tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11473128786576788012024-02-08T00:44:54.928-05:00in omnia paratuskelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.comBlogger237125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-46556043716520175962013-11-27T09:21:00.002-05:002013-11-27T09:21:45.195-05:00Hi Friends. Are we still friends?Ahem. Hi. It's been a while. How are you? Good? Good!<br />
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I can start this post with all sorts of apologies and excuses for why I've abandoned my blog for five months. It's to the point where I feel this reacquainting with each other is a bit awkward, like I should ignore my absence entirely and pretend like it never happened. I have no stellar reason for quitting. I just stopped. I've even forgotten what it's like to read others' blogs. Do you guys still blog? I bet you do. You superstars you. I went about my days thinking in written format but for some reason couldn't <i>write</i>. I don't even have draft posts sitting in the works to be finished and published. I got nothing. Everything I thought to write about seemed so stale. You want to read some more about being tired and my babies not sleeping? Yah, didn't think so.<br />
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I could also start by proclaiming my reason for returning from my hiatus as something totally dramatic like I'm pregnant or we're moving or I've lost all my baby weight plus another 80 pounds. But none of those are true so that doesn't work either. <br />
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I could also write about every bit of minutia from my babies' lives. Oh man. You're just begging for that blog post aren't you? It'd be worth it though. My babies are pretty fab and blow-your-mind adorable. Sydney's not potty trained yet but she knows her alphabet and cuddles while we watch Tinkerbell movies (over and over and over). Holden now follows Sydney everywhere to include on top of the dinning room table and he blows kisses and waves "bye-bye" and it melts my heart every.single.time.<br />
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I decided to write for no other reason than I want to still consider myself a blogger. And because it's 2:00 am and I can't sleep and Jericho is asleep on Sydney's floor (as per usual) and I can type without waking him. I also am writing because I enjoy it immensely. It's cathartic. It's mentally cleansing. It helps remind me that I'm a literate, educated adult. I also write because I know some really cool ladies who also write and I want to be like them. Also, the other day I was thinking about all the nutty things about my babies and our adventures together and realizing how much I wanted to make record of things beyond Instagram and Facebook.<br />
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I guess this post is a transition post into more substantial, regular posting. Hopefully. I really am going to try harder. I promise. Is that sufficient? Have we lost a bit of the awkwardness of our absence from each other?<br />
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And for good measure, a few pics from our recent family picture session by my awesome friend Nikki: <br />
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kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-12042764678831527352013-07-01T20:18:00.001-04:002013-07-01T20:20:37.238-04:00Mommy Q&A<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I've only been a mom for a whopping 23 months. I've been a double-mom for 10 of those months. I still feel very new at this ballgame. I continually reference books and websites for answers to questions. I learned when I was pregnant that the best resource is other moms with tried and true experience. You can always find a mom to answer your questions and, more importantly, you can always find a mom that makes you feel better when you feel like you totally suck and want to run away. <br />
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The following are a few questions I've thought about recently. Some are actually worth while. Some are just because I'm curious and hope I'm not the only one that any of these apply. [Note I didn't ask: "Have you ever spent 3 days straight in your pajamas?", because I really don't want to know the answer]. Instead of searching aimlessly through questionable authorities online, I thought I'd hit up the amazing moms I know, or I know through social networking that may also see this and chime in with their knowledge. <br />
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You may answer with "anonymous" if you wish but know this is a safe space. No judgments. You all rock the socks off of parenting even if you don't feel like it.<br />
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1) What is the worst injury you've sustained from one of your children?</div>
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2) What is the most expensive thing your child has damaged/destroyed/eaten/flushed down the toilet? </div>
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3) How messy have you let your house get because you honestly stopped caring?</div>
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4) At what age did you start doing time-outs, or other forms of discipline? Did it work?</div>
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5) When did you successfully break your baby from using a pacifier?</div>
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6) When do your children start to listen to you and do what you say? Ever? EVER!?</div>
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7) Do you have a mommy-only-hiding place in your house?<br />
[your secret is safe with me]</div>
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8) How do you get anything done when you have children that ransack your house at every opportunity? How hard do you have to work for any semblance of productivity?* </div>
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9) Do you ever stop being completely smitten by your children when you see the sleeping? Is it a least before it starts being creepy?</div>
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<i>*this one is particularly daunting to me right now. i try to read, they attack me. i try to do projects, they destroy the house. i try to do dishes or cook, they pull stuff out of the dishwasher or the freezer. i could go on, and on, and on. this might help explain my aforementioned pajama issue.</i></div>
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kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-33763861617293033822013-05-10T09:22:00.001-04:002013-05-10T09:22:48.205-04:00My EntertainmentI try to tell people that Sydney's a funny baby. It's very difficult to explain. I don't really say too much because I don't want to be one of those people that talks about their kid like everything they do is so unique and wonderful and that everyone else in the world cares as much as they do about the minutia of their toddler's life. I also don't think I can ever verbally do justice to Sydney's personality. I quickly realized I needed to have a camera on the ready from the moment this girl wakes up.<br />
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You just have to meet her. <br />
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I was going through the several hundred pictures on my phone and decided I'd publish Sydney's nuttiness in blog form. Again, I recognize that these mean more to me than you and that you may glance through and think they look like pictures of everyone else's kid and yawn and forget about my blog entirely. That's fine. I know the grandmoms will love it. <br />
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Trust me when I say this is only a snippet of the things that make us smile.<br />
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<br />kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-15858002245514431842013-04-15T02:40:00.004-04:002013-04-15T02:43:56.224-04:00The Thinks I Think {At 2:00 AM}<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://rubsomedirtblog.com/2012/08/footprint-butterflies/" target="_blank">photo credit</a></td></tr>
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I have a moderate to severe addiction to the following: Diet Coke, chocolate, Honey Nut Cheerios. In fact, I'm thinking of getting together with my dietitian sister to construct a diet comprised solely of those three things. </div>
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I've previously alluded to my interest in sewing. I think it's time to take a real sewing class. I have a delusional concept of my own abilities. Every time I see cute quilts/curtains/pillows/chair covers I am totally convinced I could whip out something similar without breaking a sweat or, more accurately, swearing at my sewing machine. I'm often wrong. I'm mostly self-taught. My skill set isn't too limited but what I can do is <i>fine</i>. I can do things. But man, they could definitely look better. If you have any recommendations for places/sources of sewing lessons, please share. </div>
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The other day I misplaced a pancake. In my bedroom. </div>
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Aside from the actually birthing of a child, coming in at a close second for the most physically difficult aspect of parenting is putting on a fitted crib sheet. I know babies are dropping left and right from loose crib sheets or whatever, but come on. Can we loosen it just a little? Just when I think I've got it under control, one corner pops back up and I end up yelling at the crib and Sydney is waiting patiently with her blankey thinking, "Dude, what's your deal? Haven't you gotten this down yet?" It would probably help if I took the mattress out of the crib but there are crib bumpers and they all tie on and there are six and they each have four ties that are double-knotted and you can see how this is just way harder than it needs to be... </div>
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We have Netflix streaming to our TV. I love it. <i>The Walking Dead</i> and <i>Jericho </i>are among my recently watched TV shows. This might help explain my recent Pinterest board titled "Apocalypse Now". My sister thought I had a new calling at church. Nope, inspiration via zombies and nuclear bombs. I am now convinced I need to have random certifications in my back pocket like knot-tying, Morse code, marksmanship, helicopter pilot, and M.D. </div>
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A little while ago, I managed to painted all ten of Sydney's toenails. I consider this my highest parenting achievement to date. </div>
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Oh. And the dude's crawling. It's sheer madness over here. </div>
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kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-89326562062915469932013-03-22T16:32:00.003-04:002013-03-22T16:34:37.542-04:00Photo Dump Courtesy of the SLRNow that I have a Smartphone and can take, edit, and post pictures without having to leave the couch, the idea that I have to hard-wire my SLR to my desktop in a whole different room seems excessively laborious. I took some pictures the other day and saw that I only have 17 pictures left on my card and realized there must be a boatload of pictures hanging out in there that need to go on the computer. Many of them had too much cuteness to be contained solely on my computer so I decided to dump them on here. This is only a piece of the bunch. Jericho says one of my jobs is to clean out the excess pictures of the babies on the computer. I don't know what he's on about. <br />
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kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-52532290601759944632013-02-28T11:36:00.001-05:002013-02-28T11:36:38.082-05:00Who Needs Sleep?<div align="center">
<em>Well, you're never gonna get it</em></div>
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<em>Who needs sleep?</em></div>
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<em>Tell me what's that for</em></div>
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<em>Who needs sleep?</em></div>
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<em>Well, you're never gonna get it</em></div>
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Holden will be 6 months old on Sunday. He is not sleeping through the night. He did for a few nights when he was not even 3 months old and much jubilation was to be had. He then got a cold and was congested every night all night for about a week and ever since has only slept through the night once and that was on Christmas Eve due to what I can only imagine was Christmas magic. <br />
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Sydney slept through the night like a rock star starting at 10 weeks old. Every night. Twelve hours. With Holden, I'm in new territory. Sydney slept perfectly at this age. I secretly loved it when people would ask how she was sleeping and I could tell them how wonderfully it was going; like I was solely responsible for getting her to sleep so well with my amazing mothering skills.<br />
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It is not so with Holden. He wakes up a lot at night. Sometimes once. Sometimes every 3 hours. Jericho and I take turns for the most part. There have been a handful of nights when he's taken Holden downstairs and I'll get a good 5-6 hour sleep in. But we're both pretty spent.<br />
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Every morning my contacts feel like masking tape and I have bags under my eyes that need additional postage. I'm hungry all the time. My sister explained to me why this was a cause of my sleep deprivation. I don't get proper rest so I'm depleted of energy so my body compensates by wanting food. Or something. I don't have the focus or drive or mental capacity to handle any real responsibilities. I often can't even fathom preparing dinner every day or when I'm going to shower or unload the dishwasher. When you look at my responsibilities, they aren't that overwhelming, but when you haven't slept a solid night of sleep in more than 8 months, folding laundry feels like solving cold fusion. I can't read. I mean, yes I <em>can</em> read but I've forgotten how to read and <em>comprehend</em>. I belong to 2 book clubs and haven't read the books for either in months. I've tried and failed. It hurts my brain. <br />
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We've gone over several reasons why he could still be waking up so much - Eczema, gassy, ear infection, too cold, too hot, not enough food during the day, humidifier, more prayers. We've more or less addressed them all. Once, I even wrapped him up in one of my t-shirts in case my magical mommy smell would make him sleep longer. [Do you operate with the assumption that you have this aura of magical mommy-ness? That you should be able to hug or cuddle or kiss your baby and all the problems in the world should be solved? I do. So the fact that I can't get him to sleep better at night with snuggles and lullabies is a blow to my mommy-ego.]<br />
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We now put Holden in the bed with us. Partly because it makes him happier than being in the pack-n-play and he sleeps more soundly [even if it's still short spurts]. Partly because we got tired of getting out of bed to give him his pacifier or rub his back or put lotion on his head every hour. [Lotion on his head because he still scratches at his head all night. Lotions and potions are gooped on him but he still keeps scratching. My 2 o'clock in the morning logic is convinced that he has a brain tumor and is trying to get at it with his tiny fingers.] <br />
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I've pulled out all the books in my library that may help with getting Holden to sleep better at night. We haven't read anything yet. When you want to get your baby to sleep through the night, you wanted this knowledge yesterday. I want a tag-line or article or short paragraph. A three hundred page book on the matter? You gotta be joking. <br />
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One thing that has helped [<em>a little</em>] is learning he's a very determined stomach sleeper. Won't have it any other way unless he's in your arms. And because he's a stomach sleeper and he's a boy with boy parts and only utilizes the front 1/16 of his diaper, we get frequent pee-outs. And because he's in our bed, the pee-outs sometimes happen where we sleep. When it's the middle of the night and it's the second or third time he's woken up, very little of me actually cares. <br />
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What am I missing. What haven't we done? What could possibly help? <br />
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I hope this sheds some light on why I haven't replied to your emails very quickly [or at all] or texts or why I stink at blogging right now or why I'm lagging in my church calling or why I haven't lost any baby weight or why I spontaneously start crying or why you don't see me at church as often or why I keep sending my husband to Wendy's for our cheap dinner. <br />
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This weekend I'm going on a Girls' Weekend with some friends to the mountains. I of course love these girls and know it will be a blast but the selling point that convinced me I should definitely go was the realization that I would have two consecutive nights of sleeping more than 4 hours at a time. I may even sleep in. I'm so excited I could do a little dance. In fact, I think I will..... Dance over. <br />
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These exhausting times are part of the reason why God made our babies so insanely adorable. Sleep is one of those things you don't fully appreciate until you don't have it. Count your blessings my well-rested friends. <br />
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kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-14924809448425596572013-02-12T11:42:00.000-05:002013-02-12T11:42:16.915-05:00The Thinks I Think<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<a href="http://themommyproject.typepad.com/.a/6a0133f30ae399970b017c35866883970b-800wi" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://themommyproject.typepad.com/.a/6a0133f30ae399970b017c35866883970b-800wi" /></a></div>
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The other day I tried to buy jeans. I wanted <i>blue</i> jeans. Normal denim blue. I wanted flare leg because skinny jeans make me look like the orphanage lady from Despicable Me. I thought this was a simple quest. One that I have had no trouble with in the past. When I saw all of my options having various degrees of skinniness in colors previously reserved only for Skittles, I realized I was old. Looks like we're sticking with yoga pants for a little longer. </div>
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Have you ever gotten a spray tan? Like a professional one? I got one for the first time a few weeks before my sister's wedding. It was a surprisingly hilarious experience. I stood in this big booth and had an automated woman giving me directions on the specific "positions" in which I was to stand. Position 2 and 3 resemble a Bangles song. You also have to put this goopy lotion on your hands and feet so they don't end up orange. You have to put it on so thick that it looks like you've been covered in mayonnaise. I was actually laughing. I was LITerally spray-painting my body. You stand there in your desired level of nakedness, wearing a shower cap, hands and feet covered with mayonnaise, and taking instructions from the giant spray-painting machine. And it's COLD! At least normal tanning beds are warm while they give you cancer. </div>
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I'm cool with being a stay at home mom for the most part. I'm not really a feminist but I occasionally get the urge to yell, "Who do you think I am!?! <i>June frikkin Cleaver</i>!!??!" Not at anyone in particular. Just in my house by myself; usually when I need to come up with something for dinner. Again. Or dishes need to be done at 9:00 at night. Or basically anything that means I need to come out from underneath the covers of my bed. </div>
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I am highly addicted to fabric stores. I'm not even that big of a sewer. But I aspire to be and I do enough sewing that going into fabric stores is like creative crack. When I return from my trips, I tell Jericho the same thing. <i>Yell </i>the same thing, actually - Two years ago I was making Sydney's nursery bedding. I wanted yellow and grey. I couldn't buy yellow and grey bedding because I couldn't find any. Hence the decision to make stuff. I went to every fabric store in a 50 mile radius of my house. I shopped online. And I ended up finding some decent yellow and grey fabrics. I <i>like </i>the finished product. I don't <i>love </i>it. Now when I go to any place that sells fabric, I see beautiful yellow and grey patterns that I <i>LOVE</i>. Stripes! Chevrons! Dot! Tiles! Paisleys! I yell to Jericho every time - "MORE YELLOWS AND GREYS!!!" At least there is one area of my life where I'm slightly ahead of the trends. </div>
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I bought a Sudoku book. No, I'm not going on a plane soon. I bought it to exercise my brain. The other day I couldn't remember the name of a car that I <i>knew </i>I knew and it was making me crazy that I couldn't remember it. I went through the alphabet numerous times trying to figure it out. It finally came to me a couple of hours later. Now I'm doing Sudoku. Next I will be playing memory card games with Sydney and hoping she doesn't beat me. </div>
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~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</div>
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Ever since seeing a beautiful brown color of nail polish on a friend more than three years ago, I've been on a mad search for the perfect brown nail polish. True story. Three years. I think I finally found it. I didn't want taupe or espresso or dark brown or brownish red or brownish-something else. Just brown. It's called Toasted Almond by Covergirl and it's glorious. </div>
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kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-65542395759457975022013-01-28T21:48:00.001-05:002013-01-28T21:52:31.431-05:00Survival Mode<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
With two babies under eighteen months, one acquires tailor-made resources to get through the minutes, the hours, and the days of taking care of two little babes. <br />
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The following are but a few of the resources that have made my life livable. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Jericho</div>
There's too much to list for why Jericho is essential to my survival. I shall be brief. One morning Jericho left super early to travel out of town for the week. I came downstairs hours after he left, groggy and grumpy and grumbling. I discovered that before he left, he'd unloaded the clean dishwasher. It was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I actually teared up. <br />
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Grandparents</div>
As with Jericho, wayyyy too much to list in a blog post of the never ending service the GPs render. They babysit so Jericho and I can have nights out with friends or even just a quick bite across the street before making the one-hour drive back home. The GPs Smith asked if they could come over for dinner one Sunday. I told them I didn't have much to supply us all for dinner. They brought it all from their house. I decided to take a nap before they got here and I woke to my mother telling me dinner was ready. They'd come over, made dinner and helped take care of the babies. Why did I ever move out of their house? <br />
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Friends</div>
I have visiting teachers/friends/neighbors that comes to my need at the drop of the hat. They steal my babies from me at church. No arguments here. I have this one friend that had a baby about the same time as me. We share many things. We have adorably crazy little babies. We have the same post-pregnancy physical ailments. We run into each other at Wal-Mart at the same odd hours at night in our sweats. We both cry for legitimate and humorously illegitimate reasons. We don't fold clean laundry. And we both hold very dear the remedial powers of a greasy cheeseburger. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
McDonalds</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
[Speaking of greasy cheeseburgers]</div>
I received two words from a cashier at McDonalds I never knew I'd hear and never knew would make me so sad. Two words that made me want to exclaimed, "<em>That don't mean you know me</em>!!!". She said to me, "Back again?" Two simple words that made me want to cry. In my defense, my McD's runs are not that frequent. I didn't recognize her so I'm making myself feel better by thinking this cashier just happened to be there both times I went within those couple of weeks. Or maybe it was within one week. It's all a big Diet Coke blur. <br />
<br />
Does this gross you out to hear that I frequent McDonalds? Why do I even go to McDonald's? I shall explain. I generally have the attitude discussed by <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6YDTfEhChgw" target="_blank">Jim Gaffigan</a>. It represents all that is wrong with the stereotypical fat American. In my world, I go for survival. I go because it's practically in my backyard. I go on a morning when sleep was fleeting the night before and the babies are on the same fussy/noisy/need-to-go-to-sleep schedule. I call them our Family Drives. We listen to <em>Harry Potter</em>. I get an impressively large Diet Coke. Sometimes a biscuit, depending on the hour. Sometimes two cookies [for a dollar], depending on the level of emotional turmoil. And then I drive through my wonderful little town until the Diet Coke is gone. Everyone always chills out. The babies always go to sleep. I get to see their sweet faces while they sleep and while I listen to a book and wind down from some of my stress. <br />
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That is why I go to McDonald's. If there was such a thing as a drive-through Panera, I'd go there. But until they make one in my town, I'm sticking with the McDonald's. Judge as you wish. <br />
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It's called survival mode. It's something I heard other moms talk about but never truly understood until I was in it. I have a feeling mine might last a while. Now if only I could figure out how to incorporate the gym as a survival mode resource. kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-31270821178694824192013-01-17T21:37:00.000-05:002013-01-17T21:37:34.008-05:00Four Months AgoFour months ago, we had another baby. We had a teeny little spitty beautiful baby boy. <br />
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Now we have a four-month-old, still beautiful, still spitty, bigger baby boy. <br />
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Every time we hit a month milestone I think, "Wow, another month, and I've still never done a monthly update on my blog." Not that my readers are sitting on edge wondering how much Holden now weighs. I do intend on publishing this stuff one day for my own records and I need to record this stuff so that he doesn't feel less loved than his sister, who has a diligent monthly update for the first year of her life. Man those firstborns can really kill it for the follow-up siblings.<br />
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I thought that Holden was big for his age. He seems to be growing out of his clothes faster than Sydney did and he's bigger than my friend's baby who is two weeks older. But according to his stats, he's 25% for height and weight and 75% for his head. Those measurements should indicate that Holden resembles an orange on a toothpick but as you can see, he's a studly little man with no likeness to oranges or toothpicks.<br />
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He's made four months worth of physical progress but my most significant status for him is that I love him to pieces. Some days, I wake up and look at him and think, "I don't know how he did it, but he's cuter today than he was yesterday." He's warm and cuddly and lets me hold him and rock him to sleep. He lets me kiss his cheeks a thousand times a day and smell his sweet little angel baby smell. He's completely mellow. Although his mellowness is probably accentuated due to the contrast to his completely nutty toddler sister. Aside from the fact that he spits like a llama, he's perfect. Even the pediatrician told me so and you <i>know </i>she only ever tells that to me.<br />
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Holden is so lovely and sweet and makes me so happy that I look at him and think, "I can't wait to have another one so I can be this happy times three." [Don't worry. We're still on pregnancy hiatus.]<br />
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My favorite thing about him is that he loves to smile and giggle. You hardly need to look at him and he bursts into the biggest little baby grin. Look at that face. Seriously. If you need a pick me up, come on over and give Holden some snuggles and he'll smile and bury his little face in your neck.<br />
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He's pretty much awesome. <br />
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kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-38379216709701179002013-01-07T08:58:00.000-05:002013-01-07T08:58:00.247-05:00Resolutions? ME??<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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With the new year comes new goals. At least that's the premise. We probably aren't making new goals but revamping our drive to accomplish the same goals from last year. That's what I do anyway. Maybe there are some people out there that they make 20 goals every year and accomplish them with dramatic flourish. I am not one of those people. <br />
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For example, I failed my goal last year of not being pregnant. I will remake that same goal this year. If I only accomplish one thing this year it will be:<br />
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1) Not be pregnant. <br />
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Seven days in. So far so good. <br />
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I have previously written on the subject of <a href="http://ckelleyread.blogspot.com/2009/12/goals-for-2010.html" target="_blank">goals</a> and <a href="http://ckelleyread.blogspot.com/2008/06/june-years-resolutions.html" target="_blank">resolutions</a>. Go read those if you want. I'll wait. <br />
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My mindset from those posts has not drastically changed since writing them. I hate making new year's resolutions. They seem weak and like I'm only making them because that's what everyone else does this time of year. Plus I'm sure there is some statistic out there that says that like 86% of resolutions fail. Actually, I just looked. It's 78%. With that kind of failure rate, what's the point? Then I'll have all these resolutions mocking me yet again. <br />
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But I still make them. I can't help it. I get this motivation to start anew. It's the only time in my life that a true transition period is obviously marked. I have no school or job to break up the space time contiuum of a stay at home mom. Heck, half the time, I don't even know the date or day of the week. This year in particular I feel especially defeated. I had two babies back to back and my ability to maintain control in this world of infantile chaos lies in question almost daily. <br />
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This year will be my year. I hereby proclaim this year the year of Kelley!!<br />
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Here we go. I will make my goals in the secret public journal of my blog. [In no respective order of importance, except for the aforementioned #1.]<br />
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2) Take more pictures of baby #2 [in my defense, I mainly took more pictures of baby #1 because daddy was overseas]<br />
3) Blog more. Lots more. All the time. Get those creative synapses firing. Churn out the cathartic prose. <br />
4) Be healthier.<br />
5) Be happier.<br />
6) Be spiritualier. <br />
7) Use my beautiful new sewing machine that Santa Jericho brought this year. <br />
8) By this time next year, have Sydney potty trained. [Gack!!!]<br />
9) Implement and follow a structured family budget. <br />
10) Play sports. [I miss them so much. My heart aches to run up and down a basketball court. But must get going on #4 first because my ab muscles can no longer support my core in the act of running.]<br />
11) Read lots and lots. <br />
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There we have it. I will put them in written form around my house to stare me in the face. Glaring their critical eye. Daring me to abandon them. I wish you tenacity with all of our goals, if you make them. Perhaps you're an inherently better person than me and don't need change. If not, cheers. Let's make the most of this year! Feel free to join me in any of our shared pursuits. kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-42132265066772416342012-11-08T10:41:00.002-05:002012-11-08T10:41:49.379-05:00So You Want to Know How Things are Going?The other day a friend I haven't seen in a while said he was glad I was blogging again. I think he was being facetious. <br />
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I used to think blogging was hard when I had one baby. Psh. Way wrong. <br />
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More than two months since my last post. I hang my head in shame. <br />
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<b>Mentally</b></div>
Part of the reason why I haven't blogged, and probably the biggest reason, is that I think my brain has died. I'm in this constant fog of poor memory and fragmented thoughts and sentences. I tried reading a book a few weeks ago. I reread the same pages over and over and finally gave up because I had no idea what I was reading. It wasn't even a hard book. I also have pregnancy induced dyslexia. I read words as another closely spelled word, i.e. "peace" was actually "beach". I missed a church meeting this week because I've forgotten how to read calendars. An attorney friend of mine is convinced I will at some point work for her part time. I keep telling her that the academic part of my brain that enabled me to do my awesome paralegal-ing is gone. I worry it may be permanent.<br />
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In my defense, I have two babies under 16 months. Two <i>babies</i>. Not two children. <i>Babies</i>. We put our trash out the other day and the trash people brought it back to the house and dumped it out on the front porch because we'd reached the weekly limit of rank diapers. [Okay that's a lie but don't think it hasn't occurred to me it might actually happen.]<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Physically</b></div>
I am the heaviest, most out of shape I have ever been in my life. If I tried to play basketball right now, I would die. Luckily my pre-Holden-pregnancy jeans still fit. But I could maybe fit a leg in my pre-Sydney-pregnancy jeans. Some overly cheery OB doc said that your body is its healthiest right after you have a baby. Bahaha! Where'd she get <i>her</i> degree?!?! <br />
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From my favorite TV show: "You joined a gym??" "Yeah." "When??" "After I had Rory to lose the baby weight." "Did you go?" "Heck no. I was WAY too fat." <br />
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<b>Sleeping</b></div>
I've told Jericho on a number of occasions that he shouldn't expect anything substantial for dinner until Holden starts sleeping through the night. We have a somewhat working system for nighttime Holden duty. The first plan was for me to take duty on the nights during the week when Jericho works and he would take the weekends. After the third night of doing this, I woke in the morning to Jericho saying goodbye as he left for work, crying before I could even say anything. I was practically sleep crying. I'd reached a new area of ways to cry. <br />
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We now share the nights. Consecutive nights is what brings on the psychosis. Sometimes we do every other night. Sometimes we each take one in the same night. Sometimes the plan falls apart during the night because one of us has become immune to the sounds of the waking babies. One of us being me. Seriously. Some mornings I have to ask Jericho if/when Holden woke up. Holden sleeps <i>five feet</i> from my head.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Eating</b></div>
Holden eats all.the.time. Sometimes during the day he eats almost every hour. I'm glad I decided not to nurse because it would have killed me. At his two-month check-up, he weighed in at one pound shy of doubling his birth weight. The average time for babies to do this is 6 months. I worry what his teen years will be like. <br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>Outings</b></div>
I've managed to venture out of the house with both babies. My first destination: Target. It was awesomely therapeutic. I made it out to the van with two happy babies - Syd in the cart, Holden in the Bjorn- looking around for my Mom Award. My next destination: Harris Teeter. I have a Wal-Mart and a Lowe's Foods two seconds from my house and the Harris Teeter is twenty minutes in an entirely different city. The twenty minute drive was so worth being at my favorite grocery store and, the <i>real</i> reason I made the drive, to get Sydney to fall asleep. The cashier asked me how old my babies were. One month and 14 months. She said I had my hands full. Why, yes, I do. Thanks for noticing. She didn't even ask me if I needed help out. She called over a nice man named Lee and he wheeled Sydney and my groceries to the mom-mobile. <br />
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[Aside: Do you hate the comments about having your hands full? Sometimes I want to respond with things like- "Actually, not really. I'm practically a superhero at this whole mom thing and it's total cake. I'm thinking of going on fertility for the next pregnancy so I can have triplets. I'm <i>that good</i> at this."] </div>
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This is my world. Jericho asks what I have planned for the day. Oh ya know, feed babies, change diapers, and if I have time, I'll eat something, maybe go to the bathroom a couple times, and if I can swing it, shower. <br />
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My world may often bring me to tears or cause me to drive around my town for half an hour listening to the soothing sounds of Harry Potter while both babies chill out. But every day I get to see these little faces. Sydney is a nut that constantly makes me laugh at her nuttiness. And Holden is the most angelic little stud. He smiles and sleeps and eats and smiles. I know every parent thinks it but I know my babies are the best. <br />
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<br />kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-9942360506835729662012-09-05T15:28:00.001-04:002012-09-05T15:39:12.808-04:00Birth Story/TimelineI'm on the fence when it comes to birth stories. Do people really care? Should I post it anyway so I have the record somewhere? I usually just skim through others' because they typically contain lots and lots of details. Some of which kind of gross me out. <br />
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Sydney's birth story is more or less in my personal journal so I never put it on the blog. Perhaps we'll give it a go for Holden's story since it's much simpler. <br />
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In reality, I could probably sum up my delivery with Holden in about 2 sentences. <br />
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We'll stretch it out a little more for dramatic effect. <br />
<br />
<strong>Friday</strong><br />
<strong>10:00 am-</strong> <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Weekly OB check. No
dilating. No nothing. No signs of early delivery. <br />
Sunday<br />
<strong>7:00 pm-</strong> <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Parents over for
dinner. "I wouldn't mind having the baby early just so long as it doesn't
happen this week and keep Jericho from going to Rob's wedding."
[Rob=Jericho's BFF and he's <em>in</em> the wedding]. <br />
<strong>Monday</strong><br />
<strong>12:20 am-</strong> <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Woke up yet again to
discomfort and random contractions. [Been happening for a couple of weeks].<br />
<strong>1:00 am-</strong> <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Go online and re-read
"real" versus "fake" contractions. Concluded still fell
into "fake" classification. Cursed at fake contractions for not
letting me sleep.<br />
<strong>1:00-3:00 am-</strong><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Awake... time for
cereal. Remember <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">after</i> I poured the
milk that there's ice cream in the freezer. Blast!<br />
<strong>3:30-</strong> <span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Sydney wakes up.
Cause that's what she does now. Feed and play with Sydney. Put her back to
sleep.<br />
<strong>4:00-</strong> <span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Call midwife on
call with explanation of mystery contractions. "Take a bath." "A
what?" <br />
<strong>4:15-</strong> <span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Take bath for 45
minutes. Woke up Jericho to update and explain why I was taking a bath at 4:00
in the morning. Read book. Timed contractions. Amazed I was able to fit in the
bathtub with minimal water displacement. <br />
<strong>5:00-</strong><span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span> Contractions even
out. Call midwife. Leave message. <br />
<strong>5:00-7:00-</strong> <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No call back from
midwife. Contractions further apart and inconsistent but get more painful and like I could pee
fire. Half-heartedly start packing my hospital bag, tell Jericho to do the
same.<br />
<strong>7:00-</strong> <span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Call back midwife.
<br />
<strong>7:00-9:00-</strong> <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>No call back. Put
friend on alert to watch Sydney for the day. Put on makeup in preparation for gross post-delivery pictures.<br />
<strong>10:00-</strong> <span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Call midwife. Talk
to her this time. Tells me to come into the hospital just to get things checked
out [since office is closed due to holiday] and since my contractions are so...
whatever. <br />
<strong>12:00-</strong><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Get to hospital. Check in. Meet with midwife. Checks my
progress [Most painful part of the entire delivery. Imagine getting a tooth pulled via your sphincter]. Turns
out I walked in there at a 5. "Good. If you'd said I was only at like a 1
and sent me home, I would have been so pissed." Smile at the comments of
my obvious high pain tolerance. <br />
<strong>1:30-</strong> <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Get epidural [b/c I'm not <em>that</em> tough]. Broke
water. Dilated to 7/8. Let me sleep some with my happy, happy epidural. Jericho runs home to get all the stuff we didn't pack. Frown at my ugly toes that never got their pre-delivery pedicure.<br />
<strong>4:00-</strong> <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Check back. Dilated to 10. Wait it out a little because
baby is still sitting high. "Page me when you start feeling
pressure."<br />
<strong>5:00-</strong> <span style="mso-tab-count: 2;"> </span>Can't feel a
single thing. Check to make sure baby hasn't come out without me knowing. <br />
<strong>5:30ish-</strong> <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Check back again.
Baby time. "Push right here." "Where?" Laugh because still can't feel anything and have no idea if I'm pushing. "Am I doing anything??" Push
as best as I can figure and then we have a baby. Done and done. <br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
And that's pretty much it. The worst parts all happened before I even got to the hospital. I don't know how many times Jericho has pointed out how different this delivery was from Sydney's. I've had more complicated dental procedures. Clearly this baby knew it was time and got here without any fuss. Plus it also helped that my epidural was still there for the actual tough stuff this time. My first go round it didn't make any sense to me why people got epidurals because I still felt everything when it came time for the actual delivery. Mad props to all those that go sans-epidural the whole time. <br />
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<br />
Things were so different for this delivery. Not just the logistics but the overall emotions and atmosphere with this baby were so different. Nobody cried [except for Holden]. Nobody was leaving in a couple of days. Nobody was strung out on anxiety and lack of sleep and hormones. Nobody hesitated to send the baby to the nursery for the night. Nobody forgot to bring the <em>Harry Potter</em> DVDs. <br />
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<br />
This little boy was ready to get here. He started out without us knowing. And he pushed his way into this world two weeks early with no notice. My friend said of her two youngest that are closer in age that maybe in the pre-existence they were so close that the younger one couldn't wait to join the other here on earth. What a sweet thought. I hope that's the case with Sydney and Holden. I hope this means they'll be the best of friends and never ever fight and spend their days holding hands and singing Carpenters songs. <br />
<br />
We're bottle feeding again and I'm totally fine with it. Nursing is beautiful and wonderful and instinctual for some and for some it produces panic attacks. Sydney was bottle-fed and she's a rockstar and so will Holden.<br />
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<br />
Welcome to our world Baby Holden! We love him so much already [even though he was way squishy newborn alien-like when he was fresh out]. <br />
<br />
And do we like the name Holden? I've concluded that I don't identify my babies with a name until they're more than a week old. Holden is still just "baby", "little guy", "buddy", "honey". kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-36002793351296438112012-08-27T10:04:00.000-04:002012-08-27T10:09:38.926-04:00On Having a Boy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
When I was pregnant with Sydney, before we knew she'd be a girl, I was weighing out the pros and cons of each gender. One of my biggest fears about having a girl was raising a <i>teenage </i>girl. There's a lot of drama-rama that goes on in the mind of a teen girl. I know. I was one. I worry about her being 12 and wanting to dress like she's 25. I worry about her listening to Justin Bieber-type blah. I worry about stupid boys disrespecting her. I worry about mean girls bullying her. I worry about her developing enough self-confidence and self-respect and knowing that the girls who put out at 16 are <em>not</em> cool and happy. <br />
<br />
When I found out that this current pending baby is a boy, the worrying shifted, and if anything, got worse. I thought for sure, having a boy would be less worrisome. But raising a boy is huge, especially a teenage boy that has to learn how to be a man and all this stuff I don't know how to do. Luckily that's where husbands come in.<br />
<br />
With a girl, I worry about protecting her and teaching her self worth and how to be feminine and kick-A at the same time. With a boy, I worry about him becoming a good, quality man in this world full of really, really crappy stuff. I remember a friend of my brother's telling me once the reason why parents worry more about their girls than their boys was that girls tend to <em>get into</em> trouble where the boys are the ones that <em>start</em> the trouble. <br />
<br />
I'm a girl so I know how a girl's mind works. With a boy, I have no idea how his mind works, but I know what it's like to be the observer of boys and how it <i>looks </i>like their mind works. [Yes, you <em>should</em> bathe every day]. Therefore, I have some fears on how I raise my boy.<br />
<br />
Here is my boy-specific wishlist. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
...wants to go to college and have a career.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
...shakes people's hands and looks them in the eye.<br />
<br />
...knows how to talk to people face to face and not solely via electronic devices. <br />
<br />
...finds enjoyment in going to church and learning the gospel and won't sleep through seminary.<br />
<br />
...if skinny jeans for boys are still in style in 14 years, he will NOT wear them. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
...is not going to think bodily functions are the epitome of humor. Or will at least grow out of it by the time he's 12. <br />
<br />
...finds the right friends and stands up for what is right. <br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
...have hair like Patrick Dempsey.<br />
</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
...asks girls out on dates. And will open doors for them, regardless of how anti-feminist this will no doubt be by the time he's dating. And will talk to his date's parents with respect.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
...never spends countless hours playing video games.<br />
<br />
...gets a job. Any job. Saves money. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Do any of you mothers of boys have similar fears? One thing I'm grateful for is that my boy will grow up with a sister. I think boys with sisters learn valuable lessons on how to treat women. I have known plenty of high-quality guys growing up. Perhaps I should do a Q&A with their mamas to get some tips. Not in the least should be from my own mother and mother-in-law, since two of the best men I've ever known are my older brother and my awesome husband. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
But times are changing. Things are getting a little ickier out there. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
In Sydney's first days on this earth, I whispered all my wishes for her while I held her and fed her, i.e. "please don't hate me when you're 14". Now I'll do the same for my son in just a few weeks. He'll be new in this world, hearing his mom whispering pleas to take baths when he's smelly and not burp at the dinner table. That's not too unreasonable is it? What do you whisper to your sleeping babies? </div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-54659663477169660562012-08-22T17:09:00.001-04:002012-08-22T17:09:37.448-04:00Stuff and ThingsJericho came home on July 4th. Since then my computer usage has dropped significantly. Partially because I hang out with husband and baby all the time. Partially because my computer chair doesn't cater well to pregnant ladies. Now that things have settled some and I hijacked Jericho's laptop and can therefore blog in my comfy bed, I've vowed to stop neglecting the blog. There may be a lot of posts very suddenly. My apologies if you get sick of me.<br />
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<br />
Like I mentioned, husband is home. He's been home nearly two months. He's back to work. And out of town. How mean is that? He's out of town for a few days each week but then we get him work-free for almost four straight days. I could complain but I'm very grateful he has a good job. And that I get him at home more days than he's away. <br />
<br />
We got a van. It looks like this.<br />
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<br />
We are a van family now. It's a little weird. I'm having slight identity issues. I'm not just a soon-to-be mother of two but am also a van-mom. I'm 30 and I drive a minivan and almost have two kids. When did I grow up? <br />
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<br />
I have about 4 weeks left until baby boy gets here. It's the homestretch. A very uncomfortable homestretch. I'm not sure if I'm going to make it. Can you put yourself on bed rest? Does that make me a wimp? I'm so hot. All you people complaining about the summer heat, I don't want to hear it. Try being a walking oven in this heat. I sweat in air conditioning. No more summer pregnancies for me.<br />
<br />
I used to think that having days spent in stretchy pants without hair or make-up done would make me sad. Turns out I'm fine with it.<br />
<br />
Boy names are hard. I have this fear that any name we give him will be stolen by the girls during his lifetime thanks to people like Jessica Simpson.<br />
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<br />
I turned 30 last week and it's hardly phased me. Since it was a day of the week that Jericho was home, we got to go out for breakfast AND dinner. We took Sydney to Cracker Barrel for the first time. Baby loved her some grits and biscuits and gravy. I also convinced Jericho that since I'm now in my thirties, my birthday present should be decent skin care products to keep me looking like the young trophy wife that I am. <br />
<br />
Parenting with a second parent in the house is revolutionary. I highly recommend it. Baby gets a parent that she can play with on the floor. I get to nap and take longer showers and without little hands yanking open the curtain. Go to the bathroom by myself with the door closed. I talk about things that need to get done and they happen. The floor gets vacuumed. Groceries and laundry are put away faster. Having a second parent is awesome but having a second parent that is Jericho is magnificent. I know what parenting-life is like without him and now know what it's like with him and am completely spoiled by the latter. kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-12290631402075901872012-08-16T16:42:00.002-04:002012-08-16T16:42:41.327-04:00A Year of Sydney<div style="text-align: left;">
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<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;">On July 29th, my wonderful baby turned one. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Physical stats: 19 lbs, 6 oz; 28.5 inches tall; eye lashes- .5 inches </div>
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Favorite foods: yogurt, cheese, scrambled eggs, anything someone else is eating that she's not</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Teeth: at least nine. accurate number is unknown due to tendency to bite any fingers while attempting to check</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Walking: a lot, not all the time, but an impressive amount. she's a rockstar. </div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Fears: vacuum cleaner, blender, popcorn popper</div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Loves: crawling up the stairs, progressively putting everything in our house on the floor, cell phones, keys, baths, being the center of attention</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
Life aspirations: to take flight from the back of the couch, unroll the entire roll of toilet paper, own a cell phone, take up residence inside the dishwasher</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIgTqLBNR2vU38xpPecdsd87RL7thjO9U8VwC-aDCmXiJXgCM8XBVe_IACbxyo1B0rWLe7u_tieJ96Sj8sFC0lAXIgxBuz5GTePiMBV9iY4IwjOqWffTObt-gIOleec3K5hJ1wMLudVPku/s1600/IMG_2502.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIgTqLBNR2vU38xpPecdsd87RL7thjO9U8VwC-aDCmXiJXgCM8XBVe_IACbxyo1B0rWLe7u_tieJ96Sj8sFC0lAXIgxBuz5GTePiMBV9iY4IwjOqWffTObt-gIOleec3K5hJ1wMLudVPku/s640/IMG_2502.JPG" width="550" /></a></div>
<br />
One year ago, I had a new baby, said goodbye to my husband, and was staying at my parents' house while I adjusted to my new world. I reminisced with Jericho about those first nights in the hospital with our new baby. He remembers me crying a lot. I told him more about what it was like for me that first week that he left- the hardest week of my life. This year has been challenging, educational, dramatic, lonely, depressing, character-building, and precious. I'm still amazed that it's done. I owe so much to so many people for helping me get through it. <br />
<br />
In the past year, I've spent roughly 97% of my time with Sydney. We've done everything together. I took her shopping and consulted her on purchases. We watched TV and I taught her the greatness of <i>Harry Potter</i> and <i>Lord of the Rings</i>. I took care of her every night when she woke up. Changed nearly every diaper. Given her 10 million hugs and kisses. Took naps with her on the couch. Cried with her. Fed her. Sang her songs with my winning singing voice. Snuggled and cuddled and nurtured her. <br />
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With all the priceless time I was able to spend with her over her first year of life, Jericho came home and after two days, she already liked him better. I think he's been sneaking her ice cream when I'm not around.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_q9QM0oMdYeDDRZGciQS-GRCPwS8YXCtFJ3DlCkJ2wfbH4Jfpwwb74fXNpY40yjI6kh6_AtUQQwTZdHOc5jHv21whorqdpJ9JHA-XN8jVYuYsOngs5MvbH9u60YU5YZmyYHtG8XlTymU/s1600/IMG_2516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="550" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4_q9QM0oMdYeDDRZGciQS-GRCPwS8YXCtFJ3DlCkJ2wfbH4Jfpwwb74fXNpY40yjI6kh6_AtUQQwTZdHOc5jHv21whorqdpJ9JHA-XN8jVYuYsOngs5MvbH9u60YU5YZmyYHtG8XlTymU/s400/IMG_2516.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[how she gives "kisses"]</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
While this year was crazy difficult, the one least affected by it was Sydney and that's what we wanted. She will never know life without her dad. She'll never know how hard life was for her parents during her first year. All she'll know from this point forward is our happy little complete family.<br />
<br />
Happy first birthday to my crazy silly baby. I'm continually amazed at how much joy she brings to so many.<br />
<br />
Speaking of joy, here are some snippets of Sydney devouring her birthday cupcake. She made us proud.<br />
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kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-47509183319926130712012-07-05T07:02:00.000-04:002012-07-05T07:02:00.336-04:00It's Over<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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We're done.<br />
11 months and 4 days. Done. </div>
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Padabure. Padabure. Kick ball change. Jazz hands. Jazz hands. Jiggity Jig. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
If I ever ran longer than 2 miles at once, I'd eloquently relate this to the end of a race and how there's all that overwhelming distance facing you at the beginning and all those painful times you don't think you're ever, ever going to finish. But I don't run so I'm just assuming it's something like that. </div>
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As with all things, there is always an end. </div>
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And we finally got there. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
The end.<br />
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</div>kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-21240613044507070902012-06-25T22:36:00.002-04:002012-06-25T22:36:59.990-04:00Up With The TimesThe other night I experienced a pretty good scare. My child is in the phase where she eats everything. EVERYTHING. It is one of her stronger dog-like attributes. One of her favorite things to gnaw on is my phone. As can be seen here:<br />
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<br />
She was happily gnawing on my phone when it rang and when I answered it, I could hardly hear the person on the other line [Jennifer Kennedy, what up!]. I panicked. Had she finally done serious damage to my phone? I realized she had been slobbering all over the ear piece and the sound seemed to be permanently altered. I took it apart and let it dry out for a while. It eventually started working properly again but during that brief window when I thought I'd need a new phone, I started doing some serious thinking.<br />
<br />
Is now, finally, the time, that I may actually consider getting an iPhone?<br />
<br />
I couldn't believe what I was thinking! It felt dirty and wrong! Yes, that does seem a bit drastic but it may help to<a href="http://ckelleyread.blogspot.com/2009/08/littlest-rebel.html"> read this post I wrote</a> three years ago. You can just skim it. I won't be mad. The applicable part isn't until the end.<br />
<br />
Done? Okay. Back to the issue at hand. As you can see, for years I have lived in open rebellion to the iPhone and any other smart phone. I don't see the purpose of being THAT connected to the internet world. I hate seeing families eating dinner where one or more individuals are glued to a smart phone. I hate seeing a mom stick a video playing on the phone into their toddler's face to quiet them down. I hate seeing pictures of otherwise mundane restaurant food jazzed up with instagram. <br />
<br />
I am a bit of a Luddite. That is apparent in my typical aversion to the smart phone world. I like interacting with people. I like not being yoked to an electronic devise. I like doing things for myself and not relying on the conveniences of some smarty pants phone. <br />
<br />
But the other day at the pool, my friend's baby was fussy and not falling asleep [she was in a car seat, not the pool] and she pulled out her iPhone, pulled up a Baby Einstein video, played it near the baby and the baby was out. Dude. That was pretty cool. Maybe not everything is <i>so </i>evil about having an iPhone...<br />
<br />
Many of you reading this have iPhones. It's becoming the norm. So I turn to you to help me with my pros and cons. My biggest con other than the fact I'll feel like a sell-out and conformist is the money. I have a hard time increasing my monthly cell phone bill that significantly. Which, by the way, I haven't run this past the husband yet so this may all be a moot point because I'm sure he'll poo poo the idea from the moment I utter the word "iPhone".<br />
<br />
Nonetheless, I will be ready for a new phone soon. There seems to be a decent amount of pros to having an iPhone. For one, when I do get a new phone, it'll be the same price if not <i>cheaper </i>than a non-smart phone. <br />
<br />
So what should I do? What are the pros? Do they outweigh the cons? Did anyone else have a hard time with the smart phone transition? Or am I just being dramatic?kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-40425379367114446212012-06-04T21:46:00.001-04:002012-06-04T21:46:39.541-04:00Things I'm Learning 2.0Second pregnancy is easier and harder than first pregnancy. Harder because all the not-so-happy things come earlier and more noticeably, i.e. nausea, aches and pains, big belly. Easier because the time goes by much quicker. I'm already a couple weeks shy of 3rd trimester. Wha?!?<br />
<br />
I have no idea how I'm going to continue carrying Sydney in her car seat as we both keep getting bigger. Maybe I'll prop her up on my growing belly. <br />
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I'm glad I'm showing more. Having a baby under one year old while looking only <i>slightly </i>pregnant made it look like I'm <i>really </i>holding on to the baby weight. <br />
<br />
People continue to work to understand my current baby + new pregnancy situation. I met with a Doc at my OB that I haven't seen since the night before Sydney's delivery. He seemed confused why I was there again. "I think I remember you. But it was for a <i>different </i>baby??" "Yes. Back this soon."<br />
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The number one thing people tell you when they find out you'll have babies 14 months apart: they'll be the BEST of friends!! I haven't figured out if this is comforting enough to get me through the first year. [btw, one of the reasons I'm glad I'm having a boy - teenage girls 14 months apart would have killed me].<br />
<br />
Not sitting at a desk all day is doing wonders for fat-feet syndrome.<br />
<br />
I'm getting better at picking things up with my toes.<br />
<br />
I think I lack the gene that allows me to find nearly any pregnancy photos cute and not incredibly cheesy. Or creepy. But those creepy ones I think we can all agree on. <br />
<br />
The missing aforementioned gene may be a ruse for the fact that I will never, ever be a cute, photographable pregnant girl.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
Ok, I do have a heart. I think this is freaking adorable. </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Maybe I'll cave and try to do this with Sydney, if she doesn't eat the chalkboard first.</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUfeVS6NvPUH-_dmdaz_9bzhyphenhyphenMBKez-KbVjsxyRdDorodyu1u2K5QWIOFT2lHIQMRQaXFxZycEVglO7rzHHYXykP8Q3QZOCiCkO-nuODldE8YPkHA845pTsYQghsaFCoXG9TcNaIUrZUdk/s1600/533177_364596640268754_804443315_n_large.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUfeVS6NvPUH-_dmdaz_9bzhyphenhyphenMBKez-KbVjsxyRdDorodyu1u2K5QWIOFT2lHIQMRQaXFxZycEVglO7rzHHYXykP8Q3QZOCiCkO-nuODldE8YPkHA845pTsYQghsaFCoXG9TcNaIUrZUdk/s1600/533177_364596640268754_804443315_n_large.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[<a href="http://weheartit.com/entry/29454915">via</a>]</td></tr>
</tbody></table>kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-41718360057507612362012-06-01T07:29:00.000-04:002012-06-01T07:29:00.143-04:00One Month<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs5XJ998SjY1-XxFL705M6ygA02FAPe0MG3gl5X_bvCcwIegRhif2J9cTQPpUE_wXZYW5macS0L3NHdxFK0zXSLNyx_DhICeJFQo5H5qtCRH2L4YBp03eyRXKBgGPxuV2_dOv0s99WqW69/s1600/counting-down-the-days.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjs5XJ998SjY1-XxFL705M6ygA02FAPe0MG3gl5X_bvCcwIegRhif2J9cTQPpUE_wXZYW5macS0L3NHdxFK0zXSLNyx_DhICeJFQo5H5qtCRH2L4YBp03eyRXKBgGPxuV2_dOv0s99WqW69/s640/counting-down-the-days.jpg" width="550" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[<a href="http://theastrologyplace.blogspot.com/2011/01/counting-down-days.html">via</a>]</td></tr>
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One month from today, Jericho *could* be home. The *plan* is to be in the states at the end of June and back in North Carolina by July 1st. This has been the *schedule* for some time and is holding *true*.<br />
<br />
That means that one month from today, I *could* be hugging my husband. He *may* be holding his baby girl for the first time in six months. We *may* be a complete in-person family again.<br />
<br />
In one month, I *may* officially end my tenure as a single parent, burning my single mom card forever. I *could* happily begin sharing dish duty again, laundry duty, cleaning duty, and baby duty. [My house won't really be any cleaner because I've done a pretty stellar job keeping it clean on my own. Respect.]<br />
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In one month, my house *might* not be so quiet anymore, my bed not so cold. I *may* be getting to talk to another adult every day. I *may* start annoying Jericho because I won't shut up. <br />
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One more month and I'll *probably* stop crying so much [although I'll still be pregnant so this might not change much]. I *may* not be eating my meals alone. I *could* start getting foot rubs again. I *might* be holding someone's hand and belonging with someone. <br />
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Only one more month... possibly, could be true, crossing our fingers, holding our breaths, maybe, just maybe, and my husband comes home. And home for good. Forever. Never to leave again. <br />
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I can make it. Right? <br />
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</div>kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-24463277158831079272012-05-11T08:57:00.001-04:002012-05-11T08:57:01.785-04:00The Envelope PleaseOne of the bummers about this pregnancy was that Jericho wouldn't be here for the gender ultrasound. I thought about waiting for him to come home in July and we'd go for another ultrasound so we could both be there to have the tech tell us what we're having but July is WAY too long to wait. So I tried to come up with a plan to make it seem like he's still involved in the big news.<br />
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And so I did this.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimRgTJPNMaDkRnOXuPqyRaxCUAzCzsnaaIHk6xEgcUTYygPHhQxBrwfIy084q7DdYBOroNq-j3BPtZgVQKHtucXf6gB3K6rBgtHJoOw3iPd4ilq2wdhlY-ZALrIJGaMvqqqW4QQzQEKLr8/s1600/IMG_2234.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimRgTJPNMaDkRnOXuPqyRaxCUAzCzsnaaIHk6xEgcUTYygPHhQxBrwfIy084q7DdYBOroNq-j3BPtZgVQKHtucXf6gB3K6rBgtHJoOw3iPd4ilq2wdhlY-ZALrIJGaMvqqqW4QQzQEKLr8/s640/IMG_2234.JPG" width="550" /></a></div>
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This is the super secret gender envelope. On May 2nd, I went to my doc and told the tech that I didn't want her to tell me the gender but then handed her an envelope and note card and told her to write it down. She knows that my husband is overseas so I told her my little plan and she went along with it beautifully. She never let it slip and when all the picture taking was done, she turned away and put the printed gender pictures in the envelope and never let it slip. She sealed it up and handed it over.<br />
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Then I put it in a "Happy Anniversary" card and put it in the mail to Afghanistan that day.<br />
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Jericho was then to get my letter with its secret contents, wait for a time when we could talk on Skype and open it for the first time. That way he would be the first person to know the gender and then get to share it with me. Men don't really get to have the same kind of pregnancy excitement as us women, and they're probably fine with that, but I figured this plan would at least make ME feel more like he gets to be as excited. <br />
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You probably don't really care about what I did and why so here's the real reason for the post:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitp3NxyLDjl7ol7ybnH29nmoV6SB72-Qhm5FbXnA6X8HfPq0VOf2_6BvMqniMhDesdJKHOWrs-6JJIIQb69eiJwH_X5AS1gDuCAkzRWhUWpJOkC5RbCysIT0euTJ1KYwVkB3gXb8fyYmbS/s1600/Video+call+snapshot+1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitp3NxyLDjl7ol7ybnH29nmoV6SB72-Qhm5FbXnA6X8HfPq0VOf2_6BvMqniMhDesdJKHOWrs-6JJIIQb69eiJwH_X5AS1gDuCAkzRWhUWpJOkC5RbCysIT0euTJ1KYwVkB3gXb8fyYmbS/s1600/Video+call+snapshot+1.png" /></a></div>
<br />
What? You can't read what's typed on the ultrasound picture?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><span style="font-size: large;">In teeny little letters is typed "I'm a BOY!!!"</span></b></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: justify;">
So there ya go. We're having a boy!!! Since the beginning, Jericho has only referred to new baby in male pronouns because he was convinced it would be a boy so why refer to him as anything else. Because we both were preferring a boy for this baby, I was so sure that would mean this would be another girl. But nope! We get our boy. One girl. One boy. Next we just need a dog and picket fence and we'll have our All-American suburban family. </div>kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-80656217563822193542012-05-02T10:00:00.000-04:002012-05-02T10:00:04.350-04:00What It's Like<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Ul7Wsvz-zefj6j3I2rHuEL8mKlfujOeS9wHkFf20zPbN2RZPZlYAxkBzQhxUdFmnnD_M1JuMT4HoHLnaQAFpwzw9JBfXB_sPRZFaiBkpj_vYMbsFvfIPlb-XkAF7IIMsfQRfUMzNkxFS/s1600/wedding6+sepia.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Ul7Wsvz-zefj6j3I2rHuEL8mKlfujOeS9wHkFf20zPbN2RZPZlYAxkBzQhxUdFmnnD_M1JuMT4HoHLnaQAFpwzw9JBfXB_sPRZFaiBkpj_vYMbsFvfIPlb-XkAF7IIMsfQRfUMzNkxFS/s640/wedding6+sepia.jpg" width="424" /></a></div>
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Today is my anniversary. I have been married for three years. It feels so short but yet it's hard to remember what it was like before Jericho. This anniversary I am celebrating alone. Well, technically I celebrated with the ultrasound tech this morning at my OB, but that doesn't really count. <br />
<br />
Not counting the two little breaks when I was able to see Jericho, we have been apart for nine months. When he first left, those first few weeks, I finally understood what melodramatic people meant when they say their heart is breaking. I physically hurt. No one could ask me about Jericho. I couldn't talk about him. I fell asleep to an open laptop with a picture of us on the screen. I clutched my phone like a lifeline, waiting for it to ring or beep with some sort of connection to him. I eventually got over the shock of him being gone but I always had this feeling. Like the odd, slightly awkward feeling of having left for the day without putting on my watch, sensing something that should be there but wasn't. <br />
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I don't really know yet what it's like to take care of children with a husband so I can't really contrast what it's like to do it by myself. I <i>can </i>tell you what it's like to be on permanent diaper duty or feeding or rocking baby to sleep duty. Or wishing I had someone else to carry her car seat. Or clean the bottles for the thousandth time. I can tell you what it's like to keep track of continuous tearless days because I consider them an accomplishment. <br />
<br />
I recently read a story where a woman described how her father taught her to swim as a young child. He picked her up and threw her into the middle of the pool. She gasped and choked and flailed in the water until he took her out. She caught her breath and he did it again. And again. Until she started treading water and keeping herself afloat. Some of you more independent, less needy people may not relate to this comparison but this is what it's often like to parent by yourself. Those moments of breaking take away all patience and calm and fill you with a need to cling to someone else, that the only way out of this is with the support that only a spouse can give. The moments come in waves. But eventually, your instincts of fear and need turn into ones of self-sufficiency and survival. <br />
<br />
Jericho not being here as an extra set of hands to help take care
of the baby and our house is only part of what it's like. Sure the logistics of being
a single parent are a pain in the tush but it's doable. People can bring me meals or watch Sydney or mow my lawn and it's awesomely helpful. But nothing touches what it's like to be without my husband.<br />
<br />
First of all, as great as my friends are, you can't kiss me. I'm sorry. No manner of babysitting or warm dinners make me forget what it's like to be kissed. Don't take for granted how magical it is to kiss your spouse. If they're there, go kiss them. Right now. <br />
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And while you're over there, talk to them for a bit. While emails and Skype are lovely luxuries to ease the pain of distance, having your spouse to talk to daily cannot be matched. The fact that I can't pick up the phone whenever I want and call Jericho to talk me through things or even more important, to be my confidant and support, to talk me down from my ledges, to hug me and scratch my back, is an adjustment that I still haven't made. It makes me convinced I always want to hold the presence of my spouse in my life with the highest regard. <br />
<br />
I don't get to talk to Jericho daily anymore. The days I do get to talk to him, things are easier. Sure it makes me happy but it's more than that. I feel normal and complete. I'm Drew Barrymore on the days I meet Adam Sandler, singing my Beach Boys songs. <br />
<br />
It's hard not to feel lonely when my house still feels like Jericho lives in it but I prefer it that way. I've purposely left some things the same as when he was last here. I haven't kept all his dirty clothes hanging out or anything. That's just weird. But there are still two toothbrushes in our holder. His dirty, outside shoes are still in the garage from the last time he wore them. I still sleep on my side of the bed and haven't morphed into sleeping diagonally with 20 pillows like I did in my single days. <br />
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I have a husband. I really do. He's just not here. And I'm grateful for every day that it still affects me.<br />
<br />
I have a little under three months until Jericho comes home. Do you know what that's like? Have you ever seen <i>Sense and Sensibility</i>? There is this part at the end when Eleanor, who recently thought Edward, the love of her life, got married to someone else. Edward comes to visit and reveals that he is, in fact, NOT married, and Eleanor collapses into a chair with these choking tears and gasps because she can no longer contain her excitement to find out that he's not married and is there to propose to her. That is what it's like to think about my husband coming home. <br />
<br />
Happy three years. May we never, ever, ever, ever be apart again. Ever. <br />
<br />kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-5586548723182138612012-04-29T21:50:00.001-04:002012-04-29T21:53:02.740-04:00Nine Months In, Nine Months OutThe progress from month eight to month nine has been huge. The change from immobile to mobile baby feels like a lifetime of difference. I sometimes long for the days when my baby didn't move. And didn't have permanent bruises from the learning processes. <br />
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I'm only adding a few pictures because not many are needed to illustrate what life is like now that I have a mobile baby.<br />
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Most of the video I take is for Jericho but thought I'd share this one with you. It makes me laugh. This is what crawling Sydney is like. The first crawling was in a perimeter of about 5 feet. Then slowly got bigger and is now limited only by walls and doors and mommy. It's hard to take pictures of her if I sit on the floor, because once she sees me with the camera, this is what happens. If I didn't know she was making a dash for the camera, I'd be afraid she was coming to eat my face. <br />
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Nine-month coolness: </div>
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~rolling from back to belly (finally)</div>
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~still eats like a champ</div>
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~can grab finger foods and gets them in her mouth about 75% of the time</div>
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~roughly understands the concept of a sippy cup</div>
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~lost all interest in her toys and only has eyes for everything she's not supposed to</div>
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~crawling up a storm</div>
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~pulling up and standing</div>
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~slow shimmy around the ottoman while standing/holding on</div>
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~4 visible teeth<br />
~occasionally lets me hold her while she goes to sleep. this is huge<br />
~people's shock when they hear how loud such a sweet-looking baby can be </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Smith Family Fun Fact: there is a picture of me in this same chair at about the same age. If I had a scanner, I'd have a super cutesy side-by-side comparison of us. We actually don't look that much alike. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Don't you wish you was as cool as me.</span></td></tr>
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Oh and I am now 20 weeks pregnant. The half-way mark! More or less. And ya know what else? I get my gender ultrasound this week. Care to venture a guess?? But I'm not finding out the gender that exact day. I'll explain later. I hope my little plan works out because it should be cool. Time sure does go by faster with the 2nd baby. If I wasn't already growing out of my clothes, I'd probably completely forget that I'm pregnant.kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-3272525822073327612012-04-24T10:33:00.000-04:002012-04-24T10:33:05.601-04:00The New Guy<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When people find out I have a little baby and I'm doing it by myself right now, they say things [in soft, sweet, "bless yur heart" tones], like "Wow. I don't know how you do it", or "And you're doing so WELL." <br />
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For one, NOT doing it isn't really an option. Doing it well? Doing it with patience and a happy-go-lucky grin on my face? That's just what I try to do in public. <br />
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I used to work in downtown Raleigh at its height of demo and construction. One thing I learned while working so close to the construction scene was how they handle the new guy situation [I actually have not confirmed this so I could very well be completely wrong]. One day while walking to lunch, I saw a group of workers with one guy wearing a different safety vest than the others. It said something like "danger" or "trainee" or "novice" or "new" on the back. I didn't ask them about it but concluded that on a construction site, it's important to note who the new guy is. Like the vest is saying, "I'm new so if you see me with a nail gun or blow torch, be on the ready because it is totally expected that I may injure you during my learning process but I'm new, so either help me out or cut me some slack." <br />
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I sometimes think moms need a vest. Mine would be a "new-mom-in-training" vest. Others could say, "potty training" or "teenager driving" or "24/7 colic". That way when you see a mom break into tears because they're out of her favorite shampoo, people will just know and say a little silent prayer or buy them an ice cream cone instead of thinking they're crazy. Or like with me, walking around with my one-socked baby or third day in a row without washing my hair, all judgements will be set aside.<br />
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The other day I was standing outside a restaurant with baby Sydney because she was being frustrating and noisy. [Most of the time when I take her outside places, it's just as much to calm me down so we aren't both being spastic in public.] A lady passed by and said with a smile, "I remember those days." It was a kind little boost. I didn't even need a vest. <br />
<br />
Another benefit to wearing a mom vest is so the need for help can be
implied. Even at this, my most neediest point in life ever, I don't know
how to ask for help or what to ask for. People offer all the time and I
honestly don't have answers for them. It's hard to say, "Just follow me
around all day and do my dishes and put my clean clothes away and spray my face with water and hand me a towel." But, if I had a snazzy vest, I wouldn't
have to come up with stuff. We could all know that when we see
someone's respective mom vest to just snap into action. Because, I don't
know about you, but I don't normally go about my day thinking up stuff
for people to do for me.<br />
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As is true with most, I would love for my outward behavior to always proclaim, "I got this", but I have a feeling that's not going to happen for a while. Once my new-baby vest is gone, I'll be donning a toddler + 2nd-new-baby vest and I'll feel like the newby all over again. And yes, I'll be needing an ice cream cone.kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-447523769189440212012-04-11T22:11:00.001-04:002012-04-11T22:11:58.794-04:00Eight Months in PicturesMarch 29th, Sydney turned eight months old. I can no longer take my standard aerial shot to show how much Sydney has grown in the past month. She's too big and she's way too squirmy. A lot has happened with this little monkey in one month. I've taken a lot of pictures to send to Jericho because there are just so many great little things she's doing. So now I'm putting them on the blog because this is what I do now. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">She smiles all the time but when she's not, those faces are just as great. The girl will stare you DOWN. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">We've discovered the swings. They're pretty much awesome. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Her focus kills me. She's totally a tag girl. And remote controls. And my cell phone. Who needs toys?? And couldn't you just eat those cheeks!!!! </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">And I get my picture taken every now and then. At least my hair looks nice. As much as I love my house, my parents' house still makes for a better picture backdrop. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">See. She smiles. </span> </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDG14FdhRt1zBYDw7Fp1e6jQYihsQf04ky4b9YOfAZeocU281mjmaO3DDymZms46fk4HWMXtP2ontkiQ_qa_O-f0qcZ7UIzJvXFxU1RrlwkuekvKmKhvKj5X7nSveVHBo81wVH7vGREzx/s1600/IMG_2114.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhDG14FdhRt1zBYDw7Fp1e6jQYihsQf04ky4b9YOfAZeocU281mjmaO3DDymZms46fk4HWMXtP2ontkiQ_qa_O-f0qcZ7UIzJvXFxU1RrlwkuekvKmKhvKj5X7nSveVHBo81wVH7vGREzx/s640/IMG_2114.JPG" width="550" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">This is what happens when she learns how to move on her own. I came back in the room and this was definitely not where she started. The drawstring on the shorts was far too tempting to stay where she was. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjswHJItE8FtvBBgI6DU2DG4ZW0LR41OSY4CzS6hrr7bt_1x2fPtaMDYZSPs_-PKLG3tt4IEMp1eYHKrPjuGjwrARSJWis4d1QnSh_WgOmOqRk7biNL4PXMbx5BkU7Ybttfp-Y7RVIuraVb/s1600/IMG_2106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjswHJItE8FtvBBgI6DU2DG4ZW0LR41OSY4CzS6hrr7bt_1x2fPtaMDYZSPs_-PKLG3tt4IEMp1eYHKrPjuGjwrARSJWis4d1QnSh_WgOmOqRk7biNL4PXMbx5BkU7Ybttfp-Y7RVIuraVb/s640/IMG_2106.JPG" width="550" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">She's still a bit small for her big girl high chair. So she insists on sitting like this while waiting for food. </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikSmpMtYBAhMWj77al-EyIB69EChjNGEWDfPS-vY3M9vWSTeqf61mnc0QR0jTGmSl3RfnhTpLmu_h4r7HQozNYZHYyiqhlg0drufqfbXrgzIYmP16JPnxqfZpaaL_ZlZoPD515d0tmS-sx/s1600/IMG_2117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikSmpMtYBAhMWj77al-EyIB69EChjNGEWDfPS-vY3M9vWSTeqf61mnc0QR0jTGmSl3RfnhTpLmu_h4r7HQozNYZHYyiqhlg0drufqfbXrgzIYmP16JPnxqfZpaaL_ZlZoPD515d0tmS-sx/s640/IMG_2117.JPG" width="550" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">My sweet little baby got her first cold and subsequent ear infection last week. I thought this was good cause for making up her sick bed in mama's bed and letting her watch TV with me. Plus we only have one box of tissues and since I was still sick too, we had to share the tissues and humidifier. </span><span style="font-size: small;">She also now thinks the bulb snot sucker is the devil.</span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPC2o-SFZdupjnOqSXO9zjYk-8TqIF9uQph44ShIdgCl_z65orvo0qV9v1tVIDLUjly2HrJtrXRu7mNa7Bn1lYFYDGTaN9yoV55D5CcuZUS4j_clhhuHAjsIltDlt4xlWfZPxcM-L4BAK/s1600/IMG_2094.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvPC2o-SFZdupjnOqSXO9zjYk-8TqIF9uQph44ShIdgCl_z65orvo0qV9v1tVIDLUjly2HrJtrXRu7mNa7Bn1lYFYDGTaN9yoV55D5CcuZUS4j_clhhuHAjsIltDlt4xlWfZPxcM-L4BAK/s640/IMG_2094.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Playing in her corral of pillows. It's not to break her fall but to keep the little toy balls contained since she likes to roll them as far away as possible and mama gets tired of hunting them down. </span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgorRswUE6CRxq_RT01KacrV7dpjlU7nzTYEHvfu5rgFcVtzO_qQ60oNBXzco3Uqw_f4L-Kns97miw9Jub7VJa_iGqFnpBPbOMrlj3dJeKl1FndUr3XohMdHw0wsu5OBe5lrJb2DYoYKSc5/s1600/IMG_2080.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgorRswUE6CRxq_RT01KacrV7dpjlU7nzTYEHvfu5rgFcVtzO_qQ60oNBXzco3Uqw_f4L-Kns97miw9Jub7VJa_iGqFnpBPbOMrlj3dJeKl1FndUr3XohMdHw0wsu5OBe5lrJb2DYoYKSc5/s640/IMG_2080.JPG" width="550" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">And check me out! I grew things! I wish I had a picture of all the tulips in bloom. I planted 75 last fall. My yard was a-popping with color. [Pay no attention to my still-dormant grass.]</span></td></tr>
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<br />kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1147312878657678801.post-77638675928566317512012-04-03T22:54:00.002-04:002012-04-03T22:54:33.985-04:00I CAN Write ThingsJericho recently asked me if I had anything to blog about. "Nope." I got nothing. This year has been complete creative rubbish. If I didn't have my baby, I don't think I'd be blogging at all. I feel about blogging like I do about giving presents. I don't want to do it unless it's something totally stellar. If I write something that I'm not proud of or, even <i>worse</i>, something that people aren't going to read, I won't write it. But I have now resolved to make a greater effort to blog more, regardless of my worries. Think harder. Be more creative. Observe more. Write. Write. Write. <br />
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Someone once told me I could find a story to tell about anything. I laughed and doubted his assessment. He then said "No seriously. Fire hydrants. Go." And then I proceeded to tell him a story about a series of paintings I did in art class in elementary school of a fire hydrant in various environmental stages. And that the reason I picked the fire hydrant as my stationary subject for the paintings was because of stories my mom told of growing up in downtown Philadelphia and playing in the hydrants during the summers. "See", he said. Fine.<br />
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I thought maybe I should take this route whenever I'm stuck on something to write about. Since I don't have a someone to give me random topics, I thought I'd consult this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglW0f5XPFWgvW2nYk_fMSbNdEoDy8nZdW7-TYEPBZlSJT8lbS7OF364I7fp96AcogLttPb8DgNCifGMfHuoIsOwssdvh7ZGqKhQfYqg7-LqC5zKdM3r65gzlc17xAZ0KoMw0N_ifRuN1OG/s1600/IMG_2126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglW0f5XPFWgvW2nYk_fMSbNdEoDy8nZdW7-TYEPBZlSJT8lbS7OF364I7fp96AcogLttPb8DgNCifGMfHuoIsOwssdvh7ZGqKhQfYqg7-LqC5zKdM3r65gzlc17xAZ0KoMw0N_ifRuN1OG/s400/IMG_2126.JPG" width="300" /></a></div>
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This is a Journal Jar. I think I got it as Mia Maid from one of my teachers. It's filled with little topics to write about if you're getting started with journal writing and need things to write about. The quote on top is from Spencer W. Kimball: "Get a notebook... a journal that will last through all time, and maybe the angels will quote from it for eternity." Bah! None of mine from ages 12-18 will be quoted unless the angels are sitting around for some comic relief, slapping their knees going, "Oh oh, hold on, here's a great one from the night of her first kiss." </div>
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I thought I'd write about the first slip of paper I pulled out but it said "Tell everything you did today." And MAN, would that be boring. So I kept pulling until I found one blog-worthy. I managed to find two that were nicely related. </div>
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What were/are your fears about getting married? </div>
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What were/are your expectations about getting married? </div>
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Fears: </div>
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I'm going to answer this as best I can in past-Kelley thoughts since now that I've been married a whopping 3 years, my fears have changed and are fairly non-existent and are things like, "My marriage will end if I forget to pay the bills while Jericho is away." </div>
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My greatest fear as a teen about marriage was that it would never happen because no boy would like me because all my friends at boyfriends and I didn't and I didn't have cute hair or cute clothes and I'd have to settle for some loser guy who couldn't do any better. My greatest fear as a young adult was that I wouldn't be able to find someone with whom to fall in love. I <i>loved </i>boys. I <i>loved </i>dating and kissing. A LOT. But I never had the love bug or the commitment bug. For a WHILE. It took a lengthy relationship and a very, very patient Jericho to realize I could do it. </div>
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Expectations: </div>
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My young-Kelley expectations about marriage probably involved freakishly similar tastes in all things in life. Agreeing on all subjects. Laughing boisterously at the same jokes. Playing tennis on Saturdays in matching white outfits. Giddily in love every second of our lives. Once I got into the real-life dating world, my expectations were mainly centered on happiness. I wanted whatever it took to be happy forever. </div>
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In one of our super final of all final conversations about getting married, I told Jericho I would marry him on three conditions. 1- He would always find a way to provide for our family. Always. 2- He would take me to Europe. 3- I can't for the life of me remember what the third one was. It was probably something like- Always tell me I'm drop dead gorgeous no matter how fat I get when I'm pregnant. </div>
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In all honesty, my fears/expectations changed once I decided to marry Jericho. One of the reasons I wanted to marry him was that I never feared anything. I felt so incredibly secure with what our future would be, our family, everything. It's one of the reasons this time apart hasn't been nearly as tough as it could be. Sure there are still "what ifs" in the back of my mind and I know things will come up as we go through life together. But part of my decision-making process to marry Jericho was realizing that the whole fears/expectations thing about marriage diminishes greatly when you are with the right person. </div>
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The End. I'll stop dropping my still-somewhat-newlywed pearls of marriage wisdom on you. </div>kelleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03977519857849750493noreply@blogger.com1