom did for me. There may be long blocks of time between those moments but I will press every moment I can.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWzr-3W87G7sR0wdk2sKebexwzxnKsc5A4y_6QVDoz1_6-oWDjaQHp8XxoUBxMWP-YOEnuPtxuEZ4kdtaNbAWPMI72zhEXUYwus6ZgWapGKPFZMdEyMfkHQXGdp3yxXkc2GA3tyPjiHg0/s1600/IMG_2389.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWzr-3W87G7sR0wdk2sKebexwzxnKsc5A4y_6QVDoz1_6-oWDjaQHp8XxoUBxMWP-YOEnuPtxuEZ4kdtaNbAWPMI72zhEXUYwus6ZgWapGKPFZMdEyMfkHQXGdp3yxXkc2GA3tyPjiHg0/s320/IMG_2389.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5496735335012047298" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-78556868488198709522010-04-27T11:46:00.000-07:002010-05-01T11:10:57.430-07:00When the Dam Breaks<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwfxkGaGs1NX-5SMA2DW4AOSfCq30a8-xO3rTbNRnzb4_zLpr7jxfXPGNnBaCyHh6e2XeQxmrvU6TYWPeTAnETzo_8M5xyrTjFrLlJX01sx4Jlc2pj9LZ0890HofLT9oRSYMrfOxOzyek/s1600/IMG_2296.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwfxkGaGs1NX-5SMA2DW4AOSfCq30a8-xO3rTbNRnzb4_zLpr7jxfXPGNnBaCyHh6e2XeQxmrvU6TYWPeTAnETzo_8M5xyrTjFrLlJX01sx4Jlc2pj9LZ0890HofLT9oRSYMrfOxOzyek/s320/IMG_2296.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5464897690774847394" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">Today I am honored to share the story </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">of a friend, a rape survivor in </span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">a constant battle with RR-PTSD. To help raise awareness of Sexual assault and sexual abuse I am featuring posts dealing with this sensitive subject for Sexual Assault Awareness Month in April. Lora's on-going story is one that highlights the particular struggles of the aftermath of sexual assault. I hope you, like I was, are touched by the promise of hope and healing already taking place and are still challenged to raise your voice and hearts for the survivors of sexual abuse.</span></span><br /><br />Most people I know who have had Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) have been soldiers or survived some natural disaster. They are encouraged, lauded as survivors who need our help. Some are even put up as super-human to even carry on in a daily routine. However there are hidden PTSD suffers who are pushed to the side. They do not have the supporters who are willing to put their name to the disease as easily as the others. These are Rape-Related Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (RR-PTSD) suffers and I am going to discuss my battle with this horrid mental illness.<br /><br />I am starting with a synopsis of the sexual assault. So if it is a trigger for anybody, you may want to skip the next two paragraphs. It is not in completely detail, but I thought a warning may be a good idea.<br /><br />I was raped by someone I thought was a friend and the assault happened at work. It was so very difficult for my mind to process because this particular predator had set up a long routine of sexual harassment prior. When the actual incident happened I didn’t know what to think. My mind went into denial. My therapist has now explained to me that this is a proper and normal way for the mind to deal with something so traumatic. That way the mind can process the incident slowly and not be overwhelmed. I had marital problems due to this. I told my husband (bless him, he is still with me) that, “I think I had cheated on him, but I didn’t want to”. We went to counseling at the Employee Assistance Program I had through work. I thought I would get at least adequate help there. The man there, when hearing me say that it was easier right now for me to say I cheated on my husband that for me to say I was raped by a man whom I had and was continuing to work with, told me that the proper course of action was to take the man aside to a quiet, private place and tell him it couldn’t happen again. I was to confront my attacker.<br /><br />Now, at the time I was unable to see what horrid advice this was and the danger it presented to me, so I did it. I told my attacker I “Didn’t want to go that far” and he told me that he knew. HE KNEW! Those words just rang around in my head as I looked around the deserted area we were in. Those words spiraled around like a hurricane and broke the dam of my denial. Every single emotion, every single relationship, EVERY SINGLE THING was washing over me. It was as if I was standing in a valley when the dam broke and I had no where to run and no hope of rescue. No human mind can withstand the dam of denial being broken so suddenly and so close to the incident. My mind broke.<br /><br />I tried to carry on, I did. I come from an Eastern European family. We don’t show emotion in public and we don’t show weakness. I was never specifically told that, but it was modeled for me by both parents. When my mind broke, I went through the four hall-marks of RR-PTSD (1), made all the worse because I was not to show emotion in public or any weakness.<br /><br />I lived a life of hell. Over and over this happened. I had what was called Disassociated Flashbacks. These caused me to see, smell, hear, and physically live the rape over and over again. When these came on (and anything could bring it on) I was experiencing it all again. My husband learned from the rape counselors at Planned Parenthood how to try to bring me out. I had nightmares that actually made me not want to sleep. I didn’t sleep. What breaks my heart, still to this day, is that my son, who was 2 at the time, knew how to try to bring me out. As I was coming out of some I distinctly remember my 2 year old saying, “Mommy, Mommy where are you? You are in your bed!” as he was standing back from me. He knew Mommy would hit and punch at anybody who tried to touch her until she was out of the flashback (I didn’t see the person in front of me, I only saw my attacker). I lived the nightmare probably 90% of the day and night. I was not in this world, but in hell. Eventually it caused me to not sleep for 3 days straight. Then, when I couldn’t take the guilt or the pain anymore, I tried to end it all. I was quickly admitted and was put on medicine to slow down and stop the disassociated part of the flashbacks. To this day (over 5 years later) I still experience flashbacks and nightmares.<br /><br />I have withdrawn completely from a social life. I do have more of an online life. However all trust was pulled out from under me when the dam of denial came crashing down. I examined every single relationship I had, because after all I had trusted this person as well. I am still in withdrawal and working in therapy to try to change this. I can only talk on the phone to a few people (after all it requires trust. How do I know it’s really the person on the phone and not someone else?) I can’t form new relationships in person. That would require trusting the person with at least some information, just to start the relationship. I can’t work, because who would want a nurse who can’t talk on the phone, freaks out about the smallest thing, and doesn’t trust anybody? I get anxiety attacks going outside my house. I don’t have a life outside my house.<br /><br />I avoid the place that this happened. I have been there a handful of times to visit family, as it is a hospital. Each time I go I have had to prepare myself, get my crystals together, and try not to lose it on my husband, who has come every single time. I avoid other hospitals as well. The smell of hospitals reminds me. I avoid watching TV show or reading books that may set off another reminder. If I do happen to see a TV show that is a trigger, it will set it off for a while. Just recently I watched a TV show that unexpectedly triggered flashbacks and memories. It was over a week before I could sleep at night again and I am still having more nightmares than normal.<br /><br />This is probably one of worst symptoms. I see danger everywhere. I have 5 cats in my house and they are constantly playing at night. I will wake up in terror because I heard a bang, even if I KNOW it was a cat. I see danger when my child is playing on the swing set. When my son goes to school and develops friends, sending him to their house releases such a terror in me. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him. I see major crisis when other see small crisis or maybe even nothing at all. Any sound catches my attention and causes me to get anxious. After it first happened we lived in an apartment and I would literally look around corners before going down the hall. Some days, when I am having more problems, I still do that. In my own house.<br /><br />Sexual Assault is not something that is easy to get over by any means. Somebody told me, shortly after the rape, that they “thought I was stronger than this”. I have only very recently accepted that anybody, no matter how strong, when having that dam of denial broken would have a breakdown. That is progress I suppose. I still have so many days when I wish the denial dam was up. I could be working. I could be LIVING.<br /><br />I have so much guilt because I have PTSD: My son had to learn how to get me out of the flashbacks, and see me in such a state. My daughter will never know the fun, carefree person I was before the rape. I broke my husband’s heart in the way I told him that I thought I’d cheated on him. when I broke down and needed all the hospitalizations and medicines and lost our health insurance. I ruined my family’s finances, which have only very recently recovered. My son feels like I abandoned him when I was hospitalized, and to this day has issues with that.<br /><br />I suppose there are some good things that have come out of this: I have become, in my own way, more spiritual. My son is the most compassionate boy. If someone is upset or sick, he is the first to help. Because of my horrid pregnancies my daughter would most likely not have been born at the time she was. My mother-in-law and I would never have been as close as we are, as she would never have had the opportunity to hold me as I was crying and assure me it was not my fault. We have all learned compassion and to have a non-judgmental attitude towards others, as others judged us and we know how it feels.<br /><br />This rape has left me with permanent scars, scars that will never be removed. I have relatively recently come to realize that I will be cleaning up the floods of the dam of denial for the rest of my life. And the saddest part of my experience is how little people knew. Why, oh why, doesn’t the newspaper, magazines, and publishers, let us know that this exists? What I found regarding this was on official websites. Websites you find AFTER it happens and you are already having trouble.<br /><br />I believe this type of PTSD is the hidden one because we have to admit that there areingcriminals live in our neighborhoods. They may be the person next door or the co-worker you trust, not the bad guys in another country or a natural disaster that only happens to “other people”. This saddens me, because we do a disservice to ourselves. We hide in the sand, but hiding in the sand won’t help when the flood waters of denial come rushing at you. I should know, I’ve lived it.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-54529119370790104652010-04-22T21:41:00.000-07:002010-04-22T23:02:40.698-07:00Call Me CrazyI started this post a little over a week ago and then decided to hold onto it for today, Earth Day. It just seemed like a perfect fit. My plan was to post it last night but then I couldn't find some pictures I took (how do you lose digital pictures on your computer?!), couldn't find the camera to retake the pictures and just got too tired. Then today was super busy and now I'm just hoping to finish and post it before Earth Day is over. So much for perfect. <span style="font-style: italic;">(Oooh, I made it, up before the end of the day!)</span><br /><br />So, call me crazy.<br /><br />We stopped using paper towels. Now, in place of the roll of paper towels on the rack mounted under the cabinet we have large, double sided cloth napkins that snap together. Crazy? Yeah, I know. But before you go and dismiss me as a crazy, crunchy, earth mama hippy... oh, too late. Ok, so maybe I am kind of a crazy, crunchy, earth mama hippy but I have good reasons! Other than the crazy, crunchy, earth mama hippy reasons.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Our "un-paper" kitchen towels.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZ-BAh9RuPI7oGXvCGz_S10-gzKMV68jux_uaJdyB55mj9fow3c3pySTXp4qCzG9zSz_sYfSRekYGd1UpMyjwJvJX98Y1sI9cCoX0zggOU-hAlPWjyzjXyy-yUMDaRXiwyBRuy8rnbgk/s1600/IMG_4295.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPZ-BAh9RuPI7oGXvCGz_S10-gzKMV68jux_uaJdyB55mj9fow3c3pySTXp4qCzG9zSz_sYfSRekYGd1UpMyjwJvJX98Y1sI9cCoX0zggOU-hAlPWjyzjXyy-yUMDaRXiwyBRuy8rnbgk/s320/IMG_4295.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462819340457929810" border="0" /></a>The 2 "wetbags" we have hanging on our stove to put the dirty towels in.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNlHDp58-FLSIG0nZnLMYApN86o2NozkeBLFHMap-4pgshLsVpZi_pQLkaRcgKSY3mBV6LCLoMCEoMkpSbOuMhrwSBh3sLtLySLVQzt1mIZFApiECYlkR4H-RILaOgNHBbZfnRLDFqmGo/s1600/IMG_4705.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNlHDp58-FLSIG0nZnLMYApN86o2NozkeBLFHMap-4pgshLsVpZi_pQLkaRcgKSY3mBV6LCLoMCEoMkpSbOuMhrwSBh3sLtLySLVQzt1mIZFApiECYlkR4H-RILaOgNHBbZfnRLDFqmGo/s320/IMG_4705.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463146049365342754" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I almost took a picture of the roll of paper towels hiding in the cabinet that we use for greasing pans. But that just seemed too crazy, even for me. See, I'm not that nuts.<br /><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">It started rather innocently. We had been using cloth diapers for over a year and were surprised that it really wasn't too much work. Having gotten used to the cloth thing for diapers I saw discussions online about other cloth alternatives. Doing some research, I started wondering about the possibility of switching us over. I admit, my first reasons were of the crazy, crunchy, earth mama hippy variety but then I started to wonder about money. After doing some math I realized that maybe it was worth saving money. And I like that I can do a little of that "save the earth" bit and "save the money" bit at the same time. Sometimes it doesn't exactly seem like they go hand in hand but a lot of times they do, you just have to examine it closely. Again, not that crazy!<br /><br />We feel good about our choice and we just like it too. Bounty may be the thicker, quicker picker-upper but that paper's got nothin' on flannel and terry cloth in pretty prints that look good in my kitchen! Talk about absorbent, Bounty is trying to be these guys.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPgAp1UpwqCH7HOViccwe_cpT7mBITRSolOj6lDDlBPaVXWz90R4CHm7yJhkj6xpM0owOqNoCR5VJxoLz_1zn0E7dNQHtEHZn-D-d5m5S6dqaEettKkyo9zmoc4IY70Ny0Bx8xUI70MU0/s1600/IMG_4297.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPgAp1UpwqCH7HOViccwe_cpT7mBITRSolOj6lDDlBPaVXWz90R4CHm7yJhkj6xpM0owOqNoCR5VJxoLz_1zn0E7dNQHtEHZn-D-d5m5S6dqaEettKkyo9zmoc4IY70Ny0Bx8xUI70MU0/s320/IMG_4297.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462819355201597218" border="0" /></a>The wetbags I got from <a href="http://www.sweetslings.net/">SweetSlings</a> and we love them. Great size, well made, and pretty. The towels were from a co-op but you can find something similar from a few different places including <a href="http://hyenacart.com/bugned/">Bug 'n Ed</a> who is offering up a <a href="http://leakyboob.blogspot.com/2010/04/earth-day-special-kids-eat-free.html">$15 GC</a> right now on <a href="http://leakyboob.blogspot.com/">The Leaky Boob</a>.<br /><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">The beautiful mess that started it all, our diaper laundry.<br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhigH39-GZBMajKybeCZ5EsJ_DSmo0wKP8UrBpMjNoRtMhBcjzpsMDgTKZoyA0ML8jUEMI3EAYXHIi9Z5bcy8xii9PX_N7Pdao0SVIau28YlhFVW6oTf60_RN-6xCmwTikfq6s3wwSi7zA/s1600/IMG_4648.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhigH39-GZBMajKybeCZ5EsJ_DSmo0wKP8UrBpMjNoRtMhBcjzpsMDgTKZoyA0ML8jUEMI3EAYXHIi9Z5bcy8xii9PX_N7Pdao0SVIau28YlhFVW6oTf60_RN-6xCmwTikfq6s3wwSi7zA/s320/IMG_4648.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463146040194888786" border="0" /></a>O-muh-gosh. Uh, I took a picture of the dirty diapers in the washer. Three pictures, in fact, because I was messing with the lighting. For diapers.<br /><br />Holy crap, I <span style="font-style: italic;">am</span> crazy!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-3118367214037790322010-04-22T15:13:00.000-07:002010-04-22T16:58:31.617-07:00It's coming<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiQF71tyLVZVnqZUZAAlhgHHeyNbKHSACR3KoWkTd6nfXyBbqiThiJr_OIn7Gnraglm6rCYYTsaD3N-E7cOFx8yjlSIL9-p_wpdLKcWA-LZcHskOXqpjdike6Dy9FZMC6R7vq6mq8zTw4/s1600/IMG_2364.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiQF71tyLVZVnqZUZAAlhgHHeyNbKHSACR3KoWkTd6nfXyBbqiThiJr_OIn7Gnraglm6rCYYTsaD3N-E7cOFx8yjlSIL9-p_wpdLKcWA-LZcHskOXqpjdike6Dy9FZMC6R7vq6mq8zTw4/s320/IMG_2364.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463113955001962418" border="0" /></a><br />I wrote <a href="http://everydayrebel.blogspot.com/2010/04/removing-cloak-of-shame.html">this post</a> last week recognizing Sexual Assault Awareness Month and promised more on the topic. What I didn't anticipate was the outpouring of responses I received both in e-mails, FaceBook messages, and direct contact of others sharing their personal stories of surviving abuse. Some asking for help. This is an incredible honor to me, I can't even begin to tell you what a huge blessing it is to know that in some small way our experience can touch and help others. Shortly after we learned of the abuse of our daughters there was one evening after a particularly trying day with developments in our case where I vowed to The Piano Man and God that this was not in vain. All snotty faced, blotchy, hoarse and swollen I begged God to use this to help others, use it for good. If just a short simple post on a little blog helps even one person then I know then God is turning this evil to good. The sexual abuse history of our family does not have power over us, instead, it has turned into something that lets us walk with others, providing support, love, help, and acceptance. We can't eradicate the evils in this world but we can help others avoid the same, soften the blow if it comes, and hold their hand through the healing journey.<br /><br />So there is more coming, I've been working on a couple of posts that I want to share but sometimes I have to just stop and rest my spirit. Soon though, be looking for them very soon.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDamYhDjIT3FopsyeLFOl3KWxkV6Ml8aUUk9h143A-jjJHOnejVuPHmDqHOKdrejscdWv4S1XQGhAsoaszI1EXxOxZqk4b0C46gnG5hYwRgScG4poukbfRxTgv3BXOYWdoifPPyAe_et4/s1600/IMG_2310.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDamYhDjIT3FopsyeLFOl3KWxkV6Ml8aUUk9h143A-jjJHOnejVuPHmDqHOKdrejscdWv4S1XQGhAsoaszI1EXxOxZqk4b0C46gnG5hYwRgScG4poukbfRxTgv3BXOYWdoifPPyAe_et4/s320/IMG_2310.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463113942958796754" border="0" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-72384600194041175542010-04-21T14:32:00.001-07:002010-04-21T21:42:42.205-07:00Thrifty TreasuresOnce upon a time I thought thrift stores were disgusting and I was embarrassed that my mom made us shop at them. They were smelly, the clothes were all these nasty oranges, browns and puke greens or obviously from the closet of someone no longer living. Worst of all, there was no chance that I'd find Guess? jeans, Keds sneakers or Members Only jackets. Shopping in a thrift store was pure torture and I just prayed nobody would see me going into one of those places. My teenage self-esteem suffered greatly. The most humiliating thrift store of all? Goodwill. I knew kids that used the name as an insult. "Dude, that's so ugly you must have gotten it at Goodwill." <span style="font-style: italic;">How did they know!</span> Ugh. It was enough to make a 15 year old want to crawl under a rock.<br /><br />And today? Yeah, today I'm bragging about my thrift store finds. Because they are awesome. Awesomely from Goodwill too.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">The whole loot.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ioO1dAtZVb4jUTxb6JiYxvmENoYXWi6IVkSw-0aRBGqtDJgUdFHKJGOCgJvQKAz8MSak8QRPwAGf2wijU7qeej6pKwxWAdLO5SMMFG5WoWiwFkztqPv3VBr77vquGh6pbMkWGZ5jR8U/s1600/IMG_4305.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6ioO1dAtZVb4jUTxb6JiYxvmENoYXWi6IVkSw-0aRBGqtDJgUdFHKJGOCgJvQKAz8MSak8QRPwAGf2wijU7qeej6pKwxWAdLO5SMMFG5WoWiwFkztqPv3VBr77vquGh6pbMkWGZ5jR8U/s320/IMG_4305.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462742670918167954" border="0" /></a><br />Key hooks, message center and file holder. ($6)<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifMZT7vtK3d9OLLWJ-tYenHV-uRy8LqzZwGkNuzXQGpY7juY_UHU3f4eIx2A8ZN0B3Y5zkITTaycFoBO6qA_H7aS2mxjU2Xx17Qp4ZQsiIeoXELK2s84a_BZFKALG6hUOfoGsRSxEC9R0/s1600/IMG_4307.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifMZT7vtK3d9OLLWJ-tYenHV-uRy8LqzZwGkNuzXQGpY7juY_UHU3f4eIx2A8ZN0B3Y5zkITTaycFoBO6qA_H7aS2mxjU2Xx17Qp4ZQsiIeoXELK2s84a_BZFKALG6hUOfoGsRSxEC9R0/s320/IMG_4307.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462768021149060658" border="0" /></a><br />Cool wood box with slots, the label burned into the side. ($2)<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKlKpZLWSb9YOFZJKOc4OANJ-uMQchGpIDmf0VBByCPzX6MvoY_iy5DtJ96BqagVF0gnnanIgzew6zK4DJgc09GYmg5tSPNb-VD4UOTWwhnB7DiUcjTGJRw1_NQoqU6cWUPOQyU3qsDXs/s1600/IMG_4304.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKlKpZLWSb9YOFZJKOc4OANJ-uMQchGpIDmf0VBByCPzX6MvoY_iy5DtJ96BqagVF0gnnanIgzew6zK4DJgc09GYmg5tSPNb-VD4UOTWwhnB7DiUcjTGJRw1_NQoqU6cWUPOQyU3qsDXs/s320/IMG_4304.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462742664465576002" border="0" /></a><br />Two lamps that I just love.<br />Someone ran off with the topper but I found it after taking this pic. ($12)<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikvgQFDeFJAXyo8CeiJwXxxFHqBzegfspy62krH421YIVf2ytHH90o-prEGsqvN_zobA_80AVC-o_PqeR7jiaGquGTH3Xk4BHTmnMOma0C9TWLR6TQ_V3FOYU_OciGCtqD1H6ct4fMjqE/s1600/IMG_4306.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikvgQFDeFJAXyo8CeiJwXxxFHqBzegfspy62krH421YIVf2ytHH90o-prEGsqvN_zobA_80AVC-o_PqeR7jiaGquGTH3Xk4BHTmnMOma0C9TWLR6TQ_V3FOYU_OciGCtqD1H6ct4fMjqE/s320/IMG_4306.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462742639974744386" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9MPHJkChOF8rtXK1atg0FkPp2Xw32v4e8uFFl1mGHUU0GN8OxeBVFUuCBIUqAeJR3Z-w9P5RRO0lEobm6WGR6UZJ9p-s4Fs1xu0uNi-qQT1IFdYfq78oeoHnS_uIWGn22gSngG97_LRw/s1600/IMG_4373.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9MPHJkChOF8rtXK1atg0FkPp2Xw32v4e8uFFl1mGHUU0GN8OxeBVFUuCBIUqAeJR3Z-w9P5RRO0lEobm6WGR6UZJ9p-s4Fs1xu0uNi-qQT1IFdYfq78oeoHnS_uIWGn22gSngG97_LRw/s320/IMG_4373.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462742650641920626" border="0" /></a><br />The mugs, a set of 4 (2 pictured) light green crackle stoneware mugs ($1),<br />one dark olive green mug with "TEA" on the side ($.25) and a "Biscotti" lemons cookie jar ($3).<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1A7HeALU-CwPypyKEZm3YJ-YCdBjfViB7ArsP7_1_G4qmW3_lQU0IQ4St4jSaz8W0jHkl6-qC35XmDKvR0Ix1__EUi49fgvdxQjm9oYvaJoCRlwIArJUf2CpymRursrFt6Un2Ows3Oyw/s1600/IMG_4308.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1A7HeALU-CwPypyKEZm3YJ-YCdBjfViB7ArsP7_1_G4qmW3_lQU0IQ4St4jSaz8W0jHkl6-qC35XmDKvR0Ix1__EUi49fgvdxQjm9oYvaJoCRlwIArJUf2CpymRursrFt6Un2Ows3Oyw/s320/IMG_4308.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462732282192654338" border="0" /></a>Drawers cabinet. ($3)<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEganGS5E7ZZhFYxFSDoS-plJvgO_2FLF0yEYjv2WOx71ZIDr6GbHyvoetB3WbuFDx4z6sRxXpYy2VVKn8g-Fg6MJz19zReq98DiJm5gCBWYefmru_6QGJsUeWvwcvSsiAZrj2-yo63dAT8/s1600/IMG_4341.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEganGS5E7ZZhFYxFSDoS-plJvgO_2FLF0yEYjv2WOx71ZIDr6GbHyvoetB3WbuFDx4z6sRxXpYy2VVKn8g-Fg6MJz19zReq98DiJm5gCBWYefmru_6QGJsUeWvwcvSsiAZrj2-yo63dAT8/s320/IMG_4341.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462732276262772658" border="0" /></a><br />Wood chair. Surprisingly comfortable, if ugly. ($9)<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQelSytKAeYrB2mqIy8x09DYU_rwNZxb0KMTHwA2iFAlfzdhnc-s4fbUK4EOvZevSXseyi8mswx0xPHqlRpEREBRav-TJaHDDqiV1anFkIm_gLxb6cdjTVQzrK145jNtbwV_nUHjaurU/s1600/IMG_4310.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQelSytKAeYrB2mqIy8x09DYU_rwNZxb0KMTHwA2iFAlfzdhnc-s4fbUK4EOvZevSXseyi8mswx0xPHqlRpEREBRav-TJaHDDqiV1anFkIm_gLxb6cdjTVQzrK145jNtbwV_nUHjaurU/s320/IMG_4310.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462732264278574802" border="0" /></a>This chair now looks like this:<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjohso4vyDflYMFV4v3rOqreiMfMnlrw9jwpgWf6x2lvdjxUuJUqWsfgdZBiT_vdoNjjrKho7nkzf-6dXSUD109_JRxeIqJAFIwVfkWXao6XIzZ46I3fWZWbJRxmW6p4XFzoCyKZEoCwco/s1600/IMG_4411.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjohso4vyDflYMFV4v3rOqreiMfMnlrw9jwpgWf6x2lvdjxUuJUqWsfgdZBiT_vdoNjjrKho7nkzf-6dXSUD109_JRxeIqJAFIwVfkWXao6XIzZ46I3fWZWbJRxmW6p4XFzoCyKZEoCwco/s320/IMG_4411.jpg" alt="refinished cover chair" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462732258775038354" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIm9Wx35ITp6szun8L1Hd1QWWjwUKqLMEaf9aN1AuRrqXc28jhfc766t6vHHlEQNIppyeKKDSXfcPkxhjY0G48KoHsIDv2u8NWBQZ9YEg2dk_iyLbrKKT-qWYD3V7iH3wP3cQ_akL3Kr8/s1600/IMG_4415.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIm9Wx35ITp6szun8L1Hd1QWWjwUKqLMEaf9aN1AuRrqXc28jhfc766t6vHHlEQNIppyeKKDSXfcPkxhjY0G48KoHsIDv2u8NWBQZ9YEg2dk_iyLbrKKT-qWYD3V7iH3wP3cQ_akL3Kr8/s320/IMG_4415.jpg" alt="refinished chair" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462732247109081106" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">Jo-Ann's was having a sale on these squares of fabric, 2/$2. I lightly sanded the chair not removing all of the old finish and then painted it with a thin coat of black wood stain letting the old brown show through. I love how it turned out.<br /><br />I forgot about this little guy! The images were in a different photo album so he completely slipped my mind. A lemon yellow enamel owl trivet. I think he is destined for the wall, to keep an eye on things.<br /><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Pon3xXqeQu-IHd9AWyC7UiOEEnjgs7uwgx4XOU6wR7j4mj-2PoboX3ATA8IOwibjPHXZt16El6NiVItg-5-yWh5VDm5w9kPE9DQnaqSl5rj5pVbx3a14DYAgHcRrB6WVBiLVJUunIXQ/s1600/IMG_3732.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 249px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Pon3xXqeQu-IHd9AWyC7UiOEEnjgs7uwgx4XOU6wR7j4mj-2PoboX3ATA8IOwibjPHXZt16El6NiVItg-5-yWh5VDm5w9kPE9DQnaqSl5rj5pVbx3a14DYAgHcRrB6WVBiLVJUunIXQ/s320/IMG_3732.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462816558648195266" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: center;">Ready... $.69<br />SCORE!<br /><br /></div>I'm not sure if I've grown up enough to not care about shopping in thrift stores or if thrift stores have changed. Probably both. Either way though, the stigma of shopping in thrift stores has lifted for the most part and in fact has an new element of "cool" to it even. Dare I say trendy? Who knows. But I'm not the only one bragging online about my thrift store finds. You should see what <a href="http://poshpieces.blogspot.com/2010/02/goods-at-goodwill.html">Posh Pieces</a> does with the stuff she finds.<br /></div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-72144113352482966892010-04-17T16:25:00.000-07:002010-11-06T10:38:24.001-07:00Jessica’s Fab Slow-Cooker, cook it over-night, Breakfast Casserole<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGdMWRAYoe3n0ACoZ2PyYDuQiMDA1DJ0xTZr_Hmuo_JuH8jD8hoOqHvp9xVDpieQ9LPz9nLNZ4Xt1vvyxTBi1fAYR79QlZ-_MD-075jtXUAyvHZv15oJt0OVKNPOmAEC4erTDohD5p9SE/s1600/IMG_2198.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="small child praying picnic" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461475904861246258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGdMWRAYoe3n0ACoZ2PyYDuQiMDA1DJ0xTZr_Hmuo_JuH8jD8hoOqHvp9xVDpieQ9LPz9nLNZ4Xt1vvyxTBi1fAYR79QlZ-_MD-075jtXUAyvHZv15oJt0OVKNPOmAEC4erTDohD5p9SE/s320/IMG_2198.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
I love frittatas. Mmmmmm, so good. But work. In the morning. When I don't function so well. I've done things like melt the handle of my best pan in the morning making frittatas. I like breakfast casseroles too. A little less work and still yummy. But I have to use my oven and my oven is the modern day wood stove for house heating. In south eastern Texas. Like we need more heat. Plus it's still that whole having to function in the morning thing. I really just want to wake up with breakfast done. This explains why cereal is a hit.<br />
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Enter the slow cooker. I love my Crock-Pot, a wedding gift still going strong 14 years later. It was really just a matter of time before we figured something out with the Crock-Pot love, the frittatas/egg casserole affection, and me not being a morning person. Waking up with a hot breakfast that is delicious and ready to go is better than any pampering option I can think of because it pretty much means more sleep. I like sleep. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQxrVuAkf7DOfQKvDnLgW8u5VoZVXz2RJw9H5EG9_CU-pwPKqjbJ0apR2fbn4gOhunw28wzAaqMFMxIjcorGhU51bbOibBy3tvTE_6y8A7AIL_K3q8lWjtjxEwGiB97XYQ_9IIUcvYcLA/s1600/IMG_2186.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="baby sleeping in basket outside" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461475919684419874" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQxrVuAkf7DOfQKvDnLgW8u5VoZVXz2RJw9H5EG9_CU-pwPKqjbJ0apR2fbn4gOhunw28wzAaqMFMxIjcorGhU51bbOibBy3tvTE_6y8A7AIL_K3q8lWjtjxEwGiB97XYQ_9IIUcvYcLA/s320/IMG_2186.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
I tried <a href="http://crockpot365.blogspot.com/2008/02/overnight-egg-cheese-and-sausage.html">this</a> first. Meh, it was ok. I liked certain things about it. Like how fast it was to make and then I woke up with it done. Or would have had I remembered to turn it ON before going to bed. Oh, shut-up. How often do you turn something on to cook before going to bed? Yeah, I'd laugh at me too. The next time I did remember and it was ok, not great but something I'd make again, which I did but totally changed. Because I never, ever cook the same thing exactly the same way twice. Even if the first time I didn't actually cook it.<br />
<br />
<br />
So then I read <a href="http://crockpot365.blogspot.com/2008/06/crockpot-egg-feta-and-mushroom.html">this</a> but didn't make it. After all, it has bell peppers in it and I wouldn't eat it let-alone expect my kids to. But it had some good ideas which I borrowed later. I've also borrowed from <a href="http://crockpot365.blogspot.com/2008/06/crockpot-spinach-and-feta-quiche.html">this</a> and <a href="http://crockpot365.blogspot.com/2010/02/slow-cooker-ultimate-breakfast.html">this</a>. And I've done spin-offs on <a href="http://crockpot365.blogspot.com/2008/08/crockpot-hash-brown-breakfast-casserole.html">this</a> too. Yum. Breakfast in the Crock-Pot. I love the <a href="http://crockpot365.blogspot.com/">Year of Slowcooking blog</a> and <a href="http://productsearch.barnesandnoble.com/search/results.aspx?store=book&ATH=Stephanie++O%27Dea">Stephanie</a> is a culinary genius figuring out how to make masterpieces that tickle the tongue but don't take a lot of time and best of all, use the slow-cookers. Isn't she just grand?! If I met her, I'm pretty sure I'd swoon.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqKheGlb-bgW_SacHIR0agmG84tuybSlqnqc1QW0sp4Y7scxVoD3DS6vtZL6IPGntZQLaKxBrVoZmByB7v3FYdmBWttb-QEw4iG5CsgIA4Q__B5DVmFvmuMJhK5D-vpRM7O3D0RGYF0ig/s1600/IMG_2178.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="sleeping baby basket swing" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461475895452941650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqKheGlb-bgW_SacHIR0agmG84tuybSlqnqc1QW0sp4Y7scxVoD3DS6vtZL6IPGntZQLaKxBrVoZmByB7v3FYdmBWttb-QEw4iG5CsgIA4Q__B5DVmFvmuMJhK5D-vpRM7O3D0RGYF0ig/s320/IMG_2178.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
Anyway, they were all yummy but not as good as a frittata so I was still on the hunt. I found Crock-Pot's <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Rival-Slow-Cooker-Recipes-Occasions/dp/1412727677">Slow Cooker Recipes for All Occasions</a> at my local thrift store for $2 and tucked inside was a very promising recipe for a breakfast bake. I made it and it was well received by the family but still not exactly what I was looking for. So after a lot of tweaking, I've come up with this. Which is still so-not a frittata but it is close on the yummy scale.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6hvLcUrEOlhAPdlfmmNJ5UoiAXQZBKrqyfTAlgC3NlaXN2KAF9cEJX199zQOIOFOhmH69S5yoAnJqkFl1P_TgTq_0JmgQ0h3Gh_i0c11cvtqAcRyYjOrJCZ4xmArnyaA_Lvq2FXvxqh0/s1600/IMG_2176.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="black and white swing" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461475890054382130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6hvLcUrEOlhAPdlfmmNJ5UoiAXQZBKrqyfTAlgC3NlaXN2KAF9cEJX199zQOIOFOhmH69S5yoAnJqkFl1P_TgTq_0JmgQ0h3Gh_i0c11cvtqAcRyYjOrJCZ4xmArnyaA_Lvq2FXvxqh0/s320/IMG_2176.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
This baby cooks over night. For real. How great is that? Sorry, no picture. Well, there are pictures but they have absolutely nothing to do with this post or the recipe. They do have everything to do with the new <a href="http://hipstamaticapp.com/">Hipstamatic app</a> I've got on my phone. Love it, I'm having so much fun.<br />
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I used my 3 quart Crock-Pot. Please note, I cook a lot by feel so some of these measurements are approximate. <span style="font-style: italic;">Which pretty much means I have no idea...</span><br />
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15 large eggs (This quantity is solid, I know it was a dozen + 3)<br />
1/2 Cup milk (give or take?)<br />
1 1/2 Cups sliced or chopped sausage (or whatever looks good to you)<br />
2 green onions, chopped<br />
One loaf of crusty or artisan bread (not sandwich bread), torn up of cubed (maybe 4 cups?)<br />
1 tsp dried oregano<br />
1 tsp dried basil (or more, I really like basil)<br />
1 tsp pepper<br />
1/2 tsp salt<br />
1 1/2 tsp garlic powder (who really knows, I really like garlic too)<br />
3 cups fresh baby spinach leaves<br />
1 cup sharp shredded cheddar cheese<br />
shortening<br />
<br />
Grease inside of slow-cooker insert. Non-stick sprays don't work as well, I have found.<br />
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Whisk together eggs, milk and dried spices. Alternating ingredients, layer bread, spinach, sausage, onions and some of the egg mixture over the dry layers. Repeat, layering until an inch from the top of the insert. Egg mixture will not be that visible.<br />
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Turn slower-cooker to low and cook for 6-8 hours. I usually make mine after the kids go to bed and turn it on to cook around 10pm. (If it cooks a little long it is usually ok though the sides can get a little dark.) We love this, it is a hit. In fact, I'm getting hungry and now that this finally posted I'm going to go eat some of the leftovers. Which reminds me, it keeps well so you can eat left overs for lunch or breakfast for a few days.<br />
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This recipe could feed about 6 adults which it makes it grand for brunches or having left overs. You can halve the recipe, if you do be sure that your slow cooker is at least half full to cook properly and if need be use a smaller cooker.<br />
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Variations: I’ve made this several times. Sometimes I add sun-dried tomatoes and feta or blue cheese crumbles and omit the salt. Our grocery store often has day old artisan breads which I buy and freeze, these are perfect for this recipe. We love the potato rosemary bread in this casserole as well as the focaccia style breads and three cheese breads. Pretty much anything savory though the ones with nuts and seeds don’t really work so well. I have also omitted bread and used cubed potatoes instead which is also really yummy. Sometimes I add mushrooms but shrooms in the Crock-Pot can be kind of... odd. So I usually saute them and since that creates an extra step and an extra dish it really doesn't happen that often. Though if I'm going to do it then I go ahead and saute fresh garlic too and ditch the powdered stuff. I never put white or yellow onions in, I think they are gross for breakfast but that's just a personal issue. Oh yeah, and don't do this with turkey sausage, I've tried that and it forgets that it is supposed to have a flavor. Or color. Really kind of nasty. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvxBhZJj3EOrK2ATOd7foOdpoUMKWAHqeq_tAGwdy2v-7KxpWhnXx3UlCHzfK3ch9C5ll4LjlFrv_Qpvmx7Ag9Db0s5bkdi6pK4J2Jh13VrKql4x-PXypJPUgu8EGdoryPpIUcPtF3hPI/s1600/IMG_2161.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="small child swing" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461475882114207298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvxBhZJj3EOrK2ATOd7foOdpoUMKWAHqeq_tAGwdy2v-7KxpWhnXx3UlCHzfK3ch9C5ll4LjlFrv_Qpvmx7Ag9Db0s5bkdi6pK4J2Jh13VrKql4x-PXypJPUgu8EGdoryPpIUcPtF3hPI/s320/IMG_2161.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 320px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-19188919632360428402010-04-13T20:10:00.000-07:002010-04-15T18:46:48.748-07:00Removing the Cloak of Shame<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzE14QjCT6pncfoZCd5QDa0XIneSTmma7KfcushDexOh-GCUwP2SGiVW4dH3jVRiCYGbtCYb_dqIwyJ0PBfnQ146mdWWGCz1yjK0LpT4PvQKoch9Z9rIleZOJv-AeEgYjgf_aOM_sWl4/s1600/cloaked+figure.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBzE14QjCT6pncfoZCd5QDa0XIneSTmma7KfcushDexOh-GCUwP2SGiVW4dH3jVRiCYGbtCYb_dqIwyJ0PBfnQ146mdWWGCz1yjK0LpT4PvQKoch9Z9rIleZOJv-AeEgYjgf_aOM_sWl4/s320/cloaked+figure.jpg" alt="cloak shame" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459829210234554594" border="0" /></a><br />Did you know that April is my birthday month? Yep, it is.<br /><br />Did you know that April is tax month in the USA? Oh joy, it is.<br /><br />Did you know that April is <a href="http://www.nsvrc.org/saam">Sexual Assault Awareness Month</a>? It is.<br /><br />I hate it. I might want a new birthday month.<br /><br />I don’t hate sexual assault awareness, honestly, I don’t. What I hate is that we need a whole month devoted to it. But I am grateful that there is a whole month devoted to it. Raising awareness of sexual assault is a worth a whole month and then some. The past 5 years of my life have been devoted to sexual assault awareness.<br /><br />Those of us who have been touched by the villainous fingers of sexual assault don’t need a month set aside for awareness. We are aware. Excruciatingly, constantly, monotonously aware. Casualties of sexual abuse, most victims would relinquish that awareness willingly for a month of cluelessness. That would be bliss. Not that we could actually forget. Ever. And not that I actually think cluelessness would be a positive position. In fact, I am quite sure it would not be. As a whole I think our society chooses to be far too clueless about sexual assault. But why wouldn’t we be? Sexual assault is scary. It hurts and thinking about it might damage our precious innocence. An innocence that we fight like mad to protect but then bombard ourselves with assaulting sexual images on a regular basis while burying our heads in the sand. It isn’t innocence we’re really protecting, it is our fear. Clinging to cluelessness in an attempt to protect our fear does nothing more than to invite the very thing we fear to find a place to hide. It is from that camouflaged position of honor that sexual abuse can then control us. Contrary to what we all want to believe, none of us are immune.<br /><br />It is not from atop a soap box that I spout these societal critiques but rather from the trenches. I am a survivor of sexual abuse. Two of my daughters are survivors of sexual assault. Some people think I shouldn’t admit these things at least not in so public a place. There is no shame in surviving sexual assault, for me or my daughters so we will not slink about in shadows pretending the fingers of such a vile monster have never touched us. Pretending that sexual abuse is not the problem it is provides acceptance, even a warm environment in which sexual abuse will thrive. I will proudly and loudly stand and say what some are afraid to, shinning light on the truth. Sexual abuse is alive and well and destroying, maiming lives. Lives of people all around you. Maybe yours. Busting apart the silent barricade of deceit and lies, I will do what I can do help remove the blinders of willful ignorance that feeds such abuse. Sexual assault parades around cloaked in the shame of others. Refuse to be clueless. Refuse to be silent. Refuse to shame the abused. Refuse to cling to fear.<br /><br />Did you know:<br /><br /><ul><li>1 in 4 girls is sexually abused before the age of 18. (1)</li><li>1 in 6 boys is sexually abused before the age of 18. (1)</li><li>1 in 5 children are solicited sexually while on the internet. (2,3)</li><li>Children who are abused are over 50% more likely to be arrested as juveniles. (4)</li><li>Children who are abused are 30% more likely to be arrested for a violent crime as an adult. (4)</li><li>Nearly 70% of all reported sexual assaults (including assaults on adults) occur to children ages 17 and under. (5)</li><li>An estimated 39 million survivors of childhood sexual abuse exist in America today. (6)</li><li>95% of sexually abused children are abused by a family member or someone they know and trust. (7)</li><li>Approximately 40% are abused by older or larger children whom they know. (8,9)</li><li>The median age for reported abuse is 9 years old. (10)</li><li>More than 20% of children are sexually abused before the age of 8. (10)</li><li>Over 30% of victims never disclose the experience to ANYONE. (11)</li><li>More than 75% of teenage prostitutes have been sexually abused. (12,13,14,15)</li><li>Nearly 50% of women in prison state that they were abused as children. (11)</li></ul><br /><a href="http://www.cachouston.org/Statistics.aspx">Statistic References</a><br /><br />Throughout the rest of the month of April I will be making more posts regarding this topic. It is an important one to me, one that has helped shape me. In the face of those statistics you may be at a little bit of a loss as to what you can do. Reading that list is the first step, trust me. Sharing about Sexual Abuse Awareness Month is another, small but strong, step. I will be sharing some of the lessons we have learned along the way and what we choose to do. We are continually on the healing road and God has done a lot in our lives already. It is to that end that I speak. I know we can't completely eradicate sexual abuse but hopefully we can lower the occurrence and walk with those that have suffered.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.momblognetwork.com/"><img src="http://mbn.pcncdn.com/sites/momblognetwork.com/files/badges/100x20-vote-post.png" alt="Bump up my post on Mom Blog Network" border="0" height="20" width="100" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-40248567505187999542010-04-12T21:00:00.000-07:002010-04-13T20:38:47.035-07:00The Facebook Status Updates That Could Have Been:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0IZdErqABMv5guvr6dYc_EjvM2NiuMpuB5WNbhgVdcCvpHtsxULTuIeZWpRqiYnVqshR39D91icnnQVKp1VFo0DuB6kUubvO1D4e6T3AwlW0fy6Ek0CjONXlfoVokuGrvTu45jbxezs0/s1600/facebook_logo2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 271px; height: 271px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0IZdErqABMv5guvr6dYc_EjvM2NiuMpuB5WNbhgVdcCvpHtsxULTuIeZWpRqiYnVqshR39D91icnnQVKp1VFo0DuB6kUubvO1D4e6T3AwlW0fy6Ek0CjONXlfoVokuGrvTu45jbxezs0/s320/facebook_logo2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459470371067934514" border="0" /></a><br />I admit it, I spend way too much time on Facebook. Even more alarming is how much time I spend thinking about Facebook. Going about my day I find myself narrating my life in Facebook status updates of 420 characters or less. Plenty of them don't make it to my wall for one reason or another but some are worth sharing somewhere. Don't judge me. I'm not the only one (yeah, yeah, I know, if everybody else jumps off a bridge are you going to and all that) and you Twitter junkies are just as bad. I won't even mention die-hard bloggers, the ones that do things just so they can blog about them. They see life as one giant blog post. Not that I have any knowledge of this personally.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz3kCoLdTjrUdv4PYDuh_8ZaYkJTRIAedHGHv_tahWEaqz0EMxXCqphJx9PvS6x1l6_fJ4XCu9zAre2ru5EKTzU0FkTjzePzS4k6ZwF1SuttQb_Yk_uusWkppGZWrl0rDFJ08uDq8VSdQ/s1600/do-you-have-facebook.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 238px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz3kCoLdTjrUdv4PYDuh_8ZaYkJTRIAedHGHv_tahWEaqz0EMxXCqphJx9PvS6x1l6_fJ4XCu9zAre2ru5EKTzU0FkTjzePzS4k6ZwF1SuttQb_Yk_uusWkppGZWrl0rDFJ08uDq8VSdQ/s320/do-you-have-facebook.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459470367742499218" border="0" /></a><br />Without further ado, the Facebook Status Updates that could have been:<br /><br />- High Fructose Corn Syrup is the body and blood of Satan.<br /><br />- Squiggle Bug eats PB&J by opening the sandwich and eating it from the inside out.<br /><br />- Lady Gaga is like cotton candy: disgusting over-dyed fluff sugar that you know isn't good for you but you just. can't. stop.<br /><br />- Is it a bad sign if I'm thinking of what I could put on my Facebook status just seconds after posting one?<br /><br />- With the laundry and dishes done nobody notices that I haven't showered in days. Clean laundry and dishes are way more important.<br /><br />- No, I don't just sit around doing nothing all day. Yes, I did just spend an hour getting smiles and laughs from Smunchie. It's a tough job but somebody's got to do it.<br /><br />- I wish I had two washers, one would just be for diapers.<br /><br />- 11 is the new 2!<br /><br />- I do not recommend stuffing a crochet wool play cookie in your mouth even if it is to impress a 9 year old.<br /><br />- You do not want to know where I just found poop.<br /><br />- It turns out randomly bursting into song really <span style="font-style: italic;">does</span> happen in real life! Either that or my children think we're in a very long musical. A very long musical that sings about everything and I do mean <span style="font-style: italic;">everything</span>.<br /><br />- When it comes to music, crap is the new pop!<br /><br />- If I posted every Facebook status that comes into my head I wonder how many times poop would show up in my word tracker thingy.<br /><br />- Do not threaten me or I'll be forced to spray you with breastmilk. I'm not joking.<br /><br />- We started watching V and I can't stop! Which totally means I think everyone around me is actually an alien lizard thing.<br /><br />- All I want to do is sit down and knit.<br /><br />- "I've got my happy face on today, Les!"<br /><br />- What are you doing? Nothing? Nothing doesn't look like that. You have the look of something. Something you don't want to tell me.<br /><br />- "You're not my teacher!" Uh... did I not explain homeschooling to you?<br /><br />- Copy and paste does not a Facebook status make. *Copy and paste this into your status if you're tired of copy and paste status updates. Only the really fed up will have the courage to do this, most people will just pretend they don't see it.*<br /><br />- Awwww! Squiggle Bug is an artist! You should totally see the mural in the bathroom.<br /><br />- I'm starting to think you have to already <span style="font-style: italic;">be</span> organized to <span style="font-style: italic;">get</span> organized.<br /><br />- Dear child, as long as you are under the age of at least 14, maybe even 18, if you use the phrase "when I was a kid" <span style="font-style: italic;">I will laugh</span>.<br /><br />- WTH! Did somebody pass out crazy pills and skip me?<br /><br />- I hate cupcakes. Pinocchio nose? I have no idea what you're talking about.<br /><br />- Smunchie hates being alone. This works out well. With 4 big sisters being alone won't even happen when she learns how to use the bathroom.<br /><br />- I totally came up with, like, 6 great status updates in the last hour but didn't want to appear like I have a Facebook problem by sharing them all. Oh, guess I shouldn't have said that.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj696cRlc5-E53mGvGXL4XkzzHG7CwqgX2wOUynadNZPBK8B1diQ42w7AQNjW2GYHUez7jOLGdasSg34-5HQxeZ8bUI1ZjDUrycvus0PmY7TX_Adb1yuaA-nn24l8dunmJi-Dw5wpXJwBY/s1600/facebook_logo.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 120px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj696cRlc5-E53mGvGXL4XkzzHG7CwqgX2wOUynadNZPBK8B1diQ42w7AQNjW2GYHUez7jOLGdasSg34-5HQxeZ8bUI1ZjDUrycvus0PmY7TX_Adb1yuaA-nn24l8dunmJi-Dw5wpXJwBY/s320/facebook_logo.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459470378744476818" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.momblognetwork.com/"><img src="http://mbn.pcncdn.com/sites/momblognetwork.com/files/badges/100x20-vote-post.png" alt="Bump up my post on Mom Blog Network" border="0" height="20" width="100" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-12787094990361987302010-04-09T20:29:00.000-07:002010-04-11T15:52:33.008-07:00Sweet and Simple Birthday.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWVUsWRxL7Sk4vgY47KWYvM4f9IIGtfsrLloQYlBhADJYJ3L-yA4fOl_nqK9JZhOg-ocN2OimDYgor2p8ID6gv3C30D7YYHh8bHgWuRRv94Gsd7MTS7zRC3Ij_TEGKhd6dB612QyInoqk/s1600/IMG_4574.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 307px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWVUsWRxL7Sk4vgY47KWYvM4f9IIGtfsrLloQYlBhADJYJ3L-yA4fOl_nqK9JZhOg-ocN2OimDYgor2p8ID6gv3C30D7YYHh8bHgWuRRv94Gsd7MTS7zRC3Ij_TEGKhd6dB612QyInoqk/s320/IMG_4574.jpg" alt="hoola-hoop" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459011277918404594" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYwCpuF66IytnA9lFOtD9ZYUypXlS8tQe_U4Fhmyhf_f7w8UUMI9fSUJHCXcRLxL8N7DX0pzUG83-eKSjSIr9u3WwbTasIzHGd3TSho-YuYiOJJ8-xAYSM_N3PeEeQ3NwpBk4MJtDIl-8/s1600/IMG_4483.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYwCpuF66IytnA9lFOtD9ZYUypXlS8tQe_U4Fhmyhf_f7w8UUMI9fSUJHCXcRLxL8N7DX0pzUG83-eKSjSIr9u3WwbTasIzHGd3TSho-YuYiOJJ8-xAYSM_N3PeEeQ3NwpBk4MJtDIl-8/s320/IMG_4483.jpg" alt="pretzel girl" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459011269828862690" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEq9XV2vqzswF-0iGNZidAMkgxEewnJ2hnYrsj_JZP_sBV-kZ-Ooxodf-dHwZoMTmmqZjT3-DIGQ0TqLQw8DlIJMezFHlDHXprROZAu93bxcG_5L_kuWhe-kEKqv4XZMCgNZW6A9EoJww/s1600/IMG_4566.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 253px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEq9XV2vqzswF-0iGNZidAMkgxEewnJ2hnYrsj_JZP_sBV-kZ-Ooxodf-dHwZoMTmmqZjT3-DIGQ0TqLQw8DlIJMezFHlDHXprROZAu93bxcG_5L_kuWhe-kEKqv4XZMCgNZW6A9EoJww/s320/IMG_4566.jpg" alt="hoola-hoop toddler" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459011263134445602" border="0" /></a><br />I had a lovely birthday. The girls, Earth Baby, Storyteller, Lolie, Squiggle Bug, and Smunchie conspired with The Piano Man to make my day special. I forgot to take pictures throughout the day but I did remember now and then. The day was simple and special, memorable in so many ways. The Piano Man made fruit topped pancakes with coffee for breakfast, the girls gave me homemade birthday cards (no pictures! I'll have to fix that) and hugs and kisses. After The Piano Man took off to teach, Lolie read me a story she wrote and read a book to me, Storyteller gave me a book of 8 chapters she wrote, Earth Baby gave me a beautiful piece of art (again, no picture) and Squiggle Bug gave me "cubbles" and a fist full of tiny white flowers Storyteller helped her gather. Together we sat down and picked out projects from the "Warm Fuzzies" felted projects book, found the sweaters we would be cutting up and spent some time outside in the beautiful weather the day granted us.<br /><br />The Piano Man came home and cooked up a delicious lunch of polenta topped with mushrooms, asparagus, sundried tomatoes, pine-nuts, garlic, and basil in a wine sauce. The perfect finale was a Charlotte au Chocolat, an adult version and one for the girls. Quite time gave The Piano Man and I time to finish off our pieces of cake over coffee. Whenever we get to have a cup of coffee in the afternoon while naps and quite time are happening I feel like we got a mini-date, having it happen on my birthday was a gift.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic66qtvBl0g9wFUm71ux7Ul9cwWy8lyVO4XbC801UDuWQha5VX_1NWuDyOfKqlIt3R2U59dbRkTgeqAgIr29TbaAowTlJWGcC_meE_cdrlDePd3qOawTb3EhJeUP4mwR2BqBTBWPANYX8/s1600/IMG_4423.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic66qtvBl0g9wFUm71ux7Ul9cwWy8lyVO4XbC801UDuWQha5VX_1NWuDyOfKqlIt3R2U59dbRkTgeqAgIr29TbaAowTlJWGcC_meE_cdrlDePd3qOawTb3EhJeUP4mwR2BqBTBWPANYX8/s320/IMG_4423.jpg" alt="wine polenta mushrooms" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458733313934104242" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4drNjEvLzzf0J1xfdlEHNwRD2OySOL4MN_Gg7J5ekFvCJu5aysOP2Ka1o9JVNLMO83RSIQSyICT9K_HsBBm60XSMxD9OY-2VpjtbRSF5KOlVyFsblNa9Sw2Ns34YGTobMjUf_fd8JS1g/s1600/IMG_4435.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4drNjEvLzzf0J1xfdlEHNwRD2OySOL4MN_Gg7J5ekFvCJu5aysOP2Ka1o9JVNLMO83RSIQSyICT9K_HsBBm60XSMxD9OY-2VpjtbRSF5KOlVyFsblNa9Sw2Ns34YGTobMjUf_fd8JS1g/s320/IMG_4435.jpg" alt="chocolate charlotte" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458733334572265010" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zGa24EjJ-xuAFCdiNuQ1NC4aPu5mDZ6NqtnZHfMXkSHQpv1i6lwtmjAWWQCV1CLtO72xZNELSrgu86l15cpLdT-JAiiXGf6AjMahmx0i1AIg9U1hYwI9t6u0JR9Oe7QC6Hgae-9na0I/s1600/IMG_4430.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 250px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4zGa24EjJ-xuAFCdiNuQ1NC4aPu5mDZ6NqtnZHfMXkSHQpv1i6lwtmjAWWQCV1CLtO72xZNELSrgu86l15cpLdT-JAiiXGf6AjMahmx0i1AIg9U1hYwI9t6u0JR9Oe7QC6Hgae-9na0I/s320/IMG_4430.JPG" alt="birthday cake" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458733325081654610" border="0" /></a><br />In the evening the girls threw me a party at the zoo. Ok, that isn't exactly how it went down, there was Zoobilee that evening. The Piano Man had rehearsal and couldn't join us so us girls went on our own. Yes, it is true. I took 5 children to the zoo. By myself. On my birthday. My birthday celebration dinner was at the zoo and I'm not under the age of 12. Or even 21. On Facebook I asked if that meant I was super lame or a super cool mom. I got a mixed response.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikRvg8dd_E-UIjQ5lFcgFJxa2Pq49QPpKgcX_FTVrbb4NvX-lPyOYgFiaAIW4l235UL8hZ5p9Gv0AdFy3T6bbkEVxFILtoQ3Im3ANm6IYhNiVJkjAvVk2coTWxr1mo_IDFaeDb2iLGtRk/s1600/IMG_4479.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikRvg8dd_E-UIjQ5lFcgFJxa2Pq49QPpKgcX_FTVrbb4NvX-lPyOYgFiaAIW4l235UL8hZ5p9Gv0AdFy3T6bbkEVxFILtoQ3Im3ANm6IYhNiVJkjAvVk2coTWxr1mo_IDFaeDb2iLGtRk/s320/IMG_4479.jpg" alt="pretzel toddler" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459001834285310498" border="0" /></a> A zoo party is a great place to be for a birthday though, there were hoola-hoop competitions, dance-offs, fun costumed dancers, passports to get stamped, animals to see, temporary air-brush tattoos to get, big soft pretzels to devour and loads more. We had a great time and only once did I feel like I was, well, in a zoo.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLqMKRaX5BFQKw8zWb08uCZWJmze_wpDjvm9LTrcI_E5yxbDuMoDIt9g6-E7WmqMt67i6MB6bgDsCvUBJIx4thjzIoWNnEwhnWYRGEPZet_cs9wKOYjub6T1S8MLzhHgL9crgLxHGKSH0/s1600/IMG_4458.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 236px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLqMKRaX5BFQKw8zWb08uCZWJmze_wpDjvm9LTrcI_E5yxbDuMoDIt9g6-E7WmqMt67i6MB6bgDsCvUBJIx4thjzIoWNnEwhnWYRGEPZet_cs9wKOYjub6T1S8MLzhHgL9crgLxHGKSH0/s320/IMG_4458.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458733350934997010" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivb9hotRm89p_QrUVL-ZfEkrVIM4KqNjTrsSuaZCmWL5RfH1s5X4dhgNMK9p54NwQCE8IDSMWUB4Zy0lC-PYtnA7B_V9_0_bDJhZc9vGbUpo-baJ9249K3G1u_x4d1EiIkGuNE2-SvCM/s1600/IMG_4455.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhivb9hotRm89p_QrUVL-ZfEkrVIM4KqNjTrsSuaZCmWL5RfH1s5X4dhgNMK9p54NwQCE8IDSMWUB4Zy0lC-PYtnA7B_V9_0_bDJhZc9vGbUpo-baJ9249K3G1u_x4d1EiIkGuNE2-SvCM/s320/IMG_4455.jpg" alt="babywearing baby mai tei" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458733340520865874" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioOYINwiQ64uOjWBGvfozFFZBEYKM0z5x7ITZZTJ5DGz1PKXo28uHjC9lXdU-02Hl6RwayKJQvC-OP2nblfNAy8X0LGuET2W_z9QMOK20anrp6_uxZKo9EJJel1joV902Wb0CDHS3hEAg/s1600/IMG_4556.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioOYINwiQ64uOjWBGvfozFFZBEYKM0z5x7ITZZTJ5DGz1PKXo28uHjC9lXdU-02Hl6RwayKJQvC-OP2nblfNAy8X0LGuET2W_z9QMOK20anrp6_uxZKo9EJJel1joV902Wb0CDHS3hEAg/s320/IMG_4556.jpg" alt="hoola-hoops" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459001865528726338" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuo8ZglRh7RWiw9z9HnRs5hGbInJlNmp9Gkz0jGCg4a8OVmEXr6rZ87uKDlgxEU1rXQAIqr29tKO6WIM6IfffN7P9nbladHBN86vvTRVC9biu6WyYtaYa0ftY-bEP1Dh8ANcDDvhqMEac/s1600/IMG_4490.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuo8ZglRh7RWiw9z9HnRs5hGbInJlNmp9Gkz0jGCg4a8OVmEXr6rZ87uKDlgxEU1rXQAIqr29tKO6WIM6IfffN7P9nbladHBN86vvTRVC9biu6WyYtaYa0ftY-bEP1Dh8ANcDDvhqMEac/s320/IMG_4490.jpg" alt="tattoo fairy" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459001854565624482" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpV6FEfVRp-vZ-FZ44_jMWMqahUTP8f3nCFRXt15XQHt9ItEGZkzcMuxYbUzZCIm8gHZMWMx0n1SHtGCNpJlei0BEttgY8zieY9KJNhPAyo0LlL3miZRhgqzJE4e7LZ0VruR2Obpa7f0/s1600/IMG_4475.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNpV6FEfVRp-vZ-FZ44_jMWMqahUTP8f3nCFRXt15XQHt9ItEGZkzcMuxYbUzZCIm8gHZMWMx0n1SHtGCNpJlei0BEttgY8zieY9KJNhPAyo0LlL3miZRhgqzJE4e7LZ0VruR2Obpa7f0/s320/IMG_4475.jpg" alt="tattoo deer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459001829203187122" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRmvuukpCESlKCH_UGkUvCv163wBy8f3JBghm17a-gnI2gECMdAO3snln2tHIFiK9EabL2zbIhkCNgr5eyawVIBGuwLsdWObkYAtrePT4W77M1Z73D2EdP2mC1L41GvSropEd8qxjpxQc/s1600/IMG_4480.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRmvuukpCESlKCH_UGkUvCv163wBy8f3JBghm17a-gnI2gECMdAO3snln2tHIFiK9EabL2zbIhkCNgr5eyawVIBGuwLsdWObkYAtrePT4W77M1Z73D2EdP2mC1L41GvSropEd8qxjpxQc/s320/IMG_4480.jpg" alt="little girl pretzel" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5459001847194186802" border="0" /></a>I had planned to get a pedi but ripped off half of my big toenail on my right foot that day so the pedi will have to wait. I did get a haircut though, and went out with a friend to enjoy a Sugarbaby's cupcake and some Starbucks. Later I'll do some shopping, I'll probably go crazy and buy something like white paint for the new shelves in the kitchen. Yes, I realize I'm a real grown-up when I'm considering dishware, shelves and a new spatula as birthday gifts. Well, that and a writers conference. Gosh, I sound so old!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-88471681910542631322010-04-08T09:28:00.001-07:002010-04-08T09:30:29.082-07:00There's a give-away on <a href="http://leakyboob.blogspot.com/">my other blog</a> in honor of my birthday. Check it out and enter for some fun! And if you haven't already, read the posts below, get clicky on some of the banners on the side and leave me a comment saying hi! That's my bloggy birthday wish!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-65910112160894696502010-04-07T10:46:00.000-07:002010-04-15T09:10:46.822-07:00Better than Bling<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtmPZpcVoVVWxSCg3cGZdX6HiJlB5H0JAljbWhtl-wPb9q4l2M4im7f3Qt7r3EZQwLz3HZpHl7aN7IgTpIcW6g3mwlQyVfcJUFuxnMBaAJtBHBMIznKvYq0yxwVWEgPvrV1AFTt2VwaCM/s1600/IMG_3347.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtmPZpcVoVVWxSCg3cGZdX6HiJlB5H0JAljbWhtl-wPb9q4l2M4im7f3Qt7r3EZQwLz3HZpHl7aN7IgTpIcW6g3mwlQyVfcJUFuxnMBaAJtBHBMIznKvYq0yxwVWEgPvrV1AFTt2VwaCM/s320/IMG_3347.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457496433550879554" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Squiggle Bug babywears Raffie)</span></span><br /><br /></div>I wear my baby. And my toddler. I'm a babywearing mama. No matter my outfit, they match. The perfect accessory, they go with blue jeans, silk skirts, and t-shirts and vintage jackets. Better than bling, they boldly proclaim my status to the world: I AM A MOM!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89IrM9v9yQJAM2LESbicsKj2pPqmxWl8rEO8TJwzaAi84Yu28ikGBKHPs3j6sX-ycS8oRURLvsyM68vU_z0lX7DuZImIRz6HhMJdnBPvEu29V2uCgocosl2p89dDVZxZc6dmijA5zat8/s1600/IMG_1388.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 212px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj89IrM9v9yQJAM2LESbicsKj2pPqmxWl8rEO8TJwzaAi84Yu28ikGBKHPs3j6sX-ycS8oRURLvsyM68vU_z0lX7DuZImIRz6HhMJdnBPvEu29V2uCgocosl2p89dDVZxZc6dmijA5zat8/s320/IMG_1388.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457496447755084066" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Smunchie- 4 weeks and Squiggle Bug- 2 years, on me, iPhone pic by The Storyteller)</span></span><br /><br /></div>Because people couldn't already tell I'm a mom. Ok, so I don't babywear to look cool or make sure my status as MOM is known. I'm pretty sure that could be made clear with the constant spit-up decoration on my shoulder, the massive diaper bag and the fact that I have 5 small people running around regularly calling me "Mommy!" apparently just so they can declare who I am to the entire world. Not because they actually have anything to say. Make it 4, Smunchie isn't talking yet. I can't even imagine what it will be like with one more, children have an amazing ability to increase volume exponentially.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRR_IE0UUUXcstzsrR-ZRk6gkSQ3PuNgVjKXvv0LqvOX7AMrnbSZKR49t69DyjNTjMJo4wlxSIPGC4W9Rd4D4a_nNlj2dp9Lszx-alT9Kx03_20vrrkMx8AgB6QyR1sEusBzzXSzrm6rI/s1600/IMG_3097.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRR_IE0UUUXcstzsrR-ZRk6gkSQ3PuNgVjKXvv0LqvOX7AMrnbSZKR49t69DyjNTjMJo4wlxSIPGC4W9Rd4D4a_nNlj2dp9Lszx-alT9Kx03_20vrrkMx8AgB6QyR1sEusBzzXSzrm6rI/s320/IMG_3097.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457489517026290994" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Lolie wears her new baby in a kid tai by </span><a style="font-style: italic;" href="http://www.sweetslings.net/">Sweet Slings</a><span style="font-style: italic;">)</span></span><br /><br /></div>No, I wear my babies for other reasons than making a fashion statement. Though babywearing does kind of save me from having to worry about fashion, nobody can tell what I'm wearing when there is a super sweet jelly kid on my back or front. In fact, people almost don't notice me, just the tiny people that seemed to sprout extra long legs and a head. I put my babies in slings, wraps, Mei Tais, and soft structured carriers for far greater reasons than fashion. I didn't have a kid (or 5) so I could look cool, even though I do.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">I wear them for convenience. I mean, gosh, I need my arms, I can't stand around holding a kid all day. Sheesh.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiVPt0O2f1ZwjCjV4o3Y4HbtFz62yyj-7h50xYpr9RLr7G79God97YD-3QuSAH-_DqT1pUKModXbp__mriSvMC8_OVI3P42ePg40m1FKUciv95kO4MvsHFgvKuUdu1YR9l3QszjnXw1LA/s1600/IMG_1300.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiVPt0O2f1ZwjCjV4o3Y4HbtFz62yyj-7h50xYpr9RLr7G79God97YD-3QuSAH-_DqT1pUKModXbp__mriSvMC8_OVI3P42ePg40m1FKUciv95kO4MvsHFgvKuUdu1YR9l3QszjnXw1LA/s320/IMG_1300.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457496453159610562" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(Multi-tasking, building an art piece while wearing and nursing Smunchie)</span></span><br /></div><br />Alright, that's actually true but that isn't the only reason any more. It started out that way, to be sure and I don't think there is anything wrong with that. I have times when I wrap a little one on me so I can actually get the dishes done, vacuum the carpet (mom, stop laughing, I do vacuum... sometimes), or have a phone conversation but I keep my babies tied to my body with strips of fabric so I can be close to them and they can be close to me. There was a time when I bought the idea that we needed to make our little people as independent as possible from the get-go but over time and over the course of my parenting experiences, I don't feel that way any more. I actually think it is a good thing if my baby is attached to me and I am attached to them.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8miVXBOywO7DiEadw6AtLAkGCc9U1UFb2zDwVzuUoEdDR-VR1uZBGFnBLRa1XJowdQzuduJVX1nMpAzF9pRAVApi7vGt9l7KEkDLBg4VUBnuT8iqINW0X0dUL3LdaQM1KeMQRfeVoT4M/s1600/IMG_1754.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8miVXBOywO7DiEadw6AtLAkGCc9U1UFb2zDwVzuUoEdDR-VR1uZBGFnBLRa1XJowdQzuduJVX1nMpAzF9pRAVApi7vGt9l7KEkDLBg4VUBnuT8iqINW0X0dUL3LdaQM1KeMQRfeVoT4M/s320/IMG_1754.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457496457031633090" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(My view of Smunchie in the wrap, iPhone pic)</span></span><br /></div><br />However, I don't call myself an Attachment Parent-er. Or whatever. I don't like labels. I have a a label phobia. I'm label-phobic. Oh crap, now I'm labeled again! Gah. Anyway, there are principles of Attachment Parenting I love, The Piano Man and I do a lot of them instinctively but still we don't consider ourselves AP. It probably really does just go back to the label thing. We choose to wear our babies because though we started doing it for convenience reasons we noticed a few things about babywearing. For starters, we just like having them close, it feels good to them and to us. The stroller started to seem like a pain in the rear compared to the sling. Our babies were way happier on us than anywhere else. The easiest way to sooth an upset baby that didn't need to nurse was to wrap her close to us. On cold days it was so cozy and we could know she was ok. We felt like we didn't miss anything, smiles, talking, observing, all of it was right there. When we started thinking about it, it just seemed more pleasant for our baby to be up close to us being able to see what was going on around them clearly. I noticed that I talk to my babies more, interact with them more when they are on me and yes, talk to, not at. And the big one was just the contact, it seemed like an easier transition to go from the womb, to being snuggled up in a wrap, to hanging out on mommy or daddy's back, and then exploring the world, knowing they can come back when they need to.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZLUgpPopm0JYo77APNAS4uSr07gHxpsXHDthf6Os-DN_7_rDo_yYxVINR4pvymFWq11MCNt3wv2DxFbdEUNEpbg8sn5svwynLo4zUQJGD_xTEU-J7EpNzaSvDGO1FtTCvtUGv9zonVc/s1600/IMG_0433-2.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 254px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSZLUgpPopm0JYo77APNAS4uSr07gHxpsXHDthf6Os-DN_7_rDo_yYxVINR4pvymFWq11MCNt3wv2DxFbdEUNEpbg8sn5svwynLo4zUQJGD_xTEU-J7EpNzaSvDGO1FtTCvtUGv9zonVc/s320/IMG_0433-2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457496436737705394" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(The Piano Man wears Squiggle Bug on a bike ride in a Beco)</span></span><br /></div><br />So we are big time <a href="http://www.thebabywearer.com/">babywearers</a> now. There has been <a href="http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20100309/ap_on_go_ot/us_baby_slings_warning">some concern</a> about <a href="http://www.babywearinginternational.org/">babywearing safety</a> lately, this post isn't about that though but check out some of these hyperlinks. We don't use the types of <a href="http://www.babyslingsafety.blogspot.com/">carriers</a> that were recently recalled, we prefer wraps, ring slings, soft structure carriers, and Mai Teis. If you are a babywearing mama or daddy, check out my friend <a href="http://sweetslings.blogspot.com/">Shanna's blog</a> for ideas on how to respond to the inevitable "you know those things kills babies, right?" concern you'll get now. I'm not in a hurry for my babies to grow up and not need me any more, most parents aren't. Ok, sometimes I am but those come from a place of feeling overwhelmed and tired. But most of the time, I'm trying to savor the moments because I know they go by all too quickly. What better way to do that than to have my baby on me for as long as we can?<br /><br />ETA: There is a babywearing safety workshop this Saturday for Houston families. <a href="http://www.facebook.com/?ref=home#%21/event.php?eid=115881291759390&ref=mf">Facebook event link</a> and the vital info:<br />Sling Safety Workshop<br /><table id="Time and Place" class="profileTable info_table" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"><tbody><tr><td class="label">Date<br /></td> <td class="data"><div class="datawrap">Saturday, April 10, 2010</div></td></tr> <tr><td class="label">Time:</td> <td class="data"><div class="datawrap">12:30pm - 1:30pm</div></td></tr> <tr><td class="label">Location:</td> <td class="data"><div class="datawrap">3701 West Alabama Street</div></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.momblognetwork.com/"><img src="http://mbn.pcncdn.com/sites/momblognetwork.com/files/badges/100x20-vote-post.png" alt="Bump up my post on Mom Blog Network" border="0" height="20" width="100" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-87628037328104869392010-04-05T14:06:00.000-07:002010-04-07T10:08:28.513-07:00Books, parenting and some rambling thoughts.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPLNE16rF_d3uIMQ9B_peeZWsWjeZycVcwYVbzUnOY4gM6sQZCxU6jTfvD9OIQkgR9OQMBK8Tm88Mu3DX_MQgvSnU4PUUNJypQM1UuC10rwGijCJqUQ3lZG4rusptdaUeN5RhguXSYWsQ/s1600/IMG_0739.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 226px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPLNE16rF_d3uIMQ9B_peeZWsWjeZycVcwYVbzUnOY4gM6sQZCxU6jTfvD9OIQkgR9OQMBK8Tm88Mu3DX_MQgvSnU4PUUNJypQM1UuC10rwGijCJqUQ3lZG4rusptdaUeN5RhguXSYWsQ/s320/IMG_0739.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457060694581078194" border="0" /></a>We just got back from the bookstore. I love books. I love bookstores. They are awesome and I can loose myself for hours in them. Books are wonderful, opening doors to stories and places, lives you never would have imagined on your own. Ideas for cooking, crafting, creating, abound and in the leaves of a colorful book you may discover a passion for a hobby you didn't even know existed. Do-It-Yourself books, relationship advice, and spirituality titles boost confidence that we can do, be or become whatever we want. Every difficulty and challenge can be mastered if we're armed with the contents of the shelves in any given section. Need to know how to fix plumbing? Other than this book you'll just need a wrench! Going to build something? Get this book first. Want to understand your faith better? All laid out for you right here! In pursuit of happiness? Follow these 7 easy steps! Your husband an ass? Read this and have a new one by Friday! Your child is a handful? The answer is right here!<br /><br />I get sucked in quickly. I start thinking I should get this book for cooking tips, this other one for knitting ideas, another one for home schooling, and yet another one for parenting. Today we were getting to spend gift certificates so I wasn't on a mission but because the girls needed help weighing their options (suddenly their gift cards seemed very small) I wasn't able to spend much time browsing myself. There was one book I was looking for that had been on my list for quite some time. When I had a moment I headed over to the parenting section and begin to browse. The book I was searching for wasn't on the shelf so I read through the titles to see if anything else caught my eye. It didn't take long for something else to jump out at me. The titles and blurbs on most of the books read as though children are problems. That if you just read this one book and follow their step by step instructions, you can turn your child into the perfect little mini-me you wanted. There were few books that seemed to focus on helping parents understand their child instead of telling parents how to change their children but in my eyes even those seemed to be lacking something. Something profound yet so simple. With the exception of special needs children, most of those books addressed what parents could naturally find in community with others, a community of parents and non-parents.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisTw5qCQW2T4Hll5cAdwnjHqLoKxQ2ztQ9MmxtogBErwnBM0aRZpp-sSRmQDQAvTFp9fMX5HdQPEUcyUtPmhMBzessI2osSU0AMM_effGzMXPfDLQWhvprPXE6Hqg4E33bU09mMRefNPI/s1600/IMG_4160.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisTw5qCQW2T4Hll5cAdwnjHqLoKxQ2ztQ9MmxtogBErwnBM0aRZpp-sSRmQDQAvTFp9fMX5HdQPEUcyUtPmhMBzessI2osSU0AMM_effGzMXPfDLQWhvprPXE6Hqg4E33bU09mMRefNPI/s320/IMG_4160.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457060699230620418" border="0" /></a><br />But more often when moms and dads get together and have the opportunity to share ideas and experiences, including the difficulties, it becomes a competition. Instead of finding support we often enter into a bizarre game of "my child is better/worse than yours, I have it better/harder than you." I think we miss the opportunity to actually support and learn from each other. Would we need so many books on parenting if we could realize that this parenting thing isn't a competition? That these books aren't manuals on how to win the parenting Olympics? Or that being the perfect parent is a myth? And that having the perfect child isn't possible? That what we're all really shooting for is to not screw them up too badly?<br /><br />Want to hear a secret? No matter what it looks like at any given moment I know you don't have all your shit together and you know I don't have all my shit together.<br /><br />Here's another secret: it isn't a competition and we don't have to go it alone.<br /><br />What works for one family may not work for another but we don't need to go buying book after book to find answers. Books are great but they don't take the place of community. Being together with other parents, parents at all stages in their parenting, we can share so much more and not only save money but have true friends as well. Let's cut the crap people, we're all in the same boat and none of us have it figured out entirely. If we could silence the parenting games we may find that we have good instincts when it comes to rearing our children and when we feel at a loss, maybe there is a friend that can encourage us. It is possible, I really think it is.<br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.momblognetwork.com/"><img src="http://mbn.pcncdn.com/sites/momblognetwork.com/files/badges/100x20-vote-post.png" alt="Bump up my post on Mom Blog Network" border="0" height="20" width="100" /></a></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-75481096871307995722010-04-02T14:41:00.000-07:002010-04-02T14:44:04.293-07:00Miracle Grow for BoobsOk, this blog will get really dull very fast if I link to The <a href="http://leakyboob.blogspot.com/">Leaky Boob</a> every time there is something interesting there. That said, I made a new post there today, a comical look at the changes pregnancy wrought my chest. Could be TMI for some of you but if you've ever breastfed, are thinking you will breastfeed some day or your just plain curious, go check it out.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-65733593750157811922010-04-01T09:41:00.001-07:002010-04-01T09:46:33.265-07:00Blog swapI participated in a post swap today with <a href="http://leakyboob.blogspot.com/">The Leaky Boob</a> and <a href="http://mamapoekie.blogspot.com/">Authentic Parenting</a>. The <a href="http://mamapoekie.blogspot.com/2010/04/learning-to-live-our-journey-to.html">journey into Unschooling</a> for our family wasn't one I entered willingly. I resisted homeschooling with everything I had and UnSchooling was even more terrifying. Though we are no longer UnSchooling at the same level or what we'd like, we cherish the year plus that we were able to enjoy the UnSchooling experience and learned a lot from that time that we still utilize in our educational journey today. I hope you take the time to check out the Authentic Parenting blog and become a fan of their Facebook fan page.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-48591722911226857622010-03-30T13:57:00.000-07:002010-03-30T21:42:08.997-07:00Random Spring WIP<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFSIuz-UUU2zXM1x9Pw4ilITB5GRXirGCGuACpu3oSG_T8cLyee4gH-PW8USyqo_gTUvx7wh5g9J41Ygp0BDZs7dAac_kC2Cq_51z6iP6bTUkws-9QgSoYxsVBcSZRSlJgzGU3gEh1bU0/s1600/IMG_4289.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFSIuz-UUU2zXM1x9Pw4ilITB5GRXirGCGuACpu3oSG_T8cLyee4gH-PW8USyqo_gTUvx7wh5g9J41Ygp0BDZs7dAac_kC2Cq_51z6iP6bTUkws-9QgSoYxsVBcSZRSlJgzGU3gEh1bU0/s320/IMG_4289.JPG" alt="outside baby spring" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454610822456823378" border="0" /></a>It is spring. The impact of the season is a little lost in a climate such as Houston. But still, it is spring and we are enjoying the more mild weather of the season by being outdoors as often as possible.<br /><br />Meh. That's how I feel right now. Like the swirling waters of a Houston flash flood my mind is raging with so many thoughts and ideas that none of it makes sense. Like why I'm a rebel and paper towels, parenting, babywearing, feminism, dreams, writing, France, schooling, birth, work, friendships, church, art, Lent, redecorating (is it redecorating if you never decorated in the first place?), organizing, house cleaning, spanking, eating, cooking, books, what kind of mom I am, sacred rhythms, childhood, discipline, and on and on and on. Clear as mud, right? And my house is a mess. Which is pissing me off.<br /><br />So the machine is back and the very first thing I typed last night had loads of extra letters. I freaked. As in my eyes bulged out of my head, my jaw dropped, I snapped the computer closed and exhaled a slow-mo "noooooooo" as my chin dropped to my chest and I slumped in my chair. The Piano Man came rushing in, worried something was seriously wrong with somebody, as in a live, breathing person not an inanimate object. Since nobody was actually hurt (I beg to differ, the computer IS a person too), he suggested we make another appointment. I didn't want to do that, that would mean going back to the mall! I broke out in a cold sweat just imagining it again. No, I wanted an entirely different approach. The "let's-pretend-nothing-is-wrong-and-try-it-again-where-it-will-be-magically-healed" approach. And you know what? It worked! My friend Mac is back in action. I love that pretty little glowing apple.<br /><br />So since the machine was out of action for a few days I'm behind on my Weekend WIP. I'm behind on everything though and I can't blame it on the computer. No, wait, maybe I can. The laundry, I'm behind on the laundry and it is totally because of the computer. Crap, that's true too. Man, I was trying to be tongue in cheek.<br /><br />WIPs!<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;">Knitting is tres slow going these days.<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd0uk4-j1Me_7BeofLSDdVfL8OzzPMdp0kJZGtqgEwnit-h1Xg6EzxLXeVC8bKAAbv6ZptgHE0IFXAeenPduRu65xxaNWFQNR2HE4S9XVOEJUQhahT-o4iZSVlKNocqFFPjGirkgVFEbc/s1600/IMG_4287.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd0uk4-j1Me_7BeofLSDdVfL8OzzPMdp0kJZGtqgEwnit-h1Xg6EzxLXeVC8bKAAbv6ZptgHE0IFXAeenPduRu65xxaNWFQNR2HE4S9XVOEJUQhahT-o4iZSVlKNocqFFPjGirkgVFEbc/s320/IMG_4287.jpg" alt="knitting" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454548823699294034" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8PUa2-Ih3mmCQPuq8pey0oRmx6g7_AQJ63iemgGqYCHBgKxGErkvBmzcwi5q3y5JDFTPgSurVwuD7RhwePKP_qyREAZxF-0zjNCwiHGii2XVUv9ez9ejC4ROb7no4spctn2nT7v2jWTw/s1600/IMG_4339.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8PUa2-Ih3mmCQPuq8pey0oRmx6g7_AQJ63iemgGqYCHBgKxGErkvBmzcwi5q3y5JDFTPgSurVwuD7RhwePKP_qyREAZxF-0zjNCwiHGii2XVUv9ez9ejC4ROb7no4spctn2nT7v2jWTw/s320/IMG_4339.jpg" alt="knit washcloth" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454616490236001602" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicintuRFOgtSdSOEnV5sorngT9ghQpUu828rwqdsz0WAAN1q4KRxhPv0jUecGBvlpggZHGkFexI9X05oY5Hm9K2O_Ztsk1griVbBsN4ol-7dV0LbiE5VPHa9mx-601uBTFEUwXS4a125M/s1600/IMG_4334.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicintuRFOgtSdSOEnV5sorngT9ghQpUu828rwqdsz0WAAN1q4KRxhPv0jUecGBvlpggZHGkFexI9X05oY5Hm9K2O_Ztsk1griVbBsN4ol-7dV0LbiE5VPHa9mx-601uBTFEUwXS4a125M/s320/IMG_4334.jpg" alt="knit scrubbie dishcloth" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454616481665646082" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5-Rm2Pv8I6XSTIK27NZ3xVEiYNe3Q88PW0YAgkmRA_4gdsdd8SK9tUtLu82Gg-Oowr5b08-RBeIlacJoZcEeB28TFJeIoisya5Yd-mhWEE1-0Xi23euBMmg8d-gPonX7Did0QZAt2MhI/s1600/IMG_4340.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5-Rm2Pv8I6XSTIK27NZ3xVEiYNe3Q88PW0YAgkmRA_4gdsdd8SK9tUtLu82Gg-Oowr5b08-RBeIlacJoZcEeB28TFJeIoisya5Yd-mhWEE1-0Xi23euBMmg8d-gPonX7Did0QZAt2MhI/s320/IMG_4340.jpg" alt="knitting dishcloth" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454616493633361986" border="0" /></a>Mindless knitting: dish rags.<br /><br />Found some old shelves out by the trash and we're (read: The Piano Man) is using the wood for part of our reorganization/redecorating WIP.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0RHP0fr0GnscukykaSFExZUwXYLdNmvBp0pHhhuDQnEAb2Hf7SIj66gzXcpBLoTmAExVKWkpljhPbbPWieECZG-ciMzEuyiG-0i9dm8NfQrF7cz951av7DtR2WooXnuXT_RMGoyd0RiE/s1600/IMG_3633.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0RHP0fr0GnscukykaSFExZUwXYLdNmvBp0pHhhuDQnEAb2Hf7SIj66gzXcpBLoTmAExVKWkpljhPbbPWieECZG-ciMzEuyiG-0i9dm8NfQrF7cz951av7DtR2WooXnuXT_RMGoyd0RiE/s320/IMG_3633.jpg" alt="refinish" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454610802327496818" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyU2_zvI0jfny0yZUY9iNOowbjhX9_TU4fh-rpKKiZYDamDTw1q9s66BXj9NDAnu-u0KzmMMQEdLtqpE-V_rTAEvr3dhMshimc22iOPNKNtyWujWA19eMtYIjMpySkerQcqLZKXplhtpI/s1600/IMG_3647.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyU2_zvI0jfny0yZUY9iNOowbjhX9_TU4fh-rpKKiZYDamDTw1q9s66BXj9NDAnu-u0KzmMMQEdLtqpE-V_rTAEvr3dhMshimc22iOPNKNtyWujWA19eMtYIjMpySkerQcqLZKXplhtpI/s320/IMG_3647.jpg" alt="building" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454616462365246546" border="0" /></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQeeUJy9L_URwepNEBD9vtamoqQSiEVXdFDA68TD5pgt5QVk2t5WfJw-d-gvT4b6dV_MGnmQ-3LouRSQ153Kcks5twLMFg2Z52z5M9dCeotE9sGZ2htVv2YIGWTOZj4WO9dXpBrNl0bMw/s1600/IMG_3646.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQeeUJy9L_URwepNEBD9vtamoqQSiEVXdFDA68TD5pgt5QVk2t5WfJw-d-gvT4b6dV_MGnmQ-3LouRSQ153Kcks5twLMFg2Z52z5M9dCeotE9sGZ2htVv2YIGWTOZj4WO9dXpBrNl0bMw/s320/IMG_3646.jpg" alt="shelves" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454610808113193314" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ek7GHk966B9p3EfxmdZmbITyCj4T0QG_mjRA2z6kfEsSDfQW9i8U0Vyv9P1ZNoWsh3Fc_-G790NooYz8WHh-qbqPFmNe4ePml9hBSbnhoZWvyg0jvVeWY216aNc8mCiOnSesHEJMYB0/s1600/IMG_3625.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2ek7GHk966B9p3EfxmdZmbITyCj4T0QG_mjRA2z6kfEsSDfQW9i8U0Vyv9P1ZNoWsh3Fc_-G790NooYz8WHh-qbqPFmNe4ePml9hBSbnhoZWvyg0jvVeWY216aNc8mCiOnSesHEJMYB0/s320/IMG_3625.JPG" alt="scrap wood" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454610792998944946" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2SCwUGpK6MBR2Rn_gY2sRFUgDXM2oyhjYAgjcq6J7Ws1X_zGBTD45BRRjJXxS_C_HpOm8l3S_elBLmFPF5eyqVUp03WPKs1JB64yhuRG3vSWOwqZv8kjKP9MxnMIBw2dhZW3HPCBoL4o/s1600/IMG_4299.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 175px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2SCwUGpK6MBR2Rn_gY2sRFUgDXM2oyhjYAgjcq6J7Ws1X_zGBTD45BRRjJXxS_C_HpOm8l3S_elBLmFPF5eyqVUp03WPKs1JB64yhuRG3vSWOwqZv8kjKP9MxnMIBw2dhZW3HPCBoL4o/s320/IMG_4299.JPG" alt="kitchen shelves" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454548831322998850" border="0" /></a>Shelving between kitchen and dining room.<br /><br />And in the Living Room:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8aQgdfxqq-x0j7lfe9mYQFOslv1yA-7LHiXaPwhyYXeT0jowPFl5-7IhRKGWtOtKkIa8lA7BREAYkvx4oU9nHiEnSVduq2AaMHIqotvn2-YM-HzIcnaQp9e10xaqDwspvSWGaSuZRZww/s1600/IMG_3734.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8aQgdfxqq-x0j7lfe9mYQFOslv1yA-7LHiXaPwhyYXeT0jowPFl5-7IhRKGWtOtKkIa8lA7BREAYkvx4oU9nHiEnSVduq2AaMHIqotvn2-YM-HzIcnaQp9e10xaqDwspvSWGaSuZRZww/s320/IMG_3734.jpg" alt="organize office" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454548841271474946" border="0" /></a>Creating an office nook.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4IATFRUFZ28R1luRfBxbmak9XtL6LVU6AEc_bOTgqrLV_2jUg8UGaVwW9pEQukzbor0pdv6ORgRoJzxjcKMckHidhQS-E9IKesW_XE45NVZKry_c_bQoS1CxrKWZWlIjCfkGmF_ROEQQ/s1600/IMG_3725.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4IATFRUFZ28R1luRfBxbmak9XtL6LVU6AEc_bOTgqrLV_2jUg8UGaVwW9pEQukzbor0pdv6ORgRoJzxjcKMckHidhQS-E9IKesW_XE45NVZKry_c_bQoS1CxrKWZWlIjCfkGmF_ROEQQ/s320/IMG_3725.JPG" alt="organizing house" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454621415104319138" border="0" /></a>Yarn and knitting finds a place.<br /><br />Decluttering Magazines.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwR0hGiWWkOos-1aZwqNCAj9aVPDBSXkNDGa7WmZfFrcVt1O3yVsqJKuVofsarpTFth_IxNykBvHVxT6I-F8uq8EImoEHM7bIDPuZzc1yMFXxQ-JwNfwgArW4QNjr5NREb7xuXNJa0CUY/s1600/IMG_4302.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwR0hGiWWkOos-1aZwqNCAj9aVPDBSXkNDGa7WmZfFrcVt1O3yVsqJKuVofsarpTFth_IxNykBvHVxT6I-F8uq8EImoEHM7bIDPuZzc1yMFXxQ-JwNfwgArW4QNjr5NREb7xuXNJa0CUY/s320/IMG_4302.JPG" alt="organize magazines" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454616472383507330" border="0" /></a>I love Family Fun and a few other mags but can't hold on to old issues so I'm cutting out the recipes, projects, ideas and articles I want to keep and sorting them into page protectors and binders.<br /><br />The WIP family:<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHY3jtUYPaOwy8QvSJ0cRsVVA7G2lR8a30TLsjCGtW3Rz79vlP3ch4kV_bza7Pnj-3HR-da4KYH4muuapOX4uL2D7AowT6Nyeo1WINHEDvjzl8PAAcCW0OtVPk1nVxReYktTI7QRaDV4/s1600/IMG_4067.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 307px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMHY3jtUYPaOwy8QvSJ0cRsVVA7G2lR8a30TLsjCGtW3Rz79vlP3ch4kV_bza7Pnj-3HR-da4KYH4muuapOX4uL2D7AowT6Nyeo1WINHEDvjzl8PAAcCW0OtVPk1nVxReYktTI7QRaDV4/s320/IMG_4067.jpg" alt="wooden play shield" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454621402802512258" border="0" /></a>The Piano Man made a shield for the birthday girl.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgRA2FTL4du54Z_Po6uFO1SdaXS3185f8Qb-bNnQgOOB5qWC8OxflSuftd2L13ELWaNmeMc4h6jDotORopRNzL_SYnjDx2SPqR08Cc1GZ3ywN2-tB5VVM_od1KdhxgffD9EIfAl5jGz_8/s1600/IMG_3715.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgRA2FTL4du54Z_Po6uFO1SdaXS3185f8Qb-bNnQgOOB5qWC8OxflSuftd2L13ELWaNmeMc4h6jDotORopRNzL_SYnjDx2SPqR08Cc1GZ3ywN2-tB5VVM_od1KdhxgffD9EIfAl5jGz_8/s320/IMG_3715.JPG" alt="baby laugh" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454621420061809746" border="0" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Smunchie started laughing. We all live to get a giggle from her now.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;">I've read that one or two photos are enough for each blog post so I guess that means I use too many. Whatever, I don't care. I like pictures.<br /><br />I tried to get a pic of this <a href="http://leakyboob.blogspot.com/">last WIP</a> to put up but blogger didn't like the screen shot for some reason. You'll have to click the link to see it. But you totally should, there's a <a href="http://leakyboob.blogspot.com/2010/03/creative-memories-give-away-kids-eat.html">give-away</a> there.<br /><br />Nevermind, tried again and it worked! Yay me!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLnse6CHTWW2jnjZXinmi0gPBEoQms_H6NXuUKPuD0XndcHuYLUuXuK63cchbdbSvi42NXPSPPC00Jwos_M8WGMjzDXAg3HudSCOBL15eNSeO_zelMtqhhAO6SFPeQV72vtLg-MQBGjhA/s1600/leaky+boob+screen+shot+jpg.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 192px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLnse6CHTWW2jnjZXinmi0gPBEoQms_H6NXuUKPuD0XndcHuYLUuXuK63cchbdbSvi42NXPSPPC00Jwos_M8WGMjzDXAg3HudSCOBL15eNSeO_zelMtqhhAO6SFPeQV72vtLg-MQBGjhA/s320/leaky+boob+screen+shot+jpg.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5454650779744281042" border="0" /></a>You know you want to go check out a blog called <a href="http://leakyboob.blogspot.com/">The Leaky Boob</a>. Who wouldn't?<br /><br />So now, I'm going to go back to meh.<br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.momblognetwork.com/"><img src="http://mbn.pcncdn.com/sites/momblognetwork.com/files/badges/100x20-vote-post.png" alt="Vote for my post on Mom Blog Network" border="0" height="20" width="100" /></a><br /></div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-19693370285991936432010-03-28T08:26:00.000-07:002010-03-28T08:28:46.228-07:00Make Over, Make-Me-Over!I need to win a blog make-over because I need help. Shoot, I need to win a full body make-over (any offers?) but the blog is less intimidating. ;) So I'm hoping to win <a href="http://toddlerawesome.blogspot.com/2010/03/my-200th-post-giveaway.html">this</a> from Toddler Awesome.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-47598917412928073122010-03-27T12:00:00.000-07:002010-03-27T12:01:41.695-07:00Post over on <a href="http://leakyboob.blogspot.com/2010/03/tit-zit.html">The Leaky Boob</a> today. For some reason the possessed keyboard cooperated.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5251348299258344108.post-13892344884896513142010-03-26T13:28:00.000-07:002010-03-27T06:40:46.309-07:00Hello Gibberish<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqUDQJohiPnbm6cdAvWmYrI_9njH1qPTEzj7oT_V7qXf505hkyrxWAHYab86wyvAnzqP4eAgkhpVRd6VvacWOeeClNHsn-mAy_8P8XmiDbJUwj8e5xEAQG0EwWD1Jhihtx9iFfrW2hkY/s1600/IMG_1054.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbqUDQJohiPnbm6cdAvWmYrI_9njH1qPTEzj7oT_V7qXf505hkyrxWAHYab86wyvAnzqP4eAgkhpVRd6VvacWOeeClNHsn-mAy_8P8XmiDbJUwj8e5xEAQG0EwWD1Jhihtx9iFfrW2hkY/s320/IMG_1054.jpg" alt="face sculpture" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453057772688819234" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">(These odd little face sculptures were hidden on the side of two buildings in Montmarte Paris. I think they're great.</span>)<br /></div><br />I want to write a post for todayr, I hfave several in mind. In fact, I fhave so manry blog posts floating around in myr fhead I can't even pick wfhicfh one to actuallyr write. As I go about mry dayr working, caring for kids, cooking, blafh, blahf, blafh, I am constantlry carrying on mini-conversations withf readers. Crafhting new posts, many that never materialize on my blog. Wfhicfh means I talk to myrself. In mry fhead. Tfhis could mean blogging isn't actuallyr fhealtfhyr for me. Or it means I'm strange and would do tfhat anyrwarys. But I'm not going to do a real tfhougfhtful blog post righft now, as ryou can see, I'm fhaving issues. No, not tfhose kind of issues, tfhoughf I fhave thfose too but computer/typing issues. And track-pad issues. Wfhen I type tfhe letter "H" mryr computer randomlyr contributes an extra "f" or two. And vice versa. Same tfhing hfappens withf tfhe "y" and "r." But it doesn't do it every time, just most every time.<br /><br />Thfis. Is so. Annoyring.<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga3tMfDKdZQi8jl-G3s_jW2KQO9i_KXIXl6mgdL-hWjKX6iTNveyHrh9PwK71UQpdBMeEYqXBrQv-cROXHHB30-2VDVjw_seIRXUw-AevrmKzmgIumyZHbwx1UV9cN0jpZUk1oQkTg7TM/s1600/IMG_0777.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga3tMfDKdZQi8jl-G3s_jW2KQO9i_KXIXl6mgdL-hWjKX6iTNveyHrh9PwK71UQpdBMeEYqXBrQv-cROXHHB30-2VDVjw_seIRXUw-AevrmKzmgIumyZHbwx1UV9cN0jpZUk1oQkTg7TM/s320/IMG_0777.JPG" alt="Montmarte" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453052735504313794" border="0" /></a><span style="font-style: italic;">"The tortur</span><span style="font-style: italic;">e of the anvil l</span><span style="font-style: italic;">ife with thin wings.</span>"<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-style: italic;">(On a wall in Montmart, Paris)</span><br /></div><br />Tfhe computer went into tfhe Apple Store today for thfem to save tfhe day. Guess wfhat tfhey said. Yep, tfhere's a problem. You need a new thfing. Ok, tfhey didn't say thfing, I'm not sure wfhat tfhey said but I need a new thfing and tfhey don't fhave thfe tfhing I need so it is on order. Wfhen tfhis new thfing comes in tfhey'll call and we'll take thfe computer up wfhere it will fhave to stay 1-3 days. So in tfhat 1-3 days I'll be reading books. Yes, tfhat's wfhat I've decided. Not cleaning, not cooking, not writing, but reading books. I can always fhind ways to avoid productivity. But reading is productive! I swear, I only read productive reading materials. Tfhe Nanny Diaries qualifies as productive literature, rigfht? HFYR. Yum. Fun. Random letters.<br /><br />So because I don't want to drive myself crazy trying to post pictures from L's b-day wfhen my track pad isn't working correctly and I'll drive myself crazy trying to write any of tfhe otfher potential posts rattling around in my hfead and cleaning up excess letters constantly. All serious posting is postponed until I hfave a macfhine tfhat doesn't give my written voice some sort of bizarre lisp. I will try to post some WIP tomorrow and maybe copy and paste an old post or sometfhing I've written but never shfared. Maybe. Maybe not. I don't like to commit. Oddly enoughf, thfe madness witfh my computer seems to be reflecting some of my own feelings, a sudden onset of gibberish. Maybe some "quiet" is a good idea to sort thfings out.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigrqCLLQEj5e1VRs_wnMVBa7SFztIa3mlT2Y61wGQ6OZlP_fZRbv57P8DbboRcqjdk-1ix2Lp7T4uDhyphenhyphenWNXqzYuQhQO_m2gBql0hP38JCyxubjwvsZw0oBmywWiotvDQbmadznOHro13w/s1600/IMG_1056.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 232px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigrqCLLQEj5e1VRs_wnMVBa7SFztIa3mlT2Y61wGQ6OZlP_fZRbv57P8DbboRcqjdk-1ix2Lp7T4uDhyphenhyphenWNXqzYuQhQO_m2gBql0hP38JCyxubjwvsZw0oBmywWiotvDQbmadznOHro13w/s320/IMG_1056.jpg" alt="Face sculpture" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5453057787991008114" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: right;"><a href="http://www.momblognetwork.com/"><img src="http://mbn.pcncdn.com/sites/momblognetwork.com/files/badges/100x20-vote-post.png" alt="Vote for my post on Mom Blog Network" border="0" height="20" width="100" /></a><br /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><div style="text-align: center;" align="center"><div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com/ring/theknittingpath/">The Knitting Path</a></div><a href="http://www.ringsurf.com">Powered By Ringsurf</a></div></div>Jessicahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10044848132874174201noreply@blogger.com7