tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73948568198429312962024-02-21T03:00:49.343-06:00Shoestring and PrayerJenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.comBlogger78125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-29554431638866349322013-07-29T14:57:00.002-05:002013-07-29T15:06:39.749-05:00A Tear in the FabricI haven't posted in so long. I blame Facebook for my months-long lack of creative writing and thought musings that are probably only read by my family, and even that is questionable. But I feel the need to write today. Maybe it's more of a way for me to organize my thoughts rather than share any profound revelations, but whatever the reason, I need to feel the keyboard at my fingertips and see my thoughts flow onto the screen. Maybe then I can make sense of my emotions over the past 48 hours.<br />
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Our flight home from the Dominican Republic had just landed an hour prior to my logging onto Facebook. We were in the car, headed home, after a week of fantastic vegetation beach and poolside where copious amounts of local rum may or may not have been consumed. In post-vacation mode and only half-conscious after a full day of travel with three exhausting kids, I stared at my Facebook feed in disbelief: Kidd Kraddick is dead.<br />
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As a lump rose in my throat, my immediate reaction was to assume it was another elaborate celebrity death hoax. Just in case, I Googled it. (I still can't believe Google is a verb.) Nothing. Nada. I breathed a sigh of relief - it must be a hoax. But then I checked Twitter. I checked Facebook again. Too many sources were reporting it true. Then the networks began to report it. It was true.... Kidd Kraddick was dead. How did this happen?? And <i>why</i> did I care so much?? I was (and still am) devastated.<br />
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I'll tell you why.<br />
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I started listening to Kidd at 16 years old, the second week he was on the air at KISS FM with then-co-host, Jocelyn White. For 21 years, he has been a constant presence in my life. I have spent most of my teen years and all of my adult life, sharing in his life, grieving with him, laughing with him, and crying with him. But mostly laughing. Kidd was a story telling genius. He could take a 5 minute semi-humorous interlude with a stranger and weave it into a tale so hilarious I found myself in tears from hysterical laughter. Phrases or words like "ridicilou" and "give the under-carriage a little how's your father" began creeping into my vocabulary. I felt part of a group; part of the cool crowd. I felt included. Mostly, I felt like Kidd was talking only to me.<br />
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Kidd was a constant in a world of uncertainty. The one thing that stands out the most to me about Kidd was his consistent presence. Save for the few weeks a year when he (God-forbid) took an actual vacation and I was relegated to listening to "best-of" shows, I knew that when I turned my radio on between 6-10 am, I would hear his familiar voice. It was comforting, almost like the soothing you get from your parents' voices or the voice of those most special to you. I came to depend on that more than I realized until just this weekend, when that voice was silenced.<br />
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Kidd had an uncanny ability of always knowing the right thing to say and the appropriate way to handle any given situation. I remember after 9/11, my husband was stranded in another state after air travel was shut down. I was alone and scared, grieving and trying to make sense of the death and destruction that had just been forced on our country. I remember turning on Kidd Kraddick on Sept. 12, 2001, and Kidd was addressing the attacks. He was just as horrified and confused as the rest of us, but somehow, he sounded confident and strong and made me feel safe. He brought normalcy to the most turbulent experience of my life. He handled the days and weeks that followed with such professionalism and consideration for the emotions of his listeners, many of whom were grieving a loss. When we were unable to formulate our thoughts and reconcile our heartache, he did that for us. He gave us tools to grieve with and and outlet in which to use them. He was a rock for myself and so many others.<br />
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Kidd made us care. He helped so many people learn to see the value in other humans, despite what their outward appearance might be. He enlightened us to look past the wheelchairs and chemo-stricken bodies, past the burn scars or deformities, and into the hearts and souls of the differently-abled and chronically ill. He made us see worth and he made us want to do more. He made us want to be a better society and he did this by leading by example. Kidd was at the forefront of multiple causes, many I'm sure we don't and might possible never know about. He fought for the less fortunate and encouraged when he could. He was a cheerleader for making a better world. He inspired and touched millions.<br />
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I had the honor of meeting Kidd on several occasions. I liked him tremendously. I know I speak for many when I say I feel as though a family member has died. I also feel like a part of my own voice has been silenced. Kidd spoke for me so many times when I couldn't formulate the words on my own. I will miss his presence and his outreach beyond measure and the percussion left by his loss will be felt by multitudes from all walks of life.<br />
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Godspeed, Kidd. Gone, but never forgotten.Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-13073306027970339472013-01-09T12:36:00.002-06:002013-01-09T13:14:38.289-06:00Understanding My Son<span style="font-size: small;">First, let me give you a quick update that we finally had the ARD meeting for John and have his accommodations in place at school. I was extremely impressed with the district and all the individuals involved. They genuinely seemed to care about John's success and wanted to make every effort to help him achieve it. Every accommodation I asked for was granted, including many that I had not thought of myself. He has also begin receiving social therapy and organizational skills therapy. It has only been a month, but I can tentatively say that we have seen some improvement already. We still have far to go, but we will get there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Now I want to take a minute and explain a few things about Aspergers Syndrome. Since John's diagnosis, the large majority of my friends have stated that they didn't know such a condition existed, let alone what it is. Please indulge me for a minute as I try and explain what exactly John has and how it affects him and our family. I will also give some insight as to how I came to suspect Aspergers in John and what led to our having him tested. Many of you have privately asked me about that, as well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">You can Google Aspergers and the amount of information that pops up is both overwhelming and confusing. Aspergers is defined as high-functioning Autism. However, there are several distinguishing characteristics that set it apart from typical Autism, making it a distinct diagnosis, such as social disabilities and high intelligence. Most Apsies tend to be quite cognitively advanced. Not all Aspergers symptoms appear with each child. Aspergers is much like a fingerprint. Every Aspie has the same basic outline and design, but the fine details and aspects of the syndrome differ with each child and are unique to that individual. No two Aspies are identical. Since you can read the science behind it on your own, I won't bore you; let me just tell you John's story.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>What was my first clue?</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">When John was four months old, a time when typical (I purposefully use this word rather than "normal") babies begin to smile and react to the facial expressions and vocal intonations of those around them, John did everything he could to avert his eyes. He would look away from us and refused to make eye contact. He never smiled. He was completely indifferent to the emotions we expressed. I remember looking at my mother one day after we had, to no avail,
attempted for some time to get him to smile at us, and asking her point
blank, "Mom, do you think my son is Autistic?" John showed little or no reaction to happiness, kisses, smiles, etc. In fact, the only emotion he ever exhibited was frustration. </span>He cried non-stop, all the time. And I mean <b>all the time</b>. My husband and I used to "joke" that if John was awake, he was crying. This lasted until he was close to 18 months old, when his language acquisition began to really accelerate.<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">One of the hallmarks that distinguishes Aspergers from typical Autism is language acquisition. Autistic children are typically very slow to speak and many require speech therapy and intervention to acquire this basic skill. Contrarily, Aspies acquire language more quickly than most children and tend to speak in complete sentences sooner than their peers. John was no different. By 15-16 months, he was stringing 4-8 words together to form complete sentences. At 20 months, he used the word "contraption" when telling me about his Bob Builder toy. It was at <i>that</i> moment, I realized my son most likely was not Autistic, but rather had Aspergers Syndrome. I will never forget it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Another hallmark of Aspergers is the use of large or unusual words when a small one will do. They tend to speak quite formally as if they are at a business meeting or a fancy dinner party. John has consistently done this and continues to do so now. A few weeks, ago, I asked John if he was hungry. Most kids would just respond with a simple "yes or no". John actually replied, "No thank you, I'm not hungry right now, but I would care for a drink, please." <i>Care for a drink???</i> His sophisticated speech patterns amuse me now. I think it makes him special.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>What were some of the signs along the way?</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">One trait that Autism and Aspergers share is inappropriate play with toys. Since John was my first-born, it was not immediately apparent to me that he was different because I had no basis of comparison. In fact, many of these clues were not obvious to me until my second son was 18 months old and I observed "typical boy play"</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">For example, John was obsessed with cars. (Preoccupation with one subject to the point of obsession </span><span style="font-size: small;">is another distinguishing hallmark of Aspergers. At that
time, for John, it was cars.) At 18 months old, he began to take his hot
wheels </span><span style="font-size: small;">and line them up in perfectly straight lines on the stairs. We found this amusing and would tease him by nudging just one car out of place and he would immediately, without expression, move it back into it's precise position. Typical boys drive the cars and make vroom-vroom noises. Not John. Another clue was his preoccupation with my hair. I have long, straight blond hair. When typical children get a hair on their hand, they shake it off or wipe it away. John loved to get a hold of one strand of my hair and he would sit for an hour and stroke it, examine it closely, etc. He was fascinated. At the time, I had no idea that was odd. Now I wonder how I could <i>not</i> have known. Maybe I didn't want to.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Other Aspergers signs that were clearly apparent, but seemed benign at the time, were his hyper-sensitively to external triggers. The Aspergers diagnosis includes a sensory disorder making children hyper aware of sound, light and noise, as well as disproportionate pain responses. John would scream uncontrollably if his environment was overstimulating to him. I quickly learned that very often I needed to just put him in his bouncy chair in a dark and quiet room to let him calm down. I just assumed my baby must be introverted. He was a horrible sleeper. While he slept through the night at 10 weeks, he was a ridiculously light sleeper and would wake if a gnat flew in his room. He required long naps in the afternoon, and would wake at the butt crack of dawn. His sleep patterns were consistently inconsistent. I now know this is typical of Aspergers. At the time, I thought he was just a fussy baby. To this day, he has difficulty with sleep.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">As John got older, he would wildly overreact to minor bumps and bruises. He would scream and flail about as if I was attempting to hack off a limb with a dull, rusty blade. I assumed he was just a "spirited" child. I realized something was "off" when, at three years old, he fell against the coffee table and split the back of his head wide open, requiring six stitches. Initially, he let out a horrific scream, which I now understand was just from the fear of having fallen. After that, he lay perfectly still and did not cry at all. Even the ambulance EMTs told me they were "amazed" at how brave he was. He was alert and talking as if nothing was wrong. Meanwhile, his head was gushing blood. At the hospital, he didn't cry until they stitched his head up. At the time, I thought it was because he was in pain. Now I understand that it was out of fear from not understanding what was happening as well as the over-stimulation of the intense bright lights and loud noises and smells in the hospital ER.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Because of their sensory disorder, Aspies overreact to mild pain stimuli, but have a unique ability to shut off their pain receptors to extreme pain that most typical people would find intolerable. This was evidenced again when John was in first grade and broke his arm. It was broken in three places, but the only way I <i>knew</i> it was broken was because John didn't cry. John doesn't cry <i>only</i> when he is really truly hurt. This may sound like a blessing, but in fact, Aspies are less able to tell when they have a serious injury or illness. Things like Appendicitis may go unnoticed until it's too late. John will always have to be extremely vigilant about his health.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>Were there any major red flags?</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">In one word... yes. Early on, John had inconsistent and irregular stools. He would often go for days, sometimes weeks (he went as long as three weeks once) without stooling. Multiple doctors did x-rays, rectal exams, prescribed stool softeners and other medication, but no one ever really had an explanation. James used to take John outside and make him run (like you would a dog) because that tended to help to get his system to work. Doctors told me he had chronic constipation. I had little option but to take their word for it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">As John turned school-age, the condition worsened. Eventually, he became unable to tell when he had to go to the bathroom. In actuality, I don't think he ever had a natural urge to "go" which is why he would hold it in for so long. Soon, his stools were up to three inches in diameter. Even my husband agreed this was not normal. We went to another new doctor. This one listened to me. We had him tested for Hirschsprung's, Cystic Fibrosis, Crones, Celiac, you name it. He was sent to the hospital for invasive and painful testing. Everything we tested him for came back normal. Once again, I was told he had chronic constipation and he would be fine. My husband began to doubt me. I think he thought I was a hypochondriac had Munchausen by Proxy. No matter how many professionals told me my son was fine, my mother's intuition was literally screaming at me that something was wrong. It was almost a compulsion to find answers. No one believed me anymore. I began to doubt myself. I finally told John, this was just how God made him and we settled into a routine of having him sit on the toilet every other day. John could poop on command. <i>Who does that???</i> We would say, "go to the bathroom," and 15 minutes later, he would be done. We did this for YEARS.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">It wasn't until this past summer of 2012 when John was officially diagnosed with Aspergers that I learned there is a concrete connection between stooling issues and Aspergers Syndrome. Many Aspies suffer with the same chronic issues John has, and being unable to determine they need to use the bathroom is quite common. I cannot emphasize enough the relief I felt at finally, after 9 years and multiple doctors, to not just have answers, but to know that my instincts as a mother were correct. My husband had questioned me and I had questioned myself to the point of a severe inferiority complex and self-doubt. I now realize that God gave mothers that innate instinct for instances just like this. I <i><b>knew</b></i> something was wrong with my child. I just knew it. I still can't explain how.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>What were the social clues?</b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">One of the main ways Aspergers is distinct is that it causes extreme social disabilities. Aspies are incapable of recognizing social norms or communicating normally with peers. This inability can lead to them seeming "weird" or "different," often making them an outcast. Interestingly enough, being an outcast is acceptable to many Aspies because they do not like the stress of having to try and communicate with others or build relationships. They prefer quiet and solitude.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">For John, it was apparent immediately in preschool and continues to this day. He cries easily in class, is easily and quickly frustrated, overreacts to minor issues, under-reacts to large issues, speaks tersely and rudely at times to both peers and adults, has difficulty relating to peers on the playground or during games in PE, struggles with rules and socially acceptable behavior, and desperately needs a strict schedule. Much of the frustration stems from simply not understanding what is expected of him. For example, in most developed countries, it is understood that when you meet someone for the first time, you shake their hand and introduce yourself. Imagine if you were suddenly told that what you were actually supposed to do when meeting someone new was to say your name and then do 25 jumping jacks. You might laugh because the thought of that as a "social norm" is absurd. However, this is how John's brain perceives every single social norm that you and I take for granted. Shaking hands, hygiene, taking turns, speaking politely, eye contact, etc., <b>ALL</b> seem absurd and uncomfortable to John. He doesn't understand the need for those things. He never will understand. Just like you and I had to learn and memorize history, John has to learn and memorize social norms. He will never understand why he has to do those things, he will just learn that he has to. I can't imagine how hard that must be for him.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">If you have stuck with me this far, thank you for reading this and believing that my son and others like him are important enough to take the time to understand. There are so many other symptoms and factors that I simply didn't have the time to mention here. If you have additional questions about John, or Aspergers in general, please, do not hesitate to ask me. If I don't know the answer, I can probably point you in the right direction. And, perhaps most importantly, if you currently feel that there is something going on with your child, whether it's Spectrum-related or otherwise, please, <i>please</i> trust your instincts. Never stop fighting for your child. You are their greatest advocate. You are their voice. Please share this blog with anyone you feel it might help. Thank you and God bless!</span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-21907109611531862622012-10-24T14:01:00.002-05:002012-10-24T14:25:19.847-05:00What's New on the Aspie Front?It's been a long and often frustrating two months learning to navigate the educational system and fulfill the proverbial red tape in order to speed along the ARD process for John. I have had days where I felt overwhelmed and lost in the shuffle and other days where I felt like I had it in control, but most days, I just felt a little bit helpless while waiting for other people to complete their various requirements.<br />
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Early on in the process, based on John's outside testing results and the fact that he is extremely high functioning, it seemed that the District was leaning toward placing him on a 504 (medical) plan rather than label him "Special Ed" and assign him an IEP (individualized education plan). I reached out to friends and experts for advice, but ultimately my gut has been telling me that John really has a need for an IEP rather than a 504 plan, but it would be up to the recommendation of the District Psychologist after she evaluated him in the classroom.<br />
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After my initial talks with her, it was clear that she did not feel he qualified for SpEd and would most likely recommend him for 504. For MANY reasons, this is not what I felt was best for him, so I have been praying that God would work it out because it was totally out of my hands. I got a call from her yesterday and she informed me that after evaluating John in a the class setting, it was 1.) very apparent that the did have Aspergers and 2.) evident that there WAS a need for specialized education (IEP plan). Praise God!!!! It will ultimately be up to the ARD committee to decide which option the District will endorse for John, but they will weigh heavily on the psychologist's findings and recommendation, so this is a huge victory for John in the process of getting him the right help.<br />
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She also mentioned that John clearly needs therapy in several areas, specifically in outside organizational skills (Aspies are typically extraordinarily disorganized) as well as working in groups. Aspies are notoriously bad at figuring out the minutiae involved in group activities ie. figuring out their role, coordinating efforts, and communicating with others in the group. Compromise and interaction with a group of others is counter-intuitive to how an Aspie's brain is wired. It causes panic and great stress when they have to coexist in a group setting and be expected to participate. However, working with others is a life skill that John must develop if he hopes to be a fully-functioning adult. It's hard to force your child into situations that make them overwhelmingly uncomfortable and nervous, but as a parent, I have to remind myself that he must struggle in the short term to survive the long term. It's still hard.<br />
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So now, the next step is to schedule the ARD, hopefully in the next couple weeks and then we can finally start getting John some of the intervention he needs to be successful academically and individually. I'll keep you posted!!<br />
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Here is a recent pic of John visiting my Grandmother at her nursing home and another of John and me on our summer vacation this year.<br />
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Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-68349773156228782582012-09-22T20:37:00.001-05:002012-09-22T22:10:26.547-05:00Scariest. Morning. Ever.Most of you know we have two labs, three year old Scooby and 7 month old Paris. They are best friends. Paris adores Scooby and follows him everywhere. They play constantly and Scooby is so patient with Paris's puppy antics. When they do play, it sounds like they are attacking each other. They absolutely sound ferocious, but they are so gentle and careful not to hurt each other and their tails are constantly wagging. <br />
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This morning was no different than any other lazy Saturday. James and I were lying in bed getting caught up on our emails and Facebook while the boys played with their DSIs and Jossilyn watched cartoons. We were all gathered in the master bedroom.<br />
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The dogs tend to get playful after they eat breakfast, and we were pretty much ignoring them as they wrestled loudly on the floor. Suddenly, Scooby yelped in pain. I continued ignoring him initially because occasionally they nip each other too hard. Then, Paris yelped. It sounded urgent. All of a sudden, John screams out that Scooby's mouth is caught on Paris' collar.<br />
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James and bolted upright and looked over the end of the bed. Within just those few seconds, the dogs had gone into full-fledged panic. The problem was obvious. Somehow, as they wrestled, Scooby's lower jaw had slid under Paris's collar and was wrapped tightly around his back teeth. His canine teeth were preventing him from being able to dislodge his jaw. The more they panicked and tried to separate, the tighter the collar became on Paris's neck and the more frantic they became.<br />
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James leaped out of bed and, in a single motion, he was on top of Paris trying to free her collar. This was no easy task as the dogs were flailing around the room, frantic and terrified. Scooby thought that Paris was attacking him on purpose and he began to growl and attack back the best he could, biting into her neck.<br />
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James had a hold of Paris, but she wriggled away and flipped. Now the collar was twisted, as well as trapped on Scooby's mandible, and Paris was now being strangled tightly.<br />
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Scooby weighs 85 lbs and Paris weighs 40. I realized that James was really struggling to control 125 lbs of terrified, panicking dogs and I jumped off the bed to help.<br />
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By this time, the dogs were yelping loudly, Paris was crying out in this mournful, childlike wail that terrified me. I had never heard a dog sound like that before. The boys were screaming in fear and Jossilyn was starting to get upset. <br />
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I grabbed on to Scooby and tried to throw my weight against him while simultaneously getting him in a headlock. My goal was to try and hold him still so James could get the collar off Paris. Unfortunately, with the collar pulled so tightly against her neck, and being twisted as well, he was unable to wedge his fingers in enough to release the clasp.<br />
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James started crying out, "I can't do it!! I can't do it!! My God, I can't do it!!" his voice was full of fear and near breaking with emotion. In our 14 years together, I have NEVER heard him sound so scared or helpless. I glanced at his hands. His fingers were shredded and bleeding from trying so hard to release the collar. He had bleeding gashes all over his upper torso from the dogs' claws as they fought for freedom. James was trying so hard. I kept putting all my weight on 85 lb Scooby. It was all I could do. <br />
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The boys were screaming and crying in terror. I was crying. The dogs were crying. Then Paris went silent. She had passed out and was very near death. We still couldn't free them. I screamed out, "She's dying! We're killing her!" I screamed for John to run and get scissors. Paris was so near death that her body simultaneously and involuntarily defecated, urinated and released her glands. We were out of time.<br />
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Fortunately, when Paris passed out, she went limp which gave James just enough millimeters of space to squeeze the release on her collar and get it free. He freed them just as John returned with the scissors.<br />
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James carried Paris's limp little body away from the kids' view while Scooby collapsed in my lap. His gums were swollen, shredded and bleeding where the collar had dug into them as he struggled, but thankfully, he had not lost any teeth.<br />
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I looked at James and cautiously asked if Paris was alive. Before he could answer, I heard her head shake. James had freed them in just the nick of time and she came to on her own. Her neck is bare of hair where the collar pulled so tightly against her and we can feel where her throat is swollen.<br />
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I kept an eye on her all day to make sure her throat didn't swell shut, but she seems fine.<br />
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If this had happened while either James or myself were not at home, Paris would have died. Neither one of us could have controlled 125 lbs of dog AND freed the collar at the same time. <br />
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I am SO thankful that we were both home and that James was able to free them before we lost Paris. I can't imagine the trauma my kids would have felt if they had to witness Paris die in such a freak accident. Thank you, Jesus, for your providence over my family - even the canine members!!<br />
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Here is a picture of Paris' neck after the incident...<br />
<div class="separator"style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOl9xA0iVez-QY3ChV28yqmdEr7FWMBQICew8X6vDC1XkCcEnVdznDAo_2kKpQyXtvOYDrE_lXYDFttCvjoiBpNM9i8l7TcNHrONmjepBtoPGnxKak3Qo3BJF4FiNHWzdc_QHfqNxcHopZ/s640/blogger-image-399856831.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOl9xA0iVez-QY3ChV28yqmdEr7FWMBQICew8X6vDC1XkCcEnVdznDAo_2kKpQyXtvOYDrE_lXYDFttCvjoiBpNM9i8l7TcNHrONmjepBtoPGnxKak3Qo3BJF4FiNHWzdc_QHfqNxcHopZ/s640/blogger-image-399856831.jpg" /></a></div>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-53716940635741462412012-09-11T18:07:00.001-05:002012-09-11T18:07:57.309-05:00In Memory <span style="font-size: small;">Our lives have never been the same since that fateful day, eleven years ago. These days, we mostly go about our lives without dwelling on the tragedy that was September 11, 2001. But, like many of you, I choose to pause and reflect on the anniversary; to remember and recognize the thousands of innocent people that lost their lives that day, just going about their business.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">It's the least I can do.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">For the mothers and fathers who lost their babies, and the babies who lost their mothers and fathers, this day was a defining moment in their lives. It shaped who and what they are. For those of us who were lucky enough to go to bed that night with all our friends and loved ones accounted for and safe, it emphasized what our true priorities are, or at least what they should be.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Thank you to all those who fought at Ground Zero that day. And THANK YOU to those of you who have fought and continue to fight for my freedom since that day. You are true heroes and I am humbled by your sacrifice.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I made this video last year, but I thought I would repost it today. God bless.</span><br />
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<br />Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-54474695835346690502012-08-27T18:31:00.000-05:002012-08-27T18:31:38.266-05:00Calming the Storm<span style="font-size: small;">Wow. That's all I can say. In the past week, I have been blessed with an overflowing of love and support from so many. It's been quite humbling to receive all your emails, Facebook messages, phone calls, etc. I am beyond touched. I aplogize that I have not gotten back to all of you. As much as I covet and love all your advice and personal stories, it became overwhelming at times and I have had to step back intermittently for breaks. Thank you for your patience and understanding.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">This past week has been a roller coaster of emotions. Even though I expected the Asperger's diagnosis, it took a while to sink in that we had graduated from "possibility" to "reality". James, especially, has had a more difficult time processing everything. Unlike me, he didn't see the signs as clearly and really did not believe there was a diagnosis to be made. Therefore, it came as quite a shock to him and the reality of it took its toll on both of us. I shed a lot of tears last week.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I am in the process of setting up all the necessary meetings with the school district in order to accommodate John's unique learning style. It's an arduous, lengthy process. The paperwork is both daunting and redundant. I find myself in a position of uncertainty and unfamiliarity. It's uncomfortable and I don't like it. The meetings ahead are also intimidating. Praise God my mother, who has been a teacher for nearly 30 years, speaks the "code" (the endless series of acronyms that the legal process uses) and has offered to attend the meetings with us to translate and assist. The process is tiring and I worry that John will struggle until we can get these steps in place.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I spent a good deal of time this past week researching and learning what I can. At times I literally had to walk away from the computer. The information (thankfully) is abundant and it was overwhelming sifting through the various websites and documents and making sense of what did or did not pertain to our circumstances. We are blessed that John is very high functioning, but in some ways, that seems to limit the number of options for therapy available to him. Add to that the difficulty of finding a reputable facility near us that accepts our insurance and offers the type of help that John needs – it seems an insurmountable task. After days of combing the internet and numerous phone inquiries, I came up empty-handed and felt quite defeated and discouraged. I still do. There were several times I wanted to quit searching and go back to the status quo. For John's sake, that's not an option. I did, however, give myself permission to abstain from research or discussion of Asperger's for the better part of the weekend. My mind and heart were weary and I needed a break.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Friday night, we sat John down and told him the diagnosis. We both felt it was in his best interest to understand why things would be different this school year and he would receive some special assistance prior to the start of school today. The main thing I wanted to convey to him was that he had no need to be ashamed or embarrassed. This is the way God made John and he is perfect in God's eyes. I began by telling John that God had given him a most special gift. God had given John a special mind that was able to think in ways that his Daddy and I and others cannot. John is able to perceive information differently that most people and that makes him special. I explained that he had an Asperger's mind. His face scrunched up. “That's a funny word. What does it mean?" he asked. I gently but firmly said, “John, you are not sick. This is not a disease and you are not going to die. You don't have to take pills for this or get shots. This is simply how God made you. He chose you to have this special gift.” </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I told him how it was the Asperger's that was causing his difficulty concentrating and why he got so easily frustrated. I noticed his eyes begin to well up with tears and his face started to crumple. In that moment, my stomach dropped. Had we made a mistake? Was it wrong to tell him the truth? I asked him what was wrong; what he was thinking. He looked up at me and asked, “Mom, is the Asperger's why I am different from the other kids? Is that why I'm not good at certain things? Is the Asperger’s what's wrong with me?”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">I was just about to reassure him that <i>nothing</i> was wrong with him, when he suddenly broke into a smile and added, "Or should I say… what's <i><b>right</b></i> with me?!?”</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I knew then that my son will be just fine.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">He asked a few more questions before I kissed him good night, and as I turned to leave the room he suddenly asked, “Mom, am I allowed to say <b><i>Ass</i></b>perger's or do I need to call it <b><i>Butt</i></b>perger's?” He was totally serious. I don't think I have laughed that hard in all my life. Thank you, Jesus, for giving us calm in the midst of our storms.</span><br />
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<i><b>I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!</b></i>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-53845408206883328022012-08-21T10:36:00.000-05:002012-08-21T11:33:30.535-05:00Beauty From Ashes<span style="font-size: small;">Life isn't fair. We learn that as toddlers and life continues to prove the point repeatedly as we mature. As humans, we plan our lives exactly as we would chose them to be, but, inevitably, we are thrown curve balls that alter the dream and paths we hoped to follow and we must build new dreams and alternate paths to achieve them.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">Yesterday, life threw our family such a curve ball. It was not totally unexpected - at least on my part. But somehow, hearing it made official, seeing the words written on paper, was more difficult that I anticipated. I have suspected since he was four months old. The clues were there. The signs were there. But it didn't have to be real because no one had officially "made it so". Now it is official.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">My son has <b><a href="http://www.webmd.com/brain/autism/mental-health-aspergers-syndrome" target="_blank">Asperger's</a></b>.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="color: black;">Asperger's syndrome, also called Asperger's disorder, is part of the Autism Spectrum and is a type of </span>pervasive developmental disorder (PDD)<span style="color: black;">.
PDDs are a group of conditions that involve delays in the development
of many basic skills, most notably the ability to socialize with others,
to communicate, and to use imagination.</span></i></span> <br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Hearing those words from licensed professionals; seeing them written in black and white… suddenly, all the original dreams we had for our son changed. It hurts. I don't know how to raise a child with "special needs". I don't know how to protect him. I don't even know how to tell him. I only have nine years til he moves out of my house and goes off to college. Nine years to teach him how to deal with a world that he sees completely differently than me. Nine years to teach him how to break through his own barriers and become a functioning member of society - a task that is counter-intuitive to the way God wired him.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">But God did wire him.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">My son is made perfectly in God's image. God loves him even more than I do and He has plans for my son that even I cannot fathom or predict. My heart is broken for my son and the difficult road ahead for him. My heart breaks for the nine years we did not have a diagnosis and he struggled to function the way he thought we expected him to. My heart breaks for multiple times in the last nine years when I, his Mommy, did not meet his needs or respond in a way he understood. He must have felt so alone at times. My heart is breaking over the label "special needs" that will be written on school forms from here on out. I pray his self image never suffers from these words on a page. My heart is breaking for his lifelong challenges with finding and building relationships. I pray God puts loving people in his path that will love my son because of who he is, not in spite of it. I pray God helps my husband and myself find equal ground in the days and years ahead so that we can be a united front and a safe place for John to land when he needs it.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">Our family is embarking on a new journey. My son hasn't changed, but our understanding of him has. His world hasn't changed, but now we will (hopefully) be able to provide him the tools to navigate it more easily.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">There are so many people out there so much farther long in this journey than I am. I welcome and covet your insight and any tips that have helped you guide and raise your children. What worked, what didn't work, what resources or therapy were most helpful?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">Lastly, please pray for our family, especially James, myself and John, as we re-learn how to relate to each other and seek appropriate outside therapy and resources - that we would be guided to the right places.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">God does not make mistakes. My son is a perfect example of God's beauty displayed differently than what is perceived as "normal".</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWsyCo-NFhcyOOA782bzWzFoNsOR3ET8KkLgBBYynlANa8-aMW_RPg_A_wp-nmgjcZeWKMyscPwHm1EoYWxWeFuAc8w1yf0U3flqm7o8uHuKIhO_5oNm5FsR7gsqBANTzpuTuB8onvUovD/s1600/DSC00848.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWsyCo-NFhcyOOA782bzWzFoNsOR3ET8KkLgBBYynlANa8-aMW_RPg_A_wp-nmgjcZeWKMyscPwHm1EoYWxWeFuAc8w1yf0U3flqm7o8uHuKIhO_5oNm5FsR7gsqBANTzpuTuB8onvUovD/s400/DSC00848.JPG" width="300" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!</b></i></span></span></span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-81821057119849707862012-06-29T21:05:00.001-05:002012-06-29T22:11:43.430-05:00Who wants dinner???<span style="font-size: small;">Well, our critter trap is at it again! We never did catch the Mama possum last summer and she's back to nesting in our flower beds. I guess she had another litter because we caught another one of her babies tonight.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-size: small;">This little fellow was feisty and not at ALL interested in playing "possum". He wanted revenge for his captivity. (Poor misguided fellow.) We plan to drive him about 10 miles out and set him free. John said why bother... he'll probably end up road kill anyway! =) Dinner, anyone?</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1iSVdtybbY3SLyEovlp46p1jhyphenhyphen8noSEVHfV4SdwnLvp571Izc4_n4yJj_QTOeaVNuh6c3TZRB_uyHvdnSVNYvKAClFrGSueputzQacVxcHdeq5ebtGYBzLW25S1YPdirvyh2TSJgR4UgJ/s640/blogger-image-1189721837.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1iSVdtybbY3SLyEovlp46p1jhyphenhyphen8noSEVHfV4SdwnLvp571Izc4_n4yJj_QTOeaVNuh6c3TZRB_uyHvdnSVNYvKAClFrGSueputzQacVxcHdeq5ebtGYBzLW25S1YPdirvyh2TSJgR4UgJ/s400/blogger-image-1189721837.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!</b></i></span></span></div>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-22353823169889223712012-06-28T14:34:00.000-05:002012-06-28T14:47:14.575-05:00YAY! My kids are colorblind!<span style="font-size: small;">Most of my readers are aware that we spent nearly 4 years living in the San Francisco Bay Area. We learned much about culture shock while living there, as it was quite like moving to a foreign country. The SF bay area is a melting pot of ultra-diverse ethnicities and we quickly discovered that Caucasians were minorities. I have never experienced how it felt to truly be a minority group until then. It was interesting. There were over 150 different languages spoken in the city we lived in alone. Here is a pie chart of the demographics in the city we lived in:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwXoEvluNTu0jvgBMKGvkYsKTFVX8A5_4f0w4spUuWEA4oakS7oNsuD3FkXiqVtbpip99kBbFR62yX003lVkYvQtIHd4oZJ3Onc223Niv589-o3upgAXBk0BBsEtIl3F6Giu1cDHNywd00/s1600/Picture+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwXoEvluNTu0jvgBMKGvkYsKTFVX8A5_4f0w4spUuWEA4oakS7oNsuD3FkXiqVtbpip99kBbFR62yX003lVkYvQtIHd4oZJ3Onc223Niv589-o3upgAXBk0BBsEtIl3F6Giu1cDHNywd00/s400/Picture+1.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">As this graphic demonstrates, Caucasians are considerably outnumbered. I was reminded of my minority status most at my sons' preschool. I LOVED their preschool. It breaks my heart that Jossilyn won't be able to attend that wonderful school. However, when John attended, he was one of four. caucasians in his class. The rest were of Asian descent. Matthew was the ONLY caucasian in his class. Again, the rest were Asian. When John started Kindergarten in Cali, again, he was surrounded by children of multiple ethnicities and backgrounds.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">As a result of this exposure during my sons' early, formidable years, they became extremely color blind. They never noticed or realized that they were "different" than the rest of their classmates. When we moved back to Texas, they brought that racial innocence with them. I have NEVER had a talk with my children about how some people have different color skin or some people speak differently. I never had to. My kids only saw people... not the differences.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">A few days ago, I had a hilarious reminder that my sons still carry this gift with them. Our family recently had the opportunity to spend some time at a housewarming party for some friends. We were having so much fun that we completely overstayed our welcome and soon found we were the only guests left along with the host family.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">James and his friend were outside on the porch when Matthew (my 6 yr old) walked out. He studied James' friend for a minute and then blurted out, "Your whole family is black!!"</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">James was shocked and a little embarrassed, but our friends took it well and laughed. Then Matthew continued, "But your WHOLE family is black!!" as if he couldn't quite figure out why they weren't a mixture of races. The funniest part of it was that Matthew was genuinely surprised by this discovery.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I pray my children always view the world so simply and see people for their character rather than their color. What a gift the innocence of children is!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">On another note... today is my Daddy's 62nd birthday!!! Happy birthday, Daddy! I love you so much and I'm so thankful that I am blessed to be your daughter.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-CEHrXgoXVPttPjBf2a27hB6v3i7C4OGSZAU7a8OG4ZKICxHgMqeEz5dYfG-m2PvxI4INshpqIu1Nouy6M8O1ajba1r9mxjjX3d-ORRHj2QynumVnOEriYvBuJGtP5AtnVHjoeV5rm6K/s1600/521987_10151060893312674_1027158514_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw-CEHrXgoXVPttPjBf2a27hB6v3i7C4OGSZAU7a8OG4ZKICxHgMqeEz5dYfG-m2PvxI4INshpqIu1Nouy6M8O1ajba1r9mxjjX3d-ORRHj2QynumVnOEriYvBuJGtP5AtnVHjoeV5rm6K/s400/521987_10151060893312674_1027158514_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Two days ago was my parents' 41st wedding anniversary! Congratulations to both of you and thank you for being such a solid example of what real, lasting love is and how a marriage should work. It IS possible to be married to the same person for 4 decades, still love them, still LIKE them, and remain completely faithful to them. Good to know. =)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Here's a snapshot of my sweaty, dirty girl at the park yeserday. LOVE my Jossilyn Claire!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTHHqRge1FWpTprmZB3Ia8OtqsVcW-CUHWdXolcTZzaWQ2bcUiSCT8si_uJwY2GZx3L_tazHhdhOVJStEtT4I_ubm72xG5ACPiRGmMYe63OfvXFmOhWPeCQbxaLfvYWP__hEXXgZw0z_IO/s1600/photo-1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTHHqRge1FWpTprmZB3Ia8OtqsVcW-CUHWdXolcTZzaWQ2bcUiSCT8si_uJwY2GZx3L_tazHhdhOVJStEtT4I_ubm72xG5ACPiRGmMYe63OfvXFmOhWPeCQbxaLfvYWP__hEXXgZw0z_IO/s400/photo-1.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Jossilyn is a hoot! She does the funniest things. I love watching how her little two-year old mind works and what makes sense to her. Yesterday, she brought a toy car to me, "parked" it, and scampered away. Here is the parking spot of her choosing:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMN0bML775dtM4bEdixdljLW7VrFHLwX0d6C3FlpE1gYK8ncZqnbM1TL5DBNn3qDJW2Bo-72arCMnPfpe-UlQjA8XHoGwbXIe_fHYT_xVsq0x0sdvlRuAU9k1nQHTL3J1bQYiXy1ewEGx5/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMN0bML775dtM4bEdixdljLW7VrFHLwX0d6C3FlpE1gYK8ncZqnbM1TL5DBNn3qDJW2Bo-72arCMnPfpe-UlQjA8XHoGwbXIe_fHYT_xVsq0x0sdvlRuAU9k1nQHTL3J1bQYiXy1ewEGx5/s400/photo.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This past week has been Vacation Bible School (VBS) for my kids. (For my European friends, VBS is like a 5-day Bible camp at church that is held every summer at most churches.) This week was particularly nostalgic for me as my boys attended VBS at the same church I attended for VBS when I was their age. For some of my friends who have been fortunate enough to live in the same place their whole life, that is probably no big deal. I moved around so much and never really had one "place" to call home. So for me, it is extremely special for my kids to be living in the same town where I spent my early childhood, attending the same VBS that I did, and making the same special memories that I carry to this day.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK5OHyz15skle4E3VRctswRpRxxUsBnnoRxrJPpiIq2vXG2aRguUE1tN0ecLK5B4cYusT2i5Tl2mxJAf1Jm01lEWrTUtHPHlEgaFLCZHprlbDB_bI_bSDKXGQ5gI6Ttk4duiVFomB2yKhh/s1600/photo-3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK5OHyz15skle4E3VRctswRpRxxUsBnnoRxrJPpiIq2vXG2aRguUE1tN0ecLK5B4cYusT2i5Tl2mxJAf1Jm01lEWrTUtHPHlEgaFLCZHprlbDB_bI_bSDKXGQ5gI6Ttk4duiVFomB2yKhh/s400/photo-3.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpO2apH1yyh9g5Wpl_eDf7hUmapstGHC9WbxbohnTE0aWhI5gbI0ALWCx1h4dKAxEnXbHoktXjCpqjnZJmqxulnsGTJ-PQ26pgFD9hLpucjHdAuqyfnzQk4YjGU0ZaP1M9eF_1Yo1UE9gR/s1600/photo-2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpO2apH1yyh9g5Wpl_eDf7hUmapstGHC9WbxbohnTE0aWhI5gbI0ALWCx1h4dKAxEnXbHoktXjCpqjnZJmqxulnsGTJ-PQ26pgFD9hLpucjHdAuqyfnzQk4YjGU0ZaP1M9eF_1Yo1UE9gR/s400/photo-2.JPG" width="400" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!</b></i></span></span></div>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-77699889378579320722012-06-18T11:45:00.001-05:002012-06-18T15:38:27.777-05:00Father's Day BlissThis past Christmas, we gave our boys a go kart, which they LOVED! I swear that thing is more work to maintain than a car! For every two days they get to ride it, it spends a week broken in some form or fashion. It's no wonder since the boys push that sucker to it's max of 30 mph! Nearly three months ago, James decided to take a ride on the wild side of the go kart, nearly rolled it, and consequently bent the frame so severely it has been out of commission ever since. We needed a welder to fix it.<br />
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Enter my dear friend <b><a href="http://therollinsstory.blogspot.com/">Robin Rollins</a></b>' husband Dan into the picture. Dan is a master welder and while they were visiting us for a few days last month, Dan offered to fix the go kart next time he was in town. Turns out he came into town yesterday, on Father's Day. Dan the Man, brought along his Welder and tools and set to work practically rebuilding part of the framework. His hard work paid off in the looks on my boys' faces when they took the go kart for a spin for the first time in 3 months! Priceless!<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vP-ywKR8tF7EfMaXUarOJJvehjfwlMja7V9gM4Dy3YpnSuT59KNVuoJghMv1OWO2Z_5P-CatlPsb-crDCrKn0Fhy3iFfaN8dbC7ACAs-riZOKi5T651Hg730GnBEIN7EUIg71Nxw_AJK/s1600/photo(2).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4vP-ywKR8tF7EfMaXUarOJJvehjfwlMja7V9gM4Dy3YpnSuT59KNVuoJghMv1OWO2Z_5P-CatlPsb-crDCrKn0Fhy3iFfaN8dbC7ACAs-riZOKi5T651Hg730GnBEIN7EUIg71Nxw_AJK/s400/photo(2).JPG" width="300" /> </a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Thank you SO MUCH, Mr. Dan, for spending your Father's Day making my boys so happy! And thank you, James, for helping!! A little grease never hurt anyone, right?</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBnzZaVNsq25eCkGwuPxqxF0Y7XezoMZB4fsU1SupDJQW1CHv9o6fXqBmugeH7wwjbqbqehzwvg86mEGKW-yhj1Kop_XkI5PYlXEJm8JWvwskWYuPzvpJs1q-YoBDpnZyY9ZpBP1RYYErG/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBnzZaVNsq25eCkGwuPxqxF0Y7XezoMZB4fsU1SupDJQW1CHv9o6fXqBmugeH7wwjbqbqehzwvg86mEGKW-yhj1Kop_XkI5PYlXEJm8JWvwskWYuPzvpJs1q-YoBDpnZyY9ZpBP1RYYErG/s400/photo.JPG" width="300" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Jossilyn had her own Father's Day treat surprise for us. She decided to seranade us with her rousing rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star… over and over and over again. I guess the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree. ;-) I managed to get a little of it on video. Enjoy! (She's quite serious about her performance and quite proud of the response.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy1R89HXIwdsebLLEk-YADB5UcaGXloNGcbofJSu66cgnz1NHZ491JJpf7ludNBTYTTPxbv2omqtM8PfETsMQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Another cute "Jossilynism" from yesterday… we had a Father's Day lunch with James' dad and family at Olive Garden. While there, I took Jossilyn into the ladies' room with me. As we were washing hands, an elderly woman in a wheelchair came in. She smiled at Jossilyn and said, "I like your bow!" Jossilyn eyed her from head to toe, and then in an effort to return the compliment, she replied, "I like your bike!" (At least the lady laughed out loud!)</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!</b></i></span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-83031310909257994002012-06-16T16:29:00.001-05:002012-06-16T22:46:10.790-05:00Time for a Change<span style="font-size: small;">I got to feeling antsy last night and needed a creative outlet. Rather than redecorate my home at midnight, I opted to give the blog a face lift. After two years with the old look, it was time for a change, don't you think? Do you like it? Leave a comment and give me your feedback. Unless you hate it. Then, keep your comments to yourself. That way, I'll just think I am a true design genius. (Or something like that.)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">We spent today celebrating my sweet nephew, Grant's, first birthday! After a long year of constant, unexplained illness and multiple hospital stays, Little G is <i>finally</i> feeling stronger. He still has a compromised immune system, and my sister has to be careful what environments she exposes him to, but we are so blessed and thankful that his health seems to be under control for the time being.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Happy birthday, Little G!!!!!!!!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfMZFMPHxw_QN3vWfJ_Z_1IrfqsBL0SZT3tKftfEGqRplOdcvJ3GZoS3EmtXoi6Wa7F3rvHXyrpRzpEjAMFkTdQEipBzMjH07SHEBuVxMbBPXF6QtkV0b1YWkbkrX9BFy9xsUMg3eRjmUB/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfMZFMPHxw_QN3vWfJ_Z_1IrfqsBL0SZT3tKftfEGqRplOdcvJ3GZoS3EmtXoi6Wa7F3rvHXyrpRzpEjAMFkTdQEipBzMjH07SHEBuVxMbBPXF6QtkV0b1YWkbkrX9BFy9xsUMg3eRjmUB/s400/photo.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcSyNfhJcAfODlGVCB-tM_MRlFUy7zvFp3nQ4DB3eBj7j6IXvqINrTgVl7Gxb9ePvSudp3b4pIF85qfRAzEGWcqsn1K0sgWcPV3S1lvyeGtSeGVVXda9JaACyWF-zdHKL3yCzE5Y5PaRKJ/s1600/551846_330414703704292_2083385137_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcSyNfhJcAfODlGVCB-tM_MRlFUy7zvFp3nQ4DB3eBj7j6IXvqINrTgVl7Gxb9ePvSudp3b4pIF85qfRAzEGWcqsn1K0sgWcPV3S1lvyeGtSeGVVXda9JaACyWF-zdHKL3yCzE5Y5PaRKJ/s400/551846_330414703704292_2083385137_n.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!</b></i></span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-61686821041187587802012-06-14T09:38:00.001-05:002012-06-16T22:46:21.098-05:00It's Raining Pee<span style="font-size: small;">Nine pairs of panties? Check. A week of complete dedication? Check. Toddler willingness? Check. I was armed and ready to tackle the potty training monster for the third and final time. Looking back at my eager and fearless attitude, only a few days ago, I can't help but smile at that young, naive girl and her dreams. Okay, maybe just naive. Has it really been so long that I have forgotten the frustrations and setbacks of potty training?? Apparently so.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">My ammo pack…</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwidCksyTO2d6FrIjLg8E3DQT9PbIlewWOb4r-ITQ93tcjLxRE90EXOTqICkaUY5FejIr09e1vcMtgHEvWYh1Zhk1Ca__T6AiGxj6z5f8Yqet7KliXwRkLz6PqPy-VvjXcorp1u2QCTacV/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwidCksyTO2d6FrIjLg8E3DQT9PbIlewWOb4r-ITQ93tcjLxRE90EXOTqICkaUY5FejIr09e1vcMtgHEvWYh1Zhk1Ca__T6AiGxj6z5f8Yqet7KliXwRkLz6PqPy-VvjXcorp1u2QCTacV/s400/photo.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">One critical item I neglected to factor in was our still-not-completely-housebroken puppy. Paris is much better than she was at "going" outside. But her little bladder is so teeny that she has to "go" all the freaking time. Enter Jossilyn into that picture. She wants to use the potty chair. She desires to do the right thing. However, her thimble-sized bladder she apparently inherited from her mother is not always able to comply with Jossilyn's wish to "hold it".</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">Therefore, I suddenly find myself side-stepping puddles at every turn. There are puddles on the carpet, puddles on the wood, puddles on the tile, puddles on the couch(!)… It's so out of control, I don't know who's nose to rub in what! How does one determine the puddle culprit? Is there a method? If Jossilyn had a tail, it would be neatly tucked betwixt her legs, just as Paris' is. They both cower and run from me when my nice and dry foot suddenly submerges is a warm, freshly made pool. Are they conspiring against me? I'm beginning to wonder.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!</b></i></span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-84525373663418513822012-06-09T21:44:00.002-05:002012-06-16T22:46:31.029-05:00Somebody Grab the Marshmallows!<span style="font-size: small;">On a whim, James decided to pack up and spend a four-day weekend with his close friend, Roger, in Ruidoso, New Mexico. It sounded fine to me - I'm still trying to even things up since my trip to London in February. I think, in hindsight, that checking mountain conditions first might have been prudent.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">James' friend lives in Alto, just a few minutes from Ruidoso. Upon arrival, James was shocked to find that there was an out-of-control forest fire burning just miles from his friend's house. (?!?) He texted me this picture just hours after he arrived…</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_qJl4lV0B4Ph0ACp85C8dGiC1j-igSO2Q2S96asoTDA3siptnjBOuGC2C9g-Av7EDT0Z7q5_wYmLYjc569r52G3Ol_Nk0eOgulvkWBmJPkpRdg9AFjsPNYv6wdycZUDr6WmW_YHQM9s9j/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_qJl4lV0B4Ph0ACp85C8dGiC1j-igSO2Q2S96asoTDA3siptnjBOuGC2C9g-Av7EDT0Z7q5_wYmLYjc569r52G3Ol_Nk0eOgulvkWBmJPkpRdg9AFjsPNYv6wdycZUDr6WmW_YHQM9s9j/s400/photo.JPG" width="297" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">That's not sunlight on the left side of the picture. Those are flames. Hot, giant, leaping flames. This morning they had to quickly throw a few things in the car and evacuate. The fire is raging and zero percent contained as of now. James left his beloved truck behind, and I don't mind telling you he's fretting a bit about that. We're keeping our fingers crossed that the wind is favorable tonight and tomorrow so he can get back up to Alto to get his truck. Hopefully, it won't be too crispy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!</b></i></span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-60229707096227370612012-06-07T16:34:00.000-05:002012-06-16T22:46:42.336-05:00Part of the Picture<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Two posts in one day??? I must be on glue. Kidding. I just had something pop into my head and I thought I would share.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> Even though I am abstaining from FB, I still read it. I'm not strong enough to just quit and I don't think that addiction qualifies for a 12-step program. Yet.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Anyway, as I was perusing FB today, I saw that my niece had posted a picture of herself with the caption "makeup is a girl's best friend". Now, my niece is supermodel beautiful with a supermodel figure and a heart to match. Lord knows she does not need makeup. <i>BUT</i>… we <i>are</i> Texan girls and even I don't get the mail without my lips and lashes. That got me to thinking…</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Now that I have a daughter, what image do I want to project to her? What do I want her to emulate? Don't get me wrong, I will definitely be teaching her the beauty tricks of the trade. After all, we <i>are </i></span> females. But at the same time, I want her to be confident in her own skin. I want her to feel beautiful at all times because of who she is, not because of her abilities with Bare Essentials. That is something I have struggled with my whole life.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">Most people know I was a victim of childhood bullying. That experience changed the face of my self esteem for the rest of my life. It has taken me into my 30s to fully appreciate who I am and what I have to offer. It was a long, hard-fought battle.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">My niece's FB post reminded me that sometimes we girls tend to hide behind the makeup. It becomes a mask or a crutch that allows us to step outside of our comfort zone based on false confidence. That confidence should stem from the beauty inside and be complimented by the makeup - not replaced by it.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">My hope for my daughter is that she will be strong and confident enough to be judged on her heart and not worry what image her physical image is projecting. I did a little experiment to illustrate that.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">In the first frame, you see me fully adorned in makeup. In the second frame, you see me raw and vulnerable wearing nothing but moisturizer. Each frame is a part of me, but not the whole me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ0_SNLin22I3E7i-LWTBdzf83XPp3QVq8Nk3xb0XoPfYHAwSjRiTEqO1I1_oayl4sESokp9Mm5nJGrOOD9FSAruSTW1efo6k5q2WSemGX0a8kKLCNYagIRGOo8BMwFaMSDeJuwLv6xjKk/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ0_SNLin22I3E7i-LWTBdzf83XPp3QVq8Nk3xb0XoPfYHAwSjRiTEqO1I1_oayl4sESokp9Mm5nJGrOOD9FSAruSTW1efo6k5q2WSemGX0a8kKLCNYagIRGOo8BMwFaMSDeJuwLv6xjKk/s400/1.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></span></div>
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">In this next photo, you see that the above was actually one image, split into two. This illustrates how it takes all of that combined to complete me. The "real" me is complimented by the makeup, but it is still me in the picture. I didn't change; only my reflection did. Beauty is only skin deep. Makeup makes us more aesthetically pleasing, but it doesn't change who we really are. I hope my daughter always feels as beautiful in her second frame as she is in her first. I hope the rest of you do, as well.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtJQMj0J9LnBbw-vtUgWyIvnxlPc2Ajry6-Vx9oTeiOVpOoRyz-LRtO2dueMdUL_vNq_kul4hbdI4uUrvK33idse1VufavrCdj-qiQHRrNMPqDR9iatcCVUeFGCIqnOWQRHw-th4JrVJwg/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtJQMj0J9LnBbw-vtUgWyIvnxlPc2Ajry6-Vx9oTeiOVpOoRyz-LRtO2dueMdUL_vNq_kul4hbdI4uUrvK33idse1VufavrCdj-qiQHRrNMPqDR9iatcCVUeFGCIqnOWQRHw-th4JrVJwg/s400/2.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit; font-size: small;">I'm adding this last photo just to prove to you readers that I did not walk around all day with only half my face made up. That would just be stupid. =)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8NfqVHJy-psufhZPB9OpoN0lrxHpwjPNLoNzRXz21DSdvpTWgIwIccZUXtburG_N3J6BpYCPr6TXZkf-Hyuc4G55pDszfJfGzKlLfl33myKsuXvVW5tzB11ukViUZZJNjsl-bzK1XAGXK/s1600/3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8NfqVHJy-psufhZPB9OpoN0lrxHpwjPNLoNzRXz21DSdvpTWgIwIccZUXtburG_N3J6BpYCPr6TXZkf-Hyuc4G55pDszfJfGzKlLfl33myKsuXvVW5tzB11ukViUZZJNjsl-bzK1XAGXK/s400/3.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!</b></i></span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-25578902913276020602012-06-07T10:37:00.003-05:002012-06-07T10:54:31.508-05:00Back to the Basics<span style="font-size: small;">I have decided to take a break from Facebook, which has inadvertently replaced my blog in the world of updates. Facebook is so instantaneous. It reaches hundreds instantly with the click of a button. It's also public. And permanent. Things said or done on such a public, open forum cannot be undone. Often, hurtful things are said. I think I like the anonymity of my blog. I don't know who views or reads it. No one hits a "like" button, so for all I know I am talking to myself. But that's okay, too. Writing this is cathartic for me and it helps to organize my thoughts on paper. I need some zen right now, anyway.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">It's been a crazy few weeks. It's also been a hard few weeks. My beautiful, vibrant cousin just lost her first baby to <b><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Patau_syndrome">Trisomy 13</a></b>. This has devastated the whole family. It has brought back anew the overwhelming emotions and memories of losing my own child. I only hope that through this terrible bond we now share, that I can offer her some words of comfort. Pray for us.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">On a positive note, we got a puppy! There are conflicting stories as to how this puppy came to be a member of our family, but MY version (not my hubby's) is the truth. The kids were hungry and, as usual, they voted for McDonald's. As we were pulling out of the McDonald's parking lot, having satiated our appetites, we noticed a clean cut young man selling lab puppies out of his truck. The kids promptly commenced to begging for me to stop so they could see the pups. My instincts told me to drive. Fast. But then I caught the eye of a pretty little female black lab pup and couldn't help but be drawn to her. I pulled over. <i>It couldn't hurt to look.</i> Right? After all, I had been saying for years that our next dog was going to be small. As in microscopic.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I pulled over and got out to snuggle the little black pup with dark brown eyes and a very wet tongue. She was precious. Beyond precious. I took her over to the car so the kids could see her. Naturally, they loved her and the begging to keep her commenced. I spoke with the seller who turned out to be a local pastor and was very nice. I told him thank you for indulging us, but there was no way I was getting another big dog - especially a lab puppy. Labs. Chew. Everything. Our three year old Scooby is a delight to own now, but it took <i>three</i> full years for him to calm down. I thought about how old I will be in three years. Heck no. We do not need another lab puppy.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I drove off, puppyless and quite proud of myself. What self control I had shown! The kids started yelling their reminders that I had promised to "run it by Daddy", knowing full well that James would instantly strike down the idea of another dog. I called him from the car. Now, I am blessed to have one of those fancy schmancy cars that is equipped with a built-in blue tooth and carries the call through the car. This a fantastic option… unless you are discussing a new puppy and the call is on speaker for all children to hear.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I called James. He asked if the dog was a lab. It is. He asked if the dog was AKC registered. It was. (Uh-oh. This conversation was not going as it had in my head.) He asked if the kids wanted it. They did. To that, my sweet husband, the one who is supposed to be our voice of reason and talk me out of all the spontaneous knuckle-headed ideas I get, replied, "Sure! Get the dog! Just write a check."</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Just write a check??? What the heck just happened here?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Crap.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I turned around and looked at the kids who were screaming with excitement. I looked at their faces and said, "I guess we're getting a dog." With that we turned around and drove back to that sweet little black puppy. In somewhat of a daze, I handed the pastor a $400 check and drove away - with the dog - from what has to be the world's most expensive trip to McDonald's.</span><br />
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So, without further ado, meet Paris (with her big brother, Scooby)!!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS2wfPMf0lsgdDadrcJBzazPFG09M8lMGlLDQB-46ZPWhqbUFKJUBpZORuLZJcMgA8blHwihpYA0JdhwM1LTivIyvpoFWxvdU5HEwKsmPerC7u1zcb6QqbDo45J2hK71M68-MCzy-RohQO/s640/blogger-image-1328443537.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS2wfPMf0lsgdDadrcJBzazPFG09M8lMGlLDQB-46ZPWhqbUFKJUBpZORuLZJcMgA8blHwihpYA0JdhwM1LTivIyvpoFWxvdU5HEwKsmPerC7u1zcb6QqbDo45J2hK71M68-MCzy-RohQO/s400/blogger-image-1328443537.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-67210549244766374152011-12-02T21:28:00.001-06:002012-06-16T22:47:21.578-05:00Mama Said There'd be Days Like This<span style="font-size: small;">This week has been no fun. I have spent the whole week sick. My house is a nuclear disaster. We're fresh out of food. And clean laundry. And I don't care. I've had a killer cold which decided to morph into a killer sinus infection. Oh. Joy. That being said, I decided to load up my little devil child… uh… er… Jossilyn and her <strike>very sweet</strike> incomprehensibly obnoxious temper and drag her with me to the doctor.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">As a tried and true Texan girl </span><span style="font-size: small;">(since I was eleven months old)</span><span style="font-size: small;">, I never <i>NEVER</i> leave the house without lips and lashes. If the mascara and lipstick aren't happenin’, I don't even get the mail. I learned today that exceptions can and will be made on short notice, but one is wise <i>not</i> to point out my transgression. Bad things will happen. Very bad things.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">While I was throwing on an old comfy Tri Delta sweatshirt (Jossilyn was fascinated with the "trigles" on my shirt), old comfy jeans (sensing a theme yet?) and old comfy shoes, I let Scooby out to pee. He seemed to sense my mood and got the heck out of dodge. Over an hour later, I realized he still hadn't come home, so I reluctantly headed outside to find him. It’s raining. It’s 40 degrees. I have a fever and a very bad dog.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">Twenty minutes(!) of laryngitis-laden screaming-for-Scooby later, I'm soaked, freezing, coughing, fevering and still no sign of my very bad dog. I decided it was time to load Joss in the car and drive around with my shotgun looking for him. Kidding. Sort of.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">I headed back to the house to find a hysterical little 21-month-old frantically turning the door knob on the inside. I try the door. Yep. It's locked. She managed to figure out the dead bolt for the first. time. ever. Lucky, lucky me.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">So there I stood, wet, cold, sick, exhausted, no dog, no coat, no cell phone, no keys, and locked out. My only chance of rapid entry back into the house lies with a hysterical, hazel-eyed, curly-headed one-year-old blond. I don't like my odds.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">Another 20 minutes go by with me on one side of the door, Jossilyn on the other, and the conversation sounded like this:</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>Me</b>: (screaming through the door) Turn the lock, Jossi! No, not the door knob, the lock. Up here. See the pretty lock? Turn it. TURN IT!!</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>Joss</b>: (crying, red-faced and snot-nosed) I can't do it, Mommy. I stuck. I can't do it.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;"><i>(Repeat. Again. And again. And again.…)</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span> <span style="font-size: small;">I give up and consider my options. It's 10:30 am. I can either call the fire dept. and let them break a window. I can pay a locksmith $100. I can break my <i>own</i> window. I can find a neighbor who’s home. Yep. I like that one the best. Sort of. Did I mention that it's raining, 40 degrees outside and I'm sick???</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">Just then a very <i>VERY</i> bad dog comes bounding home from down the street. I trudge through the soggy, muddy ground to shut his butt in the dog run where he immediately commences to barking. Loudly. Continuously. I now hate this dog. Kidding. Sort of.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">I ran, <i>yes ran</i>, the 1/4 mile to the nearest neighbor who’s home and bang on her door, all the while Jossilyn is running loose, free, and uncontrolled in my house. My neighbor, Kate, comes to the door to find me soaking wet, shivering, covered in mud, and sick as a dog. I've only met the poor woman once before. I ask to use her phone, explain what happened and try to stomp the 10 layers of mud from my weather-inappropriate shoes before tromping through her brand. new. house… as in finished being built two weeks ago.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">I called James (who’s 30 minutes away) and begged him to come home because my baby locked me out, thanked the neighbor and ran home. Have I mentioned that it’s raining, 40 degrees outside, I'm sick and don't have a coat??</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">When I got home, Jossilyn was near frantic. I tried to sing Twinkle Twinkle to her, but I have laryngitis and Scooby is barking at warp speed, so that didn't really go so well. Suddenly, Jossilyn spied my cell phone on the table. I literally watched her eyes change as it suddenly occurred to her that "Mommy can't get to me. I’m unstoppable!” I’ve never seen the human brain connect synapses quite so fast before. It was a scientific marvel.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">She made a beeline for my cell phone. I could see that James was calling it, so I'm trying in my sweetest Jossilyn voice to say, “Swipe your finger, Jossilyn. Say hi to Daddy! Swipe your finger.” Uh huh. Sure. She just smiles at me and deletes my CNN app. Lovely. I needed a plan to get her away from the phone and off the very high kitchen chairs.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">I brilliantly decided to head for the door that leads into the game room. It worked. She followed me. Assessing her new surroundings, she quickly decided the most fun thing in the room is my iMac. She commences to pounding on the keyboard, hitting who knows what, while I'm screaming from outside the door, “NO TOUCH, Jossilyn! Do you want a spanking?? NO TOUCH!!” She was clearly concerned by my threats because she turned and waved at me saying, “I pay (play), Mommy! See me pay? Fun, Mommy! FUN!”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">Crap.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">I ran back to the kitchen window. She followed me once again, but this time decided that it would be cool to scoot her high chair across the kitchen floor for a little look-see at what's on the counter tops. She found M&Ms. A whole bowl of ’em. Now she’s smiling and waving saying, “Mmmmm!! Choc choc!! Yummy, Mommy! It’s good choc choc!”</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">I must have looked a fool out there screaming, “No touch!! Bad girl! No choc choc!” I don't think I mentioned before that it’s raining and 40 degrees outside and I've been out there an HOUR!!!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">James did finally arrive home and I did finally get back inside. Jossilyn was quite proud of herself. I debated for a few minutes on whether I should still head for the doctor or drown my sorrows in a margarita. I opted for the doctor who gave an oh-so-pleasant shot in my backside and a script for pills the size of a small cat.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">I'm going to bed now to forget this day ever happened and if you call me tomorrow before, oh… say… noon… I will hunt you down like a dog. Just sayin’.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!</b></i></span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-78437844614759006722011-10-05T18:27:00.001-05:002012-06-16T22:47:40.467-05:00Just a Test<span style="font-size: small;">Okay, so I downloaded the Blogger app and I'm thinking that having mobile blogging access will increase the amount of blogging. (This is purely theoretical, of course, but one can hope…) Anyway, this is a test to see if it works. I'll leave you with a picture, though, so you're time reading this isn't completely wasted. =)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">We recently caught this fugly critter in our critter trap. I don't much care for possums, but he's still a juvenile, albeit an angry one, so we let him go a few miles up the road. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!</b></i></span> </div>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-67676544194343937352011-09-09T15:39:00.002-05:002012-06-16T22:47:56.603-05:00Our Darkest Hour<span style="font-size: small;">With the 10 year anniversary of the September 11 attacks just a couple days away, I have been glued to television coverage of that fateful day, listening to account after account of survivor stories, tales of heroism and immense loss. I do not often allow myself to revisit that morning in my mind. The television images are still raw in my mind and the cavalcade of emotions I felt as I watched people die come flooding back with such force, I can still physically feel the pain.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I often think about how quickly the day is approaching that I will have to sit down with my children and explain to them that there are people out there so evil and full of blind hatred that they are willing to kill 3,000 innocent people whom they don't know and did nothing wrong. How will I find the words to gently convey the horror of that day so as not to frighten them, but to ensure a true understanding in this young generation so that history does not repeat itself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">And then, there is my personal story, which they have never heard. We all have one. We know where we were, what we were wearing, whom we were with; we remember every minute of that morning down the finest detail. I will share my story with you now.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Like so many others that beautiful Tuesday morning, I drove into work with the Kidd Kraddick 106.1 morning show blaring from my radio. Still a newlywed, I had kissed my husband goodbye early that morning as he caught an American Airlines flight bound for a Boston business trip. I can't remember what our parting words to each other were, but I'd like to think it was I love you. They might have been our last spoken words to each other.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">When I arrived at my desk, I pulled up CNN.com, as was my custom, to quickly get caught up on the day's news prior to starting my projects. The top headline was something along the lines of "Possible Plane Strikes World Trade Center" with a photo of that first, gaping hole in the side of 1 World Trade Center. I distinctly remember my first thought being, <i>"Wow! Somebody's in trouble!"</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">A few minutes went by and then the phone started ringing as my family members called to make sure I had seen the news. I was without a television at my disposal, so my sister called and held the receiver up to her TV while I put the phone on speaker as my coworkers gathered around to listen. It was then that the second plane hit 2 World Trade Center. I remember with stark clarity the exact second it sunk in that we were under attack. And the realization that my husband was on a plane.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">From that moment forward, it was a whirlwind of information, corrections to information, statistics, probabilities and fear. Such a great, paralyzing fear like none I had ever experienced before. I listened in panic to the announcers mistakenly report that our military had shot down an American Airlines flight over Shanksville, PA. I was gripped with terror that my husband may have been on one of those four doomed flights. None of us knew what was next, who was next, where was next… we were completely helpless.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">For four hours I was unsure if my husband was dead or alive. Every imaginable scenario played out in my mind. Would I be a widow at 26? Would my husband be alive but horribly injured? How will I break this news to his mother? Who will break this news to me? It was torturous.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">After a bit, I left work and drove to a friend's house to await word from James. Finally, that phonecall came and I heard his voice on the other line. He had no idea what had happened. His flight had been rerouted to Cincinnati when the Eastern Seaboard was shutdown and to prevent panic, the passengers were not told why. I listened to him cry as I told him about New York, the Pentagon and Pennsylvania. This evil that had been forced on us that day was so overpowering, tears flowed freely from even the strongest of men. My husband was no exception.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">A few days later, as I reflected on the aftermath of the attacks and watched the continuous coverage of the recovery effort, I penned new lyrics to three of the verses to the Christian song "There's Somebody Out There." I'm not sure who originally recorded the song or wrote the original lyrics. I'm no Celine Dion, but below is a video tribute I put together with photos taken from the internet set to my version of There's Somebody Out There. May God give all of you peace this weekend as you reflect on your own story and memories of 9.11.01.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!</b></i></span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-69690044914987880062011-08-09T21:51:00.005-05:002012-06-16T22:48:18.390-05:00What If…<span style="font-size: small;">I find myself in a strange state of reflection tonight. I learned today that my Grandmother, my Mom's mom, is close to needing Hospice care and will probably not be with us much longer. When I heard that, my immediate reaction was a human one. I got sad, upset, and perhaps a little cheated that Grandma's last years have been spent in the cloudy haze of Alzheimers.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">All my life, God has spoken to me through music. My entire life has revolved around music… singing, writing, performing, etc. I consider it to be the greatest personal gift that God blessed me to carry through life. Tonight was no different. As I drove John home from karate tonight, I finally heard Laura Story's song “Blessings” for the first time. It was as if God was sitting in the passenger seat whispering these words directly into my heart. It was exactly what I needed to hear.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Perspective. Every circumstance we encounter throughout life is about perspective. Our human nature naturally tends to gravitate toward the negative in any and all situations. BUT… <i>what if</i> we forced ourselves to search for the lessons and blessings. <i>What if</i> we really allow God to speak to us in the trials and darkest moments. What peace we might have then…</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">As I listened to the words of the song… “What if Your blessings come through rain drops? What if Your healing comes through tears? What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You're near? And what if the trials in this life are Your mercies in disguise?”… I suddenly realized the flip side of losing Grandma. She will finally be Home. She will be with my precious Grandpa once again and in the presence of our Father. We won't have to watch her suffer anymore. And above all, rather than feeling cheated these last few years, I was suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude that God has allowed me nearly 36 years with my Grandma. Thirty-six years to love her.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Suddenly, I was flooded with memories of other “mercies in disguise” that God has sent my family's way. So many times, we question “why,” “why me,” or “why now” and we forget to look beyond the difficult circumstances to see the hidden Grace. Sometimes, it's years later before we understand God's timing or His reasoning. Sometimes we are not meant to understand in this Earthly life and must trust His wisdom. But God promises us in the Bible that all things work together for good and for His glory.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">It brings me so much comfort to know that I don't have to have all the answers. I don't have to have any answers. I just have to trust. And listen. I challenge you to click this <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1CSVqHcdhXQ"><b>LINK</b></a> and listen to the words of this song. As you do, think of a circumstance in your life that God has used for His hidden grace. If you are in the midst of a storm right now, perhaps the lyrics will comfort you as well… knowing that God <i>will</i> bless you through the fire, if only you will be receptive to it.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!</b></i></span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-31443637378470507142011-08-09T10:26:00.003-05:002012-06-16T22:48:30.801-05:00Reflections of Innocence<span style="font-size: small;">Last weekend, my dear friends Kim and Kirsten from Sugar Land drove up to spend a couple days with us and attend our big summer party. Kirsten is an extremely gifted photographer and has been photographing my children for the past couple years. I jumped at the chance for a photo shoot!!! I'm a little behind with John, so we did his 8.5 yr pics, Matt's 6 yr pics and Jossilyn's 18 month pics. Below is a sampling of my beautiful children's portraits. Click the images to enlarge them.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">If you are in the Houston area and need an amazing photographer, please contact my friend Kirsten <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kirsten-Neff-Photography/158342907576816#%21/pages/Kirsten-Neff-Photography/158342907576816"><b>here</b></a> or <a href="http://www.facebook.com/pages/Kirsten-Neff-Photography/158342907576816#%21/pages/K-Leigh-Photography/132575636756305"><b>here</b></a>. Kirsten is also a talented writer. Someday, I know we will see her on the NY Best Seller list, but for now, please follow her <a href="http://thekirstenleigh.blogspot.com/"><b>blog</b></a>!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>John</b></span>, 8.5 years old… introverted, kind-hearted, perfectionist, loyal, sensitive</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Matthew</b></span>, 6 years old… quick witted, vivacious, playful, forceful, full of life</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">Jossilyn</span></b>, 18 months… outgoing, strong-willed, social butterfly, girly, delightful</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!</b></i></span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-43319579520398841812011-07-21T21:19:00.004-05:002012-06-16T22:48:43.746-05:00Inner Musings After a Looooong Mommy Day<span style="font-size: small;">As a stay-at-home-home for the past 8.5 years, I occasionally struggle to find measurable meaning in my overwhelmingly routine existence. I understand that my reward for endless sacrifice and suffocatingly difficult days with young kids will come when they emerge as strong, loving, contributing adults, but some days it's hard to lay my head down at night with no tangible validation for all the work I put in that day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eons ago, back when I was in the working world, corporate speak was the norm, pantyhose were a curse and at the end of the day, I could look at a pile of projects checked off my list and feel satisfied with the day's accomplishments. I took pride in my work, had confidence in my abilities, and overall, felt that whichever company I was working for was benefiting from having me on staff.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Now, I rarely get a shower before noon. I can clean up the same mess six times in one day but, somehow, it's <i>still</i> there at bedtime. Dishes and laundry simply do not have a finish line. At any given point in the day, it is a safe bet that I am wiping <i>someone's</i> butt. I make 1,000 micro decisions per day, and have little confidence in many of them. I often wonder if anyone in the family is benefiting from having me “on staff”. Sometimes, I long for the days when I could see tangible proof of my contributions and received validation from coworkers and clients for my hard work. I miss the feeling of having something important to contribute to a project, or giving intelligent interjections at a meeting. I can work my tail off for my kids and they still say my arms are flabby, I have yellow teeth, and, most recently, John informed me I have no talent. I can laugh at those innocent proclamations, but deep down, I often long for the days when there were a few people around who respected me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I admire my friends who are throwing together multi-million dollar corporate extravaganzas, saving lives as RNs, making a difference in a classroom or boardroom, etc. I often envy the stories they have to tell at the end of the day. My spit-up and poop debacles are hardly fodder for table talk.</span><br />
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In a society where one's worth is often irrevocably connected to their occupation and education, I am quite frequently presumed to hold a lower social rung on the proverbial ladder. I often find that others equate stay-at-home-mom with uneducated or incapable of achieving higher goals. While I occasionally find the misconceptions humorous, it inevitably chips away at my inner self-confidence. Fact is, I have a bachelor's degree and held positions in numerous reputable companies before I consciously chose to stay home and raise my children – a decision I do not regret.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">What is regrettable, however, is how inadequate I often feel when surrounded by my husband's colleagues or other corporate-types. (A large number of my extended family all work for the same company.) I rarely have anything useful to contribute to the natural flow of conversation, and often find myself spinning one-liners or meager attempts at humor if only to feel included. Sometimes I just space out. Quite frankly, talking about investing and finance for hours on end is not my idea of a happenin’ night out. However, it's those moments of interaction with other educated, successful grown-ups when I find myself wistfully wishing that someone would turn and say, “Let's hear what Jeni has to say about this,” and genuinely care. Now, if the conversation suddenly turns to how to multi-task in the kitchen or juggle the needs of three children while simultaneously folding laundry, doing dishes, wiping snot and feeding the dog, then, heck, I've got that market cornered!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">As I sign off from this entry, I am about to head upstairs to tuck my children in bed, kiss them goodnight, and then spend the next hour cleaning up the various messes they left in their wake – and then do it all again tomorrow. When I wake up, I will trade the pantyhose and heels for denim and flip flops and the most important decision I make will be what to fix for lunch. I will judge my accomplishments to be successful if I manage to get from the kitchen to the bedroom without tripping over legos. And when my husband comes home from work, he will most likely find dishes in the sink, toys on the floor, an unmade bed and a dirty diaper on Jossilyn. What he doesn't know is that I already did breakfast and lunch dishes, but then the kids ate snacks. I made the bed first thing in the morning, but then the boys built a fort out of my covers. I changed Jossilyn's diaper 10 minutes earlier, but she “did her thing” seconds before he walked in the door.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />
That’s my life. And I love it. I’m not contributing to world peace, forging corporate mergers or even designing a magazine ad, but my kids will go to bed knowing that Mommy will be there in the morning. And at lunch. And at dinner. And then I will trip over legos as I walk upstairs to tuck them in at night.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><i><b>I LOVE hearing from you!! To leave a comment, simply click on the word "comments" below this post, just under my name!</b></i></span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-14074754703076833622011-07-19T21:53:00.015-05:002011-07-20T10:23:54.537-05:00Ahhhh, the country life!<span style="font-size:85%;">Well, here we are! I can hardly believe that I am ACTUALLY living in the same small, country, back-woods town where I spent my early childhood! James has known since he met me nearly 14 years ago that I dreamed of raising my children in this quiet, country environment. I love it here. The town is only 2,500 people, but we are only minutes from major shopping and a quick 20-min drive to Ft. Worth. It's truly the best of both worlds!<br /><br />The move has gone smoothly. The only hiccup was a prolonged argument with AT&T in which I did prevail and I am quite sure "Jeni" is now a 4-letter-word in some segments of the company. For the most part, we are settled in and assuming a normal daily routine. Since we moved "home", the transition was an easy one. No need to stress over not having friends and family around - they're all here!!! WHOO HOOO!!!!<br /><br />Let me cut to the chase… many of you have been asking - and in some cases, begging - for pictures of the new house. Here they are! Well, here are most of them, anyway. You're going to have to wait for pics of the guest room and John's room. Those were too messy to photograph. 'Nuff said.<br /><br />So, let's start the tour. Here is the front and back of the house. We are nestled on just shy of 2.5 acres. I'll snap some pics of the rest of the property for you soon to give you a better idea. Click on the pics to enlarge them.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGW9CQRty4fZKDVlO4qNrcgBNAZJp7oJn4lwbLh3d23s8eSjtMpxLVZ7j4cd9xLYDzmNKxB7KK6zzhAfFCgNVvsiSDYX0ci2MAZem2FPV0HN-OfGKgKYzkDcia1y63FkMJvSzCe0j_D2Gy/s1600/photo+6.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGW9CQRty4fZKDVlO4qNrcgBNAZJp7oJn4lwbLh3d23s8eSjtMpxLVZ7j4cd9xLYDzmNKxB7KK6zzhAfFCgNVvsiSDYX0ci2MAZem2FPV0HN-OfGKgKYzkDcia1y63FkMJvSzCe0j_D2Gy/s400/photo+6.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631268839278191794" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvN1SzEQ5dyqsKpVxcvAVA6lz_pE0V-p5C3n0sdKHudztVrZWIPw_bFExFQ1gyMCo6JvfelAKLl3jajFCUtGb7v4OVfxskwhsAzsgk62oi8mv-F6eTjtppEmscQukCcp2Lk3kqOPqdNeMd/s1600/photo+7.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvN1SzEQ5dyqsKpVxcvAVA6lz_pE0V-p5C3n0sdKHudztVrZWIPw_bFExFQ1gyMCo6JvfelAKLl3jajFCUtGb7v4OVfxskwhsAzsgk62oi8mv-F6eTjtppEmscQukCcp2Lk3kqOPqdNeMd/s400/photo+7.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631268307694847698" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCy8Y-MOkz53Q7XbFNbVjsFacASQ1IPPr-sDtPfcwi04h79QjSTY3G1P7K08sXwpShQ59h5bCjSf49pcGOmpVpVPqEgauTG67HcbvNT6VPQ3hEZmjT8KO52An5nr9VJqL2vBXnjt7oiCB_/s1600/photo+5.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCy8Y-MOkz53Q7XbFNbVjsFacASQ1IPPr-sDtPfcwi04h79QjSTY3G1P7K08sXwpShQ59h5bCjSf49pcGOmpVpVPqEgauTG67HcbvNT6VPQ3hEZmjT8KO52An5nr9VJqL2vBXnjt7oiCB_/s400/photo+5.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631267926371217394" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDAPX8pRAor2zy5q9uMYklIYT_pH8JzMsW83QJ639bdl9bVBG7Z080C7C_ZKvRILGew0ekx_sCCYF1DHS8vgBNe4KIjAQnSsKqRwCszWiYt8kn6BSvD1A-05IXUQUxoOZf71dMwwrRQJ3x/s1600/photo+4.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDAPX8pRAor2zy5q9uMYklIYT_pH8JzMsW83QJ639bdl9bVBG7Z080C7C_ZKvRILGew0ekx_sCCYF1DHS8vgBNe4KIjAQnSsKqRwCszWiYt8kn6BSvD1A-05IXUQUxoOZf71dMwwrRQJ3x/s400/photo+4.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631267917328419522" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFHXQDIWblFn8I-l6Aw70QQO4d4wPdBnooCwZaSEhyTC5WLWy3EmclvwKtWeQmf69ohmMOrrWdQz_xd7dVKBYpIeWYuXT6exC-Xh0GFi-ssZ_crpJnG1uTudhz1Q_4-8RRcu-u5wnpy50s/s1600/photo+3.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFHXQDIWblFn8I-l6Aw70QQO4d4wPdBnooCwZaSEhyTC5WLWy3EmclvwKtWeQmf69ohmMOrrWdQz_xd7dVKBYpIeWYuXT6exC-Xh0GFi-ssZ_crpJnG1uTudhz1Q_4-8RRcu-u5wnpy50s/s400/photo+3.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631267908819101282" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3EsncbEoTuOKAdcP7iM2y12YeTWR8Egz3xsA-5ObUBTj53ae5A7CHEr7_pUNMGpH4I7GM12c5R2WM2kMQc9rG3oQZszyI4I6TXtIeJ4vVAZo8O9SjZsSCGSC66GRSWA80JHKR2-EbiiVE/s1600/photo+2.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3EsncbEoTuOKAdcP7iM2y12YeTWR8Egz3xsA-5ObUBTj53ae5A7CHEr7_pUNMGpH4I7GM12c5R2WM2kMQc9rG3oQZszyI4I6TXtIeJ4vVAZo8O9SjZsSCGSC66GRSWA80JHKR2-EbiiVE/s400/photo+2.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631267900021567682" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXlrs_0GVvQx-Tw_E78QUXJCpjOO4tF6cNmYPlWeMHjG2HaNSNd0dZ6R7rjmSVDMMv3TniWK1MKFGjUd2Wt-gY4iEmWFALWGTXYWTImtByEIaM-vTEo7o1qKSS2Q4o3fqdgsm1rhABn5kM/s1600/photo.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXlrs_0GVvQx-Tw_E78QUXJCpjOO4tF6cNmYPlWeMHjG2HaNSNd0dZ6R7rjmSVDMMv3TniWK1MKFGjUd2Wt-gY4iEmWFALWGTXYWTImtByEIaM-vTEo7o1qKSS2Q4o3fqdgsm1rhABn5kM/s400/photo.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631267891560833042" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;">Here are some pics of the entry way and living room…<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOATcApO4a8CMTU8UUB8JoGbNDif7Ysdr-6Uf50MRY_RhF_AAYMXVM3nEzvO8MOwMtSeUe7n6q4O2krm3ds7O5BCAHELMREbtktEpSsk8PmCHKQwQ9M1WFR_TD84SdbSRNo1zuOMXEzUH0/s1600/stairs.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOATcApO4a8CMTU8UUB8JoGbNDif7Ysdr-6Uf50MRY_RhF_AAYMXVM3nEzvO8MOwMtSeUe7n6q4O2krm3ds7O5BCAHELMREbtktEpSsk8PmCHKQwQ9M1WFR_TD84SdbSRNo1zuOMXEzUH0/s400/stairs.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631269485819676530" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigLZMhhP0lwlgnp5B0hhXe-tYgIiG4l1IhfIODelY9HHn0pMXVQa5oVfNL2Z8rmHClelRaxglOpnSOcjmaVJMzN9tA13hUxUsMOYZvQXmtrrAIhoZXZUjr2fldA-XhSBXXaF_OhKbH1rWg/s1600/LR+3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigLZMhhP0lwlgnp5B0hhXe-tYgIiG4l1IhfIODelY9HHn0pMXVQa5oVfNL2Z8rmHClelRaxglOpnSOcjmaVJMzN9tA13hUxUsMOYZvQXmtrrAIhoZXZUjr2fldA-XhSBXXaF_OhKbH1rWg/s400/LR+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631269479315763442" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGyP3SnI0qoX9gGOWdgwWH9dvce5Casqq5aLWxaUtMik0oVR8KBO8kegzAcfMSeyCeaw4sCG1KGIB0nfiSR1VegyUd7LdLECA24sUSdh79WqJzBjqwNNOVptDCIQatYx-XO4Qn1wicbMiv/s1600/LR+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGyP3SnI0qoX9gGOWdgwWH9dvce5Casqq5aLWxaUtMik0oVR8KBO8kegzAcfMSeyCeaw4sCG1KGIB0nfiSR1VegyUd7LdLECA24sUSdh79WqJzBjqwNNOVptDCIQatYx-XO4Qn1wicbMiv/s400/LR+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631269475811264258" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8LKojCA1svmPhB-nIaMKsxYyhh_8PZAcSrzBhrys_rTrsALnReAkfPClKe31ym1_m5lKCRphKNo2btg-X0p8Oz2NWfzVw3wDf5LbESRbp9ooT7XTRXdEz1qeEctX-sZXtM3yqdKXt5ly/s1600/LR+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgv8LKojCA1svmPhB-nIaMKsxYyhh_8PZAcSrzBhrys_rTrsALnReAkfPClKe31ym1_m5lKCRphKNo2btg-X0p8Oz2NWfzVw3wDf5LbESRbp9ooT7XTRXdEz1qeEctX-sZXtM3yqdKXt5ly/s400/LR+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631269470493367026" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;">The kitchen is just off the living room…<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOS9T0AYInRR0yB03d7KsYOAORafLOYoH8XhyCD5CTFVoxATVokNSAiyKQgU_jeXnDzP_0A4uumPqHeDmoJLDgrUAdbVtldp-dfxt24IYmZvblVQ65YEO9eWevhtgMika7B2flvu7ttKdD/s1600/Kit+4.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOS9T0AYInRR0yB03d7KsYOAORafLOYoH8XhyCD5CTFVoxATVokNSAiyKQgU_jeXnDzP_0A4uumPqHeDmoJLDgrUAdbVtldp-dfxt24IYmZvblVQ65YEO9eWevhtgMika7B2flvu7ttKdD/s400/Kit+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631269868154607506" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGhdabEy8DuMlzisJWqHbNILTWt3eY6L8lZHEaOQZ3cNYZkdHZ982F5qGQKDBk9V5rxQpX1HmCRLctNeDqKNFIqy869_SJCtCzHufY35PaCHZHZxAxmUvQQ0quCgLwluPzpsZo75iwca0S/s1600/Kit+3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGhdabEy8DuMlzisJWqHbNILTWt3eY6L8lZHEaOQZ3cNYZkdHZ982F5qGQKDBk9V5rxQpX1HmCRLctNeDqKNFIqy869_SJCtCzHufY35PaCHZHZxAxmUvQQ0quCgLwluPzpsZo75iwca0S/s400/Kit+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631269856086659586" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPMZP2iaOfBHBXN996D0eV9d09HZkpdBr2lUAXdD9pBdLGQRZykZDBQGuzIPx6E6-8ZKPSS-ambon6OucBioW3zYmNLf1Hvg0H3gqnWrrP6stbBr58MbMjXzuqOSczt7Bu20f1-HI83fUJ/s1600/Kit+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPMZP2iaOfBHBXN996D0eV9d09HZkpdBr2lUAXdD9pBdLGQRZykZDBQGuzIPx6E6-8ZKPSS-ambon6OucBioW3zYmNLf1Hvg0H3gqnWrrP6stbBr58MbMjXzuqOSczt7Bu20f1-HI83fUJ/s400/Kit+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631269855002789954" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY2iTo8763QDNIki9Kn9YF_1__RV8GJaFvnPz35CkmLZoIaY-yTVQqSjOVf1rmhPbq0m1Fw2u_VZ3TslXCL0C9rxBd0wstt-OSdRy-ab8HUxaPjy-TjDsfuuFub60kCGNJe2St7hYAz4v_/s1600/Kit+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY2iTo8763QDNIki9Kn9YF_1__RV8GJaFvnPz35CkmLZoIaY-yTVQqSjOVf1rmhPbq0m1Fw2u_VZ3TslXCL0C9rxBd0wstt-OSdRy-ab8HUxaPjy-TjDsfuuFub60kCGNJe2St7hYAz4v_/s400/Kit+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631269850677913842" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;">The dining room is just off the entry way and connected to the living room. Had to have this room painted… it was pumpkin orange! Nice color for some, but not for me. =)<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5pU9F3OFWghpVseHTQiTHOBfaxlXpgl1OYtL3A8S1X4p0FAxZL9YuOiGzgUYAKAfECy3sUz18aizfok0vSHzZNPIPiiy4VqxnX6YNdG74Oz9RR8m0Y7GMXYW9I_xdIW3ZOqeLYFfeSwS-/s1600/DR+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5pU9F3OFWghpVseHTQiTHOBfaxlXpgl1OYtL3A8S1X4p0FAxZL9YuOiGzgUYAKAfECy3sUz18aizfok0vSHzZNPIPiiy4VqxnX6YNdG74Oz9RR8m0Y7GMXYW9I_xdIW3ZOqeLYFfeSwS-/s400/DR+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631449772225358546" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ZP2dwTjJv31u55O18I7mz0Sriwlrt2mzMokB6MDtteJ9X30ng_6_eJgx-BcR-fPqmCt4kiPCNCYnpnnxiI6d6vSE-PSkt3baTqKm-VTzY3sDYbH2PwPA93Z14Hi349jiYXriRn0JpgCg/s1600/DR+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5ZP2dwTjJv31u55O18I7mz0Sriwlrt2mzMokB6MDtteJ9X30ng_6_eJgx-BcR-fPqmCt4kiPCNCYnpnnxiI6d6vSE-PSkt3baTqKm-VTzY3sDYbH2PwPA93Z14Hi349jiYXriRn0JpgCg/s400/DR+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631449764543325650" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;">The game room in this house is smaller, but I like it. It's cozy and has huge windows overlooking the property.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7wuDpuejEpW97ynxu4O5wkZ_FXkw7XokswHfNDTSwlgInUBb8m554xm1bE-D7xXoFdYYawAo4kgXA2Of3mFlYf6GduJSQdgRFln_LMKF0gBq-mJMoEj9aRTuR9hGLljH8AJ8LMORZFCGM/s1600/game+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7wuDpuejEpW97ynxu4O5wkZ_FXkw7XokswHfNDTSwlgInUBb8m554xm1bE-D7xXoFdYYawAo4kgXA2Of3mFlYf6GduJSQdgRFln_LMKF0gBq-mJMoEj9aRTuR9hGLljH8AJ8LMORZFCGM/s400/game+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631448553511513842" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKm_TApxC8AEIT94GJ-303snZfMEm_unltG9qrJ2Nm9xxOrNvVRvgM_mra0L8LAgDnbsdsxw8M1W_dYIYy09_aBpKxgeC_WZNXxCBY_Xmg6En_z_rEYoU5oSQMS1kmQSd2sccxTxYMmTlq/s1600/game+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKm_TApxC8AEIT94GJ-303snZfMEm_unltG9qrJ2Nm9xxOrNvVRvgM_mra0L8LAgDnbsdsxw8M1W_dYIYy09_aBpKxgeC_WZNXxCBY_Xmg6En_z_rEYoU5oSQMS1kmQSd2sccxTxYMmTlq/s400/game+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631448559139789762" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;">Just off the game room is the downstairs hall which leads to Matt's room and bathroom.<br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFEXxKAHFn73Ev4wSAK3v2_hiyhxYazey1TLDe-upDbQBxeAoCR_RDB7sKaC_fSZk5UIXVgd-rwhUhzevziRIpOT03wHUZI0g_Qpk5t7_4t34lYFMtNumPiSbJn3OVy09k-YeZkStMkEpn/s1600/down+hall.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFEXxKAHFn73Ev4wSAK3v2_hiyhxYazey1TLDe-upDbQBxeAoCR_RDB7sKaC_fSZk5UIXVgd-rwhUhzevziRIpOT03wHUZI0g_Qpk5t7_4t34lYFMtNumPiSbJn3OVy09k-YeZkStMkEpn/s400/down+hall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631449052543112018" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitQoQ_pARR240I46SpkH1qFzXgiJS4VNuqxpTJWpun4drLYJK_9PpR2LXmo1X6R4gduPDOLcVj99TkSK2laO2uUdJ3-4JA-LNRYi3L2E50gT37GQflgWyI0NiAltbWOGQBnsi6KHr9xURP/s1600/M+3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitQoQ_pARR240I46SpkH1qFzXgiJS4VNuqxpTJWpun4drLYJK_9PpR2LXmo1X6R4gduPDOLcVj99TkSK2laO2uUdJ3-4JA-LNRYi3L2E50gT37GQflgWyI0NiAltbWOGQBnsi6KHr9xURP/s400/M+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631449070140816402" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxsueucE_9ptYjTa4lGz9j2K_A8F8VZmSCTL3Ck_bOy25Ic5Xp9Ft7D4DY6U6emxqZprA9bC7dYUwPPsJt1aBDd5-M8mxniavUVBHgVTBPh-Kxe_ZiEKV7suE1SEj_t52WlbKbHikjzOI/s1600/M+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYxsueucE_9ptYjTa4lGz9j2K_A8F8VZmSCTL3Ck_bOy25Ic5Xp9Ft7D4DY6U6emxqZprA9bC7dYUwPPsJt1aBDd5-M8mxniavUVBHgVTBPh-Kxe_ZiEKV7suE1SEj_t52WlbKbHikjzOI/s400/M+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631449066777976402" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGlJLEVwbHvrN3JmsQ0MfcI6JFe4qb7UH77tmtPOi0GHP1vJYTLdPdFQ1QkEqo13oWXbhGx0bpw3GZ9zyX7Hy6ttji022uhjVYOYduQruibnPHcL9al_X_j304gkJCDItEtTQEP-HpXVVl/s1600/M+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGlJLEVwbHvrN3JmsQ0MfcI6JFe4qb7UH77tmtPOi0GHP1vJYTLdPdFQ1QkEqo13oWXbhGx0bpw3GZ9zyX7Hy6ttji022uhjVYOYduQruibnPHcL9al_X_j304gkJCDItEtTQEP-HpXVVl/s400/M+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631449057271458770" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;">The master bedroom is so nice. I truly feel like I have a retreat to go to. It's quiet back there and the views of the backyard are so peaceful. Love love love my bedroom!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZ8roILC00R_qrdaeDrXqCQITpiFWIBhSR95vashSzKu5dYIqJP8RhNIcJNvylMR0PuoMazDGU1kvNTUbcNAjn3oqYo5V8mSsHyfW1E0WAf8o1Cvpw8zCZ_Pn5W_naRxirBfIfa7JrvYI/s1600/MBR+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaZ8roILC00R_qrdaeDrXqCQITpiFWIBhSR95vashSzKu5dYIqJP8RhNIcJNvylMR0PuoMazDGU1kvNTUbcNAjn3oqYo5V8mSsHyfW1E0WAf8o1Cvpw8zCZ_Pn5W_naRxirBfIfa7JrvYI/s400/MBR+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631450480410726018" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSRst2S-cSw22-Hi3bncqcfYXgqq4hCMFfC9QzTrZ7Qy5K1d5antZqRJSCuxHtFa6y_ATjm_yDRk1VW6SDE8llHEP3TQQKwaTBgE_n1quYyqSgydJ8QsV6vWox4VnWDnGyv27Q0-oSc-NM/s1600/MBR+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSRst2S-cSw22-Hi3bncqcfYXgqq4hCMFfC9QzTrZ7Qy5K1d5antZqRJSCuxHtFa6y_ATjm_yDRk1VW6SDE8llHEP3TQQKwaTBgE_n1quYyqSgydJ8QsV6vWox4VnWDnGyv27Q0-oSc-NM/s400/MBR+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631450471665939410" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5NbN0Q-mplihbiWoHMYPVSngseo9Xlp8Yv5r2bFkNitQd3YhsbA4gtYxJU10dZyh_2tXd1jPIUhPyHakpI2rPvqoxyWU6RQW4ODwSSZNYhttwdf8ErtMvW0BDison17v1VMgg5kCntnlP/s1600/MBR+3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5NbN0Q-mplihbiWoHMYPVSngseo9Xlp8Yv5r2bFkNitQd3YhsbA4gtYxJU10dZyh_2tXd1jPIUhPyHakpI2rPvqoxyWU6RQW4ODwSSZNYhttwdf8ErtMvW0BDison17v1VMgg5kCntnlP/s400/MBR+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631450471479159058" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoOwMdAx54JWog0mIBjYjflPln-L9paAkx1PriW1prarWqZbF6vmvDDAqvfkHWyfdnwVpD9AGBNVNcHJmeqI3KOLqcGjLnD1BRuCp1qmy67KdN9_YufWkLbdeol0wuYJZ89tanVFW0sjNI/s1600/MBR+4.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoOwMdAx54JWog0mIBjYjflPln-L9paAkx1PriW1prarWqZbF6vmvDDAqvfkHWyfdnwVpD9AGBNVNcHJmeqI3KOLqcGjLnD1BRuCp1qmy67KdN9_YufWkLbdeol0wuYJZ89tanVFW0sjNI/s400/MBR+4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631450466447588082" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxoRTnaKFjupo7TPnMvpMDMzNW5snMJso0RuXErrCMghfJgemBz1KnMA8IAcgUcNihKkwSxuiKNimX61yvZPdwwsijAUNA5qVn8UjEamr4aq9WgGJpNnJ4dasSEKZ376zyOzknyftHpMh_/s1600/MBR+5.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxoRTnaKFjupo7TPnMvpMDMzNW5snMJso0RuXErrCMghfJgemBz1KnMA8IAcgUcNihKkwSxuiKNimX61yvZPdwwsijAUNA5qVn8UjEamr4aq9WgGJpNnJ4dasSEKZ376zyOzknyftHpMh_/s400/MBR+5.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631450461330644498" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;">Upstairs is a loooooooong hall. This was exciting to me because our last house was designed with NO hallways. Finding places to hang all my pictures was so traumatic for me. If you know me well, then you know I have an extraordinary affinity for photography. The baby gate is to keep Jossilyn from breaching John's "safe zone" and creating havoc in the guestroom.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdqzBOeYLAdyLYeet3Lydomlj9o8fII2qsR4LMC1TcjQ0UrSSwognhbt6A33QWJ8BGuhDaBNEf2iL_4ZWAVE_giq7ykwq1_8zAukQOmLIJS55aRkBb-14GENlTMl5gsd1P_lchjpCnDmVo/s1600/up+hall.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdqzBOeYLAdyLYeet3Lydomlj9o8fII2qsR4LMC1TcjQ0UrSSwognhbt6A33QWJ8BGuhDaBNEf2iL_4ZWAVE_giq7ykwq1_8zAukQOmLIJS55aRkBb-14GENlTMl5gsd1P_lchjpCnDmVo/s400/up+hall.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631453938608237394" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;">Jossilyn's room is HUGE. It's the perfect size to accommodate the HUGE messes she makes with her toys. The decor is the same as the old house. I had to re-buy a lot of the decorations, but it was totally worth it to keep the same theme.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrB-_Sf-edYa3getnbAQ_0uaTyhvgY2_1VfpLUFRgoCEGfVb_BcREfOAORRqhaH7GX_FtgTfhYDHQP07dee7nvyViC0G6OjPchKb6ZojXSPWpKHSVHbl_7NoSSJg2c405IX7nQhlYWqYpo/s1600/Joss+3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrB-_Sf-edYa3getnbAQ_0uaTyhvgY2_1VfpLUFRgoCEGfVb_BcREfOAORRqhaH7GX_FtgTfhYDHQP07dee7nvyViC0G6OjPchKb6ZojXSPWpKHSVHbl_7NoSSJg2c405IX7nQhlYWqYpo/s400/Joss+3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631454665406564738" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHMOIJiGK6t-kpLRNEZMfvdT-mEPiYaSWvaI8eZDekhyphenhyphenAcJUBhQi9850tcBfbBMkcScss5DaVTfh84dBhjHvlqRMgu_p08yKJvlB4JKChDgOoI_HcCglmC2sLTo3VKouYIWliVemr-LDJf/s1600/Joss+2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHMOIJiGK6t-kpLRNEZMfvdT-mEPiYaSWvaI8eZDekhyphenhyphenAcJUBhQi9850tcBfbBMkcScss5DaVTfh84dBhjHvlqRMgu_p08yKJvlB4JKChDgOoI_HcCglmC2sLTo3VKouYIWliVemr-LDJf/s400/Joss+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631454661096822402" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqlJhl8eg8k86lK58S3oymh84UTnssxQUZyaBWGj7ubOMTJCfa-AdrfJy-uXYZCrL1X6k7Zyfv1K9_hjwIGEVOUViNq_vHPj6dcWJMfIRckuZzqHtLQdS6hXwZzzrV7XOfXQClbHgbXiY3/s1600/Joss+1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqlJhl8eg8k86lK58S3oymh84UTnssxQUZyaBWGj7ubOMTJCfa-AdrfJy-uXYZCrL1X6k7Zyfv1K9_hjwIGEVOUViNq_vHPj6dcWJMfIRckuZzqHtLQdS6hXwZzzrV7XOfXQClbHgbXiY3/s400/Joss+1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631454655563124386" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;">And that's it! For now, anyway… everything beyond the baby gate was too messy for film, which means that Jossilyn is NOT the messiest kid in our family! =)<br /></span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-46616243366614163652011-03-09T11:52:00.008-06:002011-03-09T13:02:57.133-06:00What do YOU believe???<span style="font-size:85%;">In anticipation of moving back to Fort Worth, I have been cleansing and purging all things “junk” in my house. I tried going from room to room, but ADD kicked in, so I end up cleaning whatever part of the house happens to catch my eye at the time. The other day, the area of the house that won was my bedroom nightstand. As I riffled through the endless old receipts, magazines, and other various pieces of trash, I happened upon three photos that I had all but forgotten about and I want to share them with you now.<br /><br />As most of you know, on September 16, 2004, James and I lost our second child, whom we named “Jordan” since we never learned the baby's gender. Losing my baby was the hardest thing I have ever experienced. Some women are able to bounce back quickly, but for me, it was an emotional roller coaster, and I still think about this sweet baby that's waiting for my first hug when we finally meet in Heaven.<br /><br />As a Christian, I have never been one to believe in ghosts. I believe there is absolutely supernatural activity, but that activity is caused by either angels or demons. I believe that when you die, your spirit is immediately taken to Heaven, for those of us who choose to accept Christ as our personal Savior, or hell, for those that don’t. Everything we perceive to be “ghostly” activity is really just spiritual warfare or deception on the part of demons to entice us into the occult.<br /><br />However, on Christmas day, 2004, three photos were taken of me that I cannot explain. I want to share them with you now and hear </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >your</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> explanations and opinions. That Christmas day was only three months after Jordan died and the wound was still very raw. I was relying heavily on strength from family, friends and the Lord to get me through each day.<br /><br />Many people have experienced “orbs” in their photographs. There are many explanations for this phenomenon such as dust on the camera lens, spirits, refracting light, etc. Until this day, I had never experienced an orb in any of my photographs. In this first photo, please note the large orb next to my Dad as well as the fact that the television on the far right hand side of the picture is clearly </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >off</span><span style="font-size:85%;">. This photo was taken with my camera.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" ><span style="font-weight: bold;">NOTE:</span> Even though I am a graphic designer, I give you my absolute word that I simply scanned these photos in. They have not been retouched, altered or enhanced in any way.</span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-style: italic;"> Click on the photos to enlarge them.</span><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg5c4HzvCE_8uZXEyJg2WKI_iBD8o6BSFOL2AVQ3Xnb1bEOxFKHh2JoLtQq5PgIDBNgYerqbuDzzN1AbVE9Z2FRNiYX_0jZHuqo8ajJoD8IL61zW-MOnC9sUx_2MU43w3tfRr3emk-_TTD/s1600/IMG.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 268px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg5c4HzvCE_8uZXEyJg2WKI_iBD8o6BSFOL2AVQ3Xnb1bEOxFKHh2JoLtQq5PgIDBNgYerqbuDzzN1AbVE9Z2FRNiYX_0jZHuqo8ajJoD8IL61zW-MOnC9sUx_2MU43w3tfRr3emk-_TTD/s400/IMG.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582144448036263426" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;">This next photo is of me sitting in front of the television. It was taken with my Dad's camera just minutes after the previous photo. I am including it only to prove that the television behind me is conclusively turned </span><span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:85%;" >OFF</span><span style="font-size:85%;">.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT98KtlsX4J4VQ-W3w_rDa8U5Z8EVLe2Hf_GuXQMZQ_z-Ud_cA6XM1UrBx57qyYXRtHZrjZk6xxlxzYOQVF3vWc4tejly-UahyphenhyphenXtgbSQhibfXZOCNFldi3t28Zvg1onhHzOQSD2mDPNPCn/s1600/IMG_0001.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiT98KtlsX4J4VQ-W3w_rDa8U5Z8EVLe2Hf_GuXQMZQ_z-Ud_cA6XM1UrBx57qyYXRtHZrjZk6xxlxzYOQVF3vWc4tejly-UahyphenhyphenXtgbSQhibfXZOCNFldi3t28Zvg1onhHzOQSD2mDPNPCn/s400/IMG_0001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582145368874621682" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;">In this last and final photo, taken with my camera just a few minutes after the first two, please note the reflection in the TV screen. To the left of the TV screen, you see MY reflection, which is only visible because the TV is still turned OFF and a dark screen reflects the environment around it. However, WHAT is the reflection on the right-hand side of the TV screen??? The only blonde in the room was ME. That is NOT a picture of me. The TV was off. The only people across from the TV were my family members. There are no photos on the wall opposite the television. In fact, please note that the red power light is not on at the base of the television, further proving that it was, in fact, off. No one in my family can identify this person. It is not another photograph overlaid on this one because the strange image is confined to the parameters of the TV screen.<br /><br />So you tell me.... did baby Jordan make his/her presence known that Christmas day to comfort me? Is it an angel? Or is this just a photography phenomenon that I am unfamiliar with?<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih07FF9-AFv2iXea0TLX3IrLiUbEqo8kXLGG6q0_tqUWc_KLyal9MLHlpP9k3-1a4AKsWRokFqh6HTIv-RcxdJAXf6Xb79X7vECin7hO_cxpb6y-JW3ppVToi4hovTEm90XygnZVfJjeTU/s1600/IMG_0002.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih07FF9-AFv2iXea0TLX3IrLiUbEqo8kXLGG6q0_tqUWc_KLyal9MLHlpP9k3-1a4AKsWRokFqh6HTIv-RcxdJAXf6Xb79X7vECin7hO_cxpb6y-JW3ppVToi4hovTEm90XygnZVfJjeTU/s400/IMG_0002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582147657631710546" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;">Please leave your comments telling me what you think! To leave a comment here, click on "COMMENTS" at the bottom of this post, underneath the last picture of Jossilyn.<br /><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jossilyn Sneak Peak</span></span><br />Can you believe it? Jossilyn just turned ONE!! This year has flown by! Here are a few of her one-year portraits. I'm a little biased, but I think she is clearly the </span><span style="font-style: italic;font-size:85%;" >most</span><span style="font-size:85%;"> beautiful baby in the world!!!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeOoz5jlHJzwWDGypZwzCbLYFmhB0lVlnRfIiCeEQZvdz5SWUvzdX3U14dCHwRDFReiaonHPs2YigfPIvDyEGqm_1ex2Qgd3mrZd0kcRVFyOEHMLSm9lJ76M4RFkElNskjnEZCFr-JdRr1/s1600/1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 310px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeOoz5jlHJzwWDGypZwzCbLYFmhB0lVlnRfIiCeEQZvdz5SWUvzdX3U14dCHwRDFReiaonHPs2YigfPIvDyEGqm_1ex2Qgd3mrZd0kcRVFyOEHMLSm9lJ76M4RFkElNskjnEZCFr-JdRr1/s400/1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582151068372363874" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0tMOkEA4bDYtWfHYBB99n27Q30O4jqNL6SCD70vOkt_VstvD2mf3u34PftzXArXYu36KbPfUwHwzA9WLF4_fs5D4fbdOwqxICofnZlJMsU2GENdhWEz4KdjOsU-s4hXGZvZEIjYjqCmMI/s1600/2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 330px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0tMOkEA4bDYtWfHYBB99n27Q30O4jqNL6SCD70vOkt_VstvD2mf3u34PftzXArXYu36KbPfUwHwzA9WLF4_fs5D4fbdOwqxICofnZlJMsU2GENdhWEz4KdjOsU-s4hXGZvZEIjYjqCmMI/s400/2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582151061309147186" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFW1U-D5CCajn5mPu6DFk0yMiZ2_OqTc21H9DChxv1PquHprf1nDmaCQLefucTvDnsibcu9cvwfBLC79P89gSJtoWOab3sg75azKb0jQ9cSQ49_og7IX8A-46Z0pNApIfs867fLuAbLWe/s1600/3.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFW1U-D5CCajn5mPu6DFk0yMiZ2_OqTc21H9DChxv1PquHprf1nDmaCQLefucTvDnsibcu9cvwfBLC79P89gSJtoWOab3sg75azKb0jQ9cSQ49_og7IX8A-46Z0pNApIfs867fLuAbLWe/s400/3.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582151057088635858" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Jdzk8ibhYRJ7iixHsR5ZSBzcEBiWi_mY5nzeoLrMx5PFODQApJcRSbgzGMSK2B0pEwSUVmbsHtJDgi0KOBeU49l7sVB_swVn6Au0y0FX-jsjdzKM_LRs-V7_fJ2ni1IZeRQth1r4StbQ/s1600/4.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 352px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Jdzk8ibhYRJ7iixHsR5ZSBzcEBiWi_mY5nzeoLrMx5PFODQApJcRSbgzGMSK2B0pEwSUVmbsHtJDgi0KOBeU49l7sVB_swVn6Au0y0FX-jsjdzKM_LRs-V7_fJ2ni1IZeRQth1r4StbQ/s400/4.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582151053217430690" border="0" /></a></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /></span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-43317332810126816932011-01-20T18:01:00.005-06:002011-01-21T07:23:22.338-06:00Winds of Change...Again.<span style="font-size:85%;">There are few things I have prayed for with more diligence than my request to "get back home to Texas" when I was living in California. Specifically, to get home to Dallas/Fort Worth (DFW). I remember with vivid clarity the despair I felt that first year there and how my depression nearly smothered me like a heavy, wet blanket. I know God had many things He wanted me to work on, but I was already so perfect, I couldn't imagine what might need tweaking. (Insert stifled snickers here.) Over the four years that we were there, I gradually came to understand some of the lessons God was trying to teach me, while simultaneously wondering why He couldn't have taught me those very same lessons from the comfort of the Lone Star State. Who knows? At any rate, I prayed. James prayed. Our children prayed. Our family and friends prayed. We all wanted our family to go "home" to DFW.<br /><br />In early March of 2009, that prayer was answered by way of a move to Sugar Land, Texas, outside of Houston. Okay. It wasn't Fort Worth, but I could deal. In fact, I was thrilled! Over the past couple years, James and I have come to love Sugar Land (or Candyland as I affectionately refer to it) and I began to picture raising our three children here. New dreams have replaced the old. The prayers to get back to DFW ceased. We were home.<br /><br />Or so we thought.<br /><br />God has a sense of humor. Don't let anyone tell you differently. Out of the blue, over the past few days, God has opened a door in James' career that would land us smack dab in the middle of Fort Worth. To our own surprise, we have become so attached to Sugar Land, that we actually had to "discuss" the idea before we unanimously agreed: DFW is, was, and always will be - home.<br /><br />Therefore, it is with great excitement and anticipation that our family begins another brand new journey as we take the next step in our lives and relocate (again) to DFW. We have decided to settle in a <span style="font-style: italic;">very</span> small, country town that I grew up in, called Aledo. It sits just 15 minutes west of Fort Worth and should be a fairly simple commute for James. I am delighted that my children will get to experience the country lifestyle that I was privy to, and I pray they form memories as fond as mine. I also pray that they don't plot to kill me when they realize that they will now have to become experts in identifying and avoiding rattlers, cotton mouths, copperheads, tarantulas, black widow spiders, and scorpions; all of which bountifully exist in Aledo.<br /><br />As with all our company relos, this will happen quite quickly. James will be reporting to Fort Worth in just a matter of weeks. The kids and I will stay here so I can facilitate the sale of our home with as little interruption to the children's schooling as possible.<br /><br />We covet your prayers as we make this transition and look forward to reconnecting with all of our DFW friends that we have missed so much!! To those in Candyland that we leave behind, thank you for the part you have played in our lives in the brief time that we have had the privilege of knowing you. I look forward to continuing friendships and visits! Friends we have already parted with can attest that I <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">love</span> company!! My door is always open!!<br /></span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7394856819842931296.post-35887419178769687102010-12-13T08:01:00.004-06:002010-12-13T09:17:08.356-06:00Joseph's Christmas Story<span style="font-size:85%;">As a stay-at-home Mom, I tend to err on the side of caution when it comes to unexpected knocks at my door, and generally don't open it. For some reason, I made an exception to this rule when a young man knocked on my door last week.<br /><br />I was busy going about my day, wrapping the many Christmas presents and finishing up my holiday to-do list when the doorbell rang, suddenly. I looked out the window to find a young, clean-cut man in his mid-twenties, wearing baggy pants and a red and white striped polo button down shirt. Against my usual precaution, I felt compelled to speak to this young man. I opened the door, just a few inches and stuck my nose through the crack. "Can I help you?" I asked, not really wanting to buy whatever he was selling, but still feeling an urge to speak with him.<br /><br />"Don't worry, Ma'am," he said with a big grin that told me he had been the class clown in school, "It's just a crazy black man on your porch. Nuthin' to worry about."<br /><br />I immediately liked him.<br /><br />He introduced himself as "Joseph" and showed me an array of extremely over-priced cleaning products that he was peddling. I indulged him as he worked through his demonstration. Afterall, he cleaned my porch windows and some of the mold off the sidewalk. When he was finished explaining why I couldn't let him walk away without first investing nearly $200 into apparently the best cleaning products available not-on-the-market, I opened my mouth to say "no thank you" and instead asked him, "What made you want to do this for a living?"<br /><br />Joseph's voice lowered, his eyes softened, and he smiled. "Ma'am, I have a two-yr-old son I need to support. I dropped out of high-school so I couldn't find a good job. I went back and got my GED, but this pays the bills for my son. I travel to 25 states a year, but I try to get back to see my baby as often as I can." He pulled out his cell phone and flipped though an array of pictures of the sweetest little curly-haired boy with chubby cheeks and a big toothy grin. There were so many pictures of Joseph and his son together, it was obvious he cared deeply for this little boy.<br /><br />Curious now, I asked him if it was hard to be away from his family for so much of the year. Jospeh laughed and said, "Yes ma'am, it is, but I call him and when I can't talk to him I read my Bible. That helps keep me from being lonely."<br /><br />My ears perked up at the mention of a Bible and the pastor's daughter in me kicked into high gear. Joseph did not exactly look like the Bible-thumping type. "Do you read the Bible often?" I inquired.<br /><br />"I do now, ma'am. I only became a Christian a couple years ago. You see, I used to be heavy into drugs. I was a gang-banger, a member of the Bloods." He raised his sleeves to expose a mosaic of knife wounds, gang tattoos, and violent images, many of which referenced the infamous street gang. I closed the door an inch or two. Noticing my reaction, Joseph backed up a foot or so. "You don't have to worry, ma'am. My violent days are over. I was raised in southern Louisiana. My Daddy ran off and my Mama did the best she could. I got mixed up with the wrong kids and started doing drugs. The Bloods came along and made me feel like I had a family and a place to belong. I thought that was cool until my girl got pregnant. I didn't want my kid to go through what I went through."<br /><br />He paused as if he had said too much. By now, I was out on the porch with him, the door closed behind me. He had such gentle mannerisms, it was difficult to imagine him as a drug-pushing, gun-toting street thug, but the physical scars were beyond proof and the emotional scars wore heavy on his face as he told me his story. "What happened to cause you to change?" I asked.<br /><br />"Well ma'am, my baby mama told me I had to get right with God and get clean or she was gonna take my baby. I didn't care about her God and I didn't want to leave my 'friends'. Then, Katrina hit. The dump I was living in was completely flooded. You couldn't even see the roof because it was covered in water. I lost everything I had, which wasn't much. I decided to leave the Bloods after that." Joseph said all of this matter-of-factly as I struggled to place myself in his shoes.<br /><br />"Forgive my naivete," I told him, "But you're the first gang-banger I have ever talked to. I thought you couldn't leave a gang without getting killed or having to look over your shoulder all the time." I instinctively peered down the street, as if to confirm there were no low-riding muscle cars with dark tinted windows rolling up behind us.<br /><br />Joseph laughed out loud. I think he found my ignorance amusing. "Yes ma'am, that's sometimes the case, but after Katrina, all my boys just left so I left too. I Never looked back. My girl and I went up to Andover, KS, for a while. She's got family up there" We bonded for a minute over both of us having lived in central Kansas and knowing some of the same places. Jospeh continued with his story, "While we were in Kansas, my girl dragged me to church. It was some non-denominational church and I thought there would be dancing and rolling in the aisles. I did not want to go," he said with conviction, "but she said I had to get clean or lose my kid. So I went."<br /><br />"What did you think," I asked him, hooked on his story.<br /><br />"Well, ma'am, at first I thought they were freaks, but then something in me started listening and I started wondering about what my life might be like if I had happiness like these people. The third time I went, the pastor came up and prayed for me, put his hands on my shoulder, and told me Jesus loved me. I started to cry. Man, I felt stupid. Gangtas don't cry. But I did." He hesitated as if to see if I wanted him to continue. I did.<br /><br />"That morning I asked Jesus to come into my heart," he continued, "and I got myself checked into rehab. I've been clean ever since and that was two years ago. I keep my Bible with me when I travel and I try to read it every day. I don't always understand what it says, but I try to live by it. Jesus changed my life. I have these tattoos to remind me where I'm from and the Bible to remind me where I'm going."<br /><br />He was so passionate when he spoke about his salvation, I was very moved by his story. Stealing a line from a movie, I said, "I find this hard to say without sounding condescending, but I'm proud of you, Joseph. You can make a difference in someone else's life now."<br /><br />"I'd like to go into ministry," Joseph said, "but I'm not real good at school and I've gotta work. I don't know how to make a difference. So I just keep on for me."<br /><br />I looked at him a minute. I wanted to say the right thing. "Joseph, one day during your travels, you're going to run into another young man or woman who is at a crossroads in their life. Perhaps they will be facing the same dead-end path you were once on. You're going to be able to roll up your sleeves and show them that you have walked in their shoes. You will be able to identify with their pain. You will know exactly what to say and how to say it to reach them in the place that they're in. That's a gift. Embrace your tattoos and your scars. They are a part of who you were. Turn them into tools to use for Christ. You don't have to have a seminary degree to reach people for Jesus. In fact, you will be able to reach into much deeper, darker places than people like me ever could simply because you've been there yourself." He watched me, listening carefully. I felt we were connecting.<br /><br />"Joseph," I went on, "someday, you will be to someone else what that pastor in Andover, KS, was to you. You will be the somebody that someone else credits with getting their life right with God. Cling to that and don't let opportunities pass you by."<br /><br />His eyes welled up slightly, and he held out his hand to shake mine. "Thank you for saying that," he said quietly. "That gives me hope."<br /><br />By now, more than 30 minutes have passed by. I fumbled for my wallet and handed him $40 for a single over-priced bottle of cleaner, which does actually work quite well. "Good luck," I said as I shook his hand. "Thank you, ma'am. It was a pleasure talking with you," he responded, politely.<br /><br />With that, Joseph turned and walked down my sidewalk toward the next house, hitching up his saggy jeans and toting his bag of cleaner. He turned briefly and waved goodbye with a smile. As he turned his back to me, I noticed a small, thin black leather-covered Bible tucked safely in his back pocket.<br /><br />I will probably never see Joseph again until we meet in Heaven, but I have not stopped thinking of this young man and what he has overcome. I have prayed for him several times since our meeting. I hope that some day, he will be able to use his past to help another, because in that act will come true healing for Joseph.</span>Jenihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08222128970894517336noreply@blogger.com7