tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-48413722082550900752024-02-18T23:44:30.898-08:00Snort Laughing Mom"She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come." Proverbs 31:25Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.comBlogger51125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-76467782237922449122013-06-10T15:50:00.000-07:002013-06-11T08:31:01.607-07:00Like a Blast of Reddi Wip<div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">
The children's Dad came to pick them up for visitation this weekend, as usual. But two hours in advance, he texted me, saying he'd be a half-hour late. OK, whatever. Then, while he was in the driveway, his tire was suddenly flat. Like, totally flat. Much to my frustration, he didn't seem in the least bit surprised.....which made me suspect he knew the tire had a problem. Then (confirming my suspicions) he pulled out an air pump that he'd been keeping in the passenger seat; apparently nursing the tire along regularly. The best part? Even the air pump was partially broken. Apparently, he'd been nursing THAT along for a while as well. In the end, we had to drive him to Wal-Mart, where he bought an aerosol can of "Fix-A-Flat" (or whatever it's called.) It looks like a can of Reddi Wip--but for your tire. Amazingly, this worked! The tire held enough air for him to drive on it, even though the tire was showing visible wear from riding so low on the rim regularly. Afterward, when I asked him when he would get the tire replaced, he looked at me, perplexed, </div>
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"But it's fixed now," he said blankly.</div>
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He drove away with my babies, and I ran into the house and tore all my hair out one strand at a time. After that, I realized the episode hit a nerve. He treated that tire exactly the same way that he always did our marriage. With the tire, he had known for a long time that it had a slow leak. He occasionally put enough air into it to keep going. When it suddenly deflated, he was shocked, and treated it like a surprise emergency, which then justified inconveniencing everyone around him. I don't think it ever crossed his mind to actually fix the problem, and if anyone did suggest it to him, he just blew it off. Our marriage was the same: a slow leak that he never thought to fix with anything other than just enough air to keep going, or an occasional blast of "Fix-A-Marriage."</div>
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This makes me want to come up with some sort of witty remark to the effect that I guess I rank right up there with an old tire.....but nothing's coming to me at the moment except a desire to go eat some Reddi Wip straight from the can.</div>
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Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-87602235153553942032013-03-15T09:07:00.001-07:002013-03-15T09:09:56.677-07:00Homeschooling Journal 3/15I've become an accidental homeschooler. And by "accidental" I mean that my son just got expelled. He's in second grade. Awesome, right? At least he got expelled from a private Christian school. If he'd been expelled from the public school, we would be in much deeper kimchi. As it is, he's just continuing the 3-generation family legacy of getting kicked out of Christian education establishments. (Don't ask, the stories aren't as illustrious as they sound. OK, maybe they are. Some day I'll write about them.) <br />
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Anyway, this kiddo has some behavior "issues" that make him a little tough to handle. (OK, at *lot* tough to handle.) And one of his issues is difficulty with transitions. It takes hims 8-12 weeks to acclimate to a new school or environment. And during that time, there's a lot of stress and chaos and visits to the principal's office. So, with about that much left of the school year, it didn't seem like a good idea to plop him back into public school, just so he could spend the rest of the year getting in trouble and trying to catch on to a different curriculum. So, we're homeschooling until June unless I blow a gasket and hit the panic button; which I'm giving myself carte blanche to do, if I'm totally losing it. Then (If I need a break from him) he'll go back to public <strike>daycare</strike> school for the rest of the year, so I can take a breather.<br />
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Homeschooling started off this week with a real bang. For the purposes of this blog post, "bang" will be defined as the worst stomach and intestinal bug that I've experienced in 20 years. Three out of the five of us have been hit so far, and not much schooling was going on. But despite all that, I'm not deterred. And today is the first day this week that everyone is well, and the two girls are both at school.<br />
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So, today, we are trying in earnest. But since this wasn't planned, I don't have much in the way of curriculum going on, so I'm going to log some of what we're doing here. These posts will probably be pretty boring, as I'm going to use them as a journal of sorts. So, feel free to ignore the "Homeschooling Journal" blog posts. Today, we<br />
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-Worked on understanding simple division using a worksheet (which he didn't understand) and finally using raisins on the table. Jacob still confuses division and multiplication. Using the raisins helped a lot. Then, Jacob created a Lego scene, and used Legos to demonstrate division into groups.<br />
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-Found a free typing tutor online. Jacob loved this, and worked on it for 45 minutes. He is on the Home Keys.<br />
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-Did PE outside with the dog<br />
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-Started reading The Wheel on the School<br />
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Earlier this week (when I was sick) Jacob also:<br />
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-Played with a Wild West sticker book, and created a "Bank Robbery at High Noon" scene with the stickers. Then, he wrote a paragraph about the bank robbery. First he created a "sloppy copy" and then we did corrections, and he rewrote a final draft.<br />
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-He played a Lego battle with his brother, who was also home sick. Then, he wrote a 4 sentence paragraph about the battle, including a rough draft, corrections, and final draft. We are starting to talk about the "hamburger" paragraph concept.Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-39668927104776792332013-01-08T15:23:00.002-08:002013-01-08T15:37:41.351-08:00What I Cooked: Brunswick Stew for a CrowdMy Dad's favorite. Turned out fantastic--best i've ever cooked. Made for his birthday, last night. Huge pot. Served 12 with ample leftovers.<br />
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Prep time: 30 minutes (all the chopping!)<br />
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Ingredients:<br />
Several pounds of meat (I used pork chops)<br />
2 14-oz cans diced tomatoes<br />
1 small can tomato sauce<br />
1 can V8 juice<br />
3 cans chicken broth<br />
1 can corn<br />
2 small packages of frozen succotash<br />
5 extra large potatoes, or 10-12 smaller ones, cubed in hearty chunks<br />
extra frozen lima beans if you want them (there wasn't enough for me!)<br />
a few celery stalks, diced<br />
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Spices: <br />
2 bay leaves<br />
Poultry seasoning<br />
Worcestire sauce and salt to taste<br />
Dash of wine<br />
salt and pepper to taste<br />
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Directions:<br />
Sear meat in some olive oil, while salting and peppering each side as you go<br />
Degalze pan with a little wine or broth, then add the rest of the broth<br />
bring to a boil and add all the various tomatoes<br />
lower heat<br />
Add potatoes and celery, and simmer on low until potatoes and meat are tender (several hours, if possible)<br />
At the end, add all the corn and Lima beans, and boil until everything is tender, about 20-30 minutes<br />
Before serving, remove any bones from the pork chops, and shred/cut up the meat to distribute evenly. Remove any visible fat and bay leaves. Salt and pepper to taste.<br />
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I used the various types of corn and canned ingredients, because that's what i had, but i could have substituted things if i needed to. Don't use too much Worcestire sauce--that's why i had to add the canned corn (added sweetness), to cut down on the "sour-ness" because i overdid it on the Worcestire!Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-84964928842750187522013-01-08T13:52:00.000-08:002013-01-08T13:52:07.403-08:00What I Cooked: Lentil Quinoa Tomato StewI'm starting a chronicle of my cooking on here--not because I'm a great chef, but because I'm a lazy, make-due-with-what-you-have cook, and I rarely remember my "recipes" even if they were really good. If something works out, I'm going to keep track of it here, so I can repeat it.<br />
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This was INHALED by my kids, and I liked it too.<br />
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Prep time: 15 minutes<br />
Cook time: 1 hour on the stove<br />
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Ingredients:<br />
1 piece of meat (I used a large pork chop type piece that was double sized, yet flat)<br />
1 Package Lentils<br />
3 handfuls of Quinoa<br />
1 can tomatoes with mild green chiles<br />
1 can stewed tomatoes<br />
A bunch of carrots, cut into large chunks<br />
Spices: Cumin, "Foxpoint Seasoning" (mostly parsely?)<br />
About 8 c. or water/broth, or more, if needed<br />
Salt to taste<br />
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Directions:<br />
Sear meat on high heat in bottom of pan in some olive oil<br />
Deglaze pan with some water or broth<br />
Bring to a boil<br />
Add remaining water and all other ingredients<br />
Turn down burner to low<br />
Simmer for an hour or more, or until lentils are soft and flavors are mixed<br />
Salt to taste<br />
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I was out of broth, so I used water in this recipe, and it was still extremely flavorful.Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-37722262287111466342012-07-27T20:23:00.000-07:002012-07-27T20:48:23.355-07:00Five Minute Friday: BeyondEvery Friday, Gypsy Mama has a writing exercise called "Five Minute Friday." Each Friday, she gives a prompt, and you write for just five minutes on that prompt. In her words, "No extreme editing; no worrying about perfect grammar, font, or punctuation. <strong> </strong>Unscripted. Unedited. Real." The main rule is:<br />
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<em>"1. Write for 5 minutes flat – no editing, no over thinking, no backtracking."</em><br />
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<strong>This is my first, ever attempt! So please forgive the stream-of-consciousness.</strong><br />
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This week's prompt is:<strong> <u>Beyond</u></strong><br />
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It's amazing how often things go beyond what we imagine; sometimes, in a better way, and sometimes in a worse way. I guess I mean that sometimes things wildly exceed our expectations, our dreams taking on wings of their own, soaring high, high above us. And sometimes things get much more out of joint--out of sync--than we ever thought possible.<br />
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I think of the ways in which I, myself, have gone beyond what I ever thought possible for me--maybe even beyond what I somehow thought was humanly possible. I gave birth in my upstairs bathroom. Almost completely alone; completely alone, in fact, until the very last minute, when a friend came in. My strength has lasted beyond what I thought possible, as a single mother; hardly noticing now that i do the job of two people...or more. I can't even remember the days when my husband was still here. My muscles have performed beyond what I thought possible, now that i'm running again. It's exciting to see how I underestimated myself.</div>
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Sometimes a nightmare can go beyond what you ever imagined possible. How did the dysfunction in my marriage go way beyond the bounds of normal? How did my pain and suffering in that relationship go beyond what I could have fathomed? Looking at my wedding pictures, I had no idea....</div>
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I wish I always felt like God has gone beyond my expectations. Sometimes, in moments of reflection and gratitude, I know He has. Other times, if I'm honest, I feel like asking, "Is there really something beyond all this, God?"</div>
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<br /></div>Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-51823256486153640712012-07-21T13:46:00.003-07:002012-07-21T14:32:31.830-07:00We're back! Happy Birthday, Mr. DWe're home from our 3 week trip to Colorado. Sort of. Adjusting to the time change is MUCH harder when you're coming back East! So, we're on a late-ish schedule, but it's summer, so who cares! I've also lost my cell phone, so I still feel disconnected, but I'm enjoying it in a way. Things sure are quieter!<br />
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I can hardly believe that my oldest is turning 10 tomorrow. How can my baby be hitting double-digits? We went on a lovely "date" last night, thanks to my parents babysitting the other three kids. And let me tell you, it was LONG overdue. I can't remember the last time just the two of us did something together. I always say, "I fall in love with each of my children again when we get one-on-one time." And, boy, is it true. If you don't do it regularly, try "dating" your kids. It is a breath of fresh air, in the midst of the usual refereeing and multi-tasking. <br />
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In keeping with my "no boundaries" motto this year, we did something radical--rock climbing! I am pathetically afraid of heights, so this was big, folks. And we went here. <strong>Yeah. IT ROCKED!!!</strong> (he he he-sorry!)<br />
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My boy was the star. Really. All the other parents kept asking me, "Has he been doing this for a while?" Uhhhh....no. He's a novice. That's just pure talent. He didn't get those genes from me!<br />
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How can can this big boy with the man-feet be my lil' guy?? I remember when you were just two years old and running around the living room, laughing and clapping your chubby hands. I thought it would never, never end. How wrong I was. I wasn't prepared for being so teary this weekend, but I am! I love you, Dom the Bomb. <br />
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Ha!!! Just kidding! This is it. I have a "laundry nook" that is about 5 feet wide, and contains a washer and sink, but <strong>no dryer</strong>. I <em>am</em> lucky enough to have a dryer, however, it's about 15 feet away on the other side of the room...Not sure where they were going with that....<br />
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Anyway, I'm doing a lot of laundry as <strong>I'm preparing for a three week trip with all four kids</strong>. We'll be staying in a hotel--courtesy of the fact that we can tag along with my father on business, and with just an "upgrade fee", we can get a 2-bedroom suite. Now don't get me wrong, it will still be cramped, because there are still only two beds (for 7 people!) But we took this same trip last year, and it was great. I just considered it to be "better than camping," and that made me thankful for the hot water and lack of mosquitoes, and less focused on the cramped hotel, kids everywhere, and sleeping on the floor. The other thing that puts the experience leagues beyond camping is the in-house laundry facilities! So, while we're at the hotel, I like to throw in one load of laundry each night.<br />
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Now, about me and laundry: I'm a laundry sorter--always have been. (If you're not a laundry sorter, then no need to read further!) My mom was (and is) meticulous about sorting the laundry into at least several different types of loads, usually to the tune of: lights, darks, whites, pinks/reds, and delicates. That's a lot of different loads! I know some moms who swear they get around this completely by washing all their clothes together on cold. However, this has never worked for me. The clothes still all seem to turn out gray-ish pink, and they don't get clean--especially the kids' clothes, which have caked-on dirt, food, grass stains, and worse. Those need a hot water wash. So, I follow my Mom's old protocol of running many different types of loads, and washing them accordingly.<br />
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Anyway, back to my packing adventures. As I packed for our last trip, I tried an experiment that (at first) seemed crazy. But it worked, and I plan to do it again. I packed only items that could be washed in two separate types of loads. And they had to work for ALL FIVE people, including two little frilly, princess-y girls, and two rough-and-tumble, football-playing boys, and, of course, <em>moi</em>. So, I was surprised by what ended up evolving, but it worked! <br />
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I only packed items that could be washed in either a "pink/red" load or a "darks" load. That's it: no white t-shirts, no yellow shorts. If the item was not red, pink, orange, black, gray, denim, or something similar--it was not getting packed!! I was ruthless, but it actually worked! It meant that the boys could pack any t-shirt that was red or black. Any jeans or dark shorts/pants worked just fine. The girls could bring along as much pink as their hearts desired, and I got to bring my gray yoga pants, orange tank top, and my little black dress. We even packed underwear that was (you guessed it) black, pink or red. Black sports bra? Check! It was easier than I thought it would be. <br />
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This time, we have the added "complication" of being there over the July 4th holiday, and my kids want to dress "patriotic." No problem! They'll be wearing red and navy.<br />
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And now.....I've created this compelling Photshop masterpiece for all you Doubting Thomases.<br />
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My apologies to my white running socks. You were the one, sorry, set of items that didn't work with my scenario. But don't worry, this time I'm bringing you anyway. I promise to bleach the heck out of you when we return home.Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-30929737603765341982012-06-10T10:22:00.000-07:002012-06-14T10:22:47.010-07:00<div class="quoteText">
“I'm selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can't handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don't deserve me at my best.” <br />― <a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/82952.Marilyn_Monroe">Marilyn Monroe</a> </div>
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Maybe not the best role-model, but there's something worth pondering here. I guess her quote really sums up the definition of "Diva"--in its own way. And there's a little bit of the "Diva" in every one of us women--whether we like to admit it or not.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigQ9qSqPIQ_YaqGkLm8Wox06tHINMxZTHPprkwR620dalhUqfNnxhd2EpT_WAKSEXoeAyP7nN55F1ztl3aS9xOcGRwDY_BLm1y0jYlvbOkZTqjd5lx2H04li2L-n_2IRpn2ck5KHQodvo/s1600/marilyn-monroe-0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" pca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigQ9qSqPIQ_YaqGkLm8Wox06tHINMxZTHPprkwR620dalhUqfNnxhd2EpT_WAKSEXoeAyP7nN55F1ztl3aS9xOcGRwDY_BLm1y0jYlvbOkZTqjd5lx2H04li2L-n_2IRpn2ck5KHQodvo/s320/marilyn-monroe-0003.jpg" width="237" /></a></div>
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Not exactly twiggy, eh?</div>
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</div>Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-31502197644947664362012-05-19T08:15:00.001-07:002012-05-19T08:16:08.649-07:00Snort Laugh Saturday: Tim Hawkins VideoI've just been introduced to Tim Hawkins--a Christian comedian. I didn't expect to laugh as much as I did, when I watched this video. He starts out a bit slow, but once he gets into the routine, it's a hoot!<br />
<h3 style="text-align: center;">
Hand Raising and Hand Sanitizer</h3>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/ChZlxCYshv0?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Tim Hawkins</div>
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He got me at, "What's that? A <em>worship</em> javelin??"</div>
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Enjoy.</div>Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-22691453950921531682012-05-18T10:10:00.003-07:002012-05-18T21:16:34.880-07:00"When our joy is at its zenith...""...the most unthinkable disasters descend upon us."<br />
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Well, it finally happened. I knew when I got a dog, I couldn't avoid it forever. Yes, we reenacted the infamous scene from A Christmas Story: the dog ate our dinner. Much like the turkey that the Bumpass hounds consumed, we were having a little rotisserie chicken. Don't know what scene I'm talking about? Well, here ya go.<br />
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<em>Warning: language may include such technical non-dictionary terminology as 'sonsabiches.'</em><br />
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<br />
It was actually tomorrow's dinner, since, to be completely accurate, the dog ate tonight's dinner leftovers. We had already eaten our meal, which included part of the aforementioned chicken, and I was planning to pack the second half back into the fridge for tomorrow. No such luck. By the time I got to it, there was just a lot of chicken strewn about the floor, and a guilty-as-sin dog trying to wolf as much down as he could.<br />
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Look at this guilty culprit. Guess who spent the rest of the evening in the back yard?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh-_UYEJy0zE6U83vUMIBDgYbiKocTZvUeq_kOg_u42Foms308_k7uCKe-zQ1TtM5fX95TiY8I8oryC0W1ymSg7OxFHZl0gwBbWeEkwBPjH13JjvcILTcMfRS1EwlN7wfq6eP0PEQWIz4/s1600/guilty+bentley.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="223" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh-_UYEJy0zE6U83vUMIBDgYbiKocTZvUeq_kOg_u42Foms308_k7uCKe-zQ1TtM5fX95TiY8I8oryC0W1ymSg7OxFHZl0gwBbWeEkwBPjH13JjvcILTcMfRS1EwlN7wfq6eP0PEQWIz4/s400/guilty+bentley.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Honestly, though, I think I can recover from this. Because after gathering up the scraps, there was at least 1/4 of the bird left on the floor. Not enough for an entire meal,<strong> BUT....I think tomorrow's dinner is gonna be OK after all.</strong> We all like chicken soup. <em>And what the kids don't know, can't hurt them</em> ;-)<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp0pxRRIfjZuuNFqPvEFZrp1s7Sbck6aLOCTS77fll9_kBUMwYhaC9HsJ0UcKSJtqVsAzcUntLxoJFp4EuJelBlInApzFnlCUmu6G5OXp3qlHH6lF2aZHc90sztGqlN0whglbtCs9WVcA/s1600/chicken+soup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="224" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp0pxRRIfjZuuNFqPvEFZrp1s7Sbck6aLOCTS77fll9_kBUMwYhaC9HsJ0UcKSJtqVsAzcUntLxoJFp4EuJelBlInApzFnlCUmu6G5OXp3qlHH6lF2aZHc90sztGqlN0whglbtCs9WVcA/s400/chicken+soup.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Because goodness knows, there's no money for Chinese food.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-S-dD72sGLk2YJjKMhUX0zNRvEiVoqeAfenZKxyuFNg1vWVsrvf9vBWXU_wAb2M_UjY3otDmy1H7O2kPNDIfJ3BfaKKnyMdyN5GkXxHeSNd5QKfCCaRN_pYehmJo7iaUdW1UhMjJeqXQ/s1600/christmas+story+chineseturkey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-S-dD72sGLk2YJjKMhUX0zNRvEiVoqeAfenZKxyuFNg1vWVsrvf9vBWXU_wAb2M_UjY3otDmy1H7O2kPNDIfJ3BfaKKnyMdyN5GkXxHeSNd5QKfCCaRN_pYehmJo7iaUdW1UhMjJeqXQ/s320/christmas+story+chineseturkey.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-41516984939758573412012-05-17T11:35:00.000-07:002012-05-17T19:30:50.884-07:00One Reason Counseling Didn't WorkIt's no secret at this point that it doesn't look like my marriage is going to make it. I say that because my spouse and I have been separated for 7 months, and things haven't gotten any better. By the time we finally separated, things were already bad enough. Unfortunately, in most ways they've only deteriorated more. But I don't take this whole separation/divorce lightly. Divorce is nonexistent in my family of origin. You get married; you stay married. God is bigger than our problems, and He can redeem anything. Right? So for me, separation was an absolute last-resort, when I no longer felt safe--for many reasons. I put it off for as long as I could, and did everything I could to save the marriage. <br />
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One of the things I did was go to marriage counseling. A <strong>lot</strong> of marriage counseling. And marriage courses. And seminars. And retreats. And anything I could get myself or "us" enrolled in that I hoped would save "us." My spouse was usually more than game. We were both pretty miserable, and looking for a "magic bullet."<br />
<br />
But in retrospect, I can see one of the reasons why counseling (and most of the other stuff) didn't work for us. Every <em>single</em> <strong>doggone</strong> counselor we ever saw wanted to start off by working on "communication." At the outset, that seems very reasonable. But the problem is, honestly, none of them ever seemed to get beyond that. And the fact that (looking back) I have an objection to that is really ironic, because I was a Communications major in college. I <strong>love</strong> the topic of communication--the psychology, the history, the rhetoric, the <strong>everything</strong> of communication. But for some reason, the more my spouse and I worked on our communication (painstakingly following multi-step models to guide us, writing things down and reading them out loud, using "key phrases," and every trick in the book) the worse things got for us.<br />
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The question is, why?<br />
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I believe that the answer is that communication wasn't the real problem. There were underlying issues that were so bad, that there was no good way to communicate about them. Those issues were an elephant in the middle of the room--that we tried to "talk nicely" around. It didn't work. In fact, honing our communication skills just made us better at fighting about the elephant. Better communication didn't make us more peaceful--it made us more articulate fighters!<br />
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<img border="0" height="400" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfqCWa29FIf8eSTZK9tBW02Rk5zm0SwISdeFKQvwm9Kgh5mrD4b4-yM5WUI55F_rMF30tZUY_qzCS2JHM0hYmIozSZBXnavrwYvl5YeXYbPrOkjRDH1shAKDTEKr7gH-W8lKLpRAun7E0/s400/elephant-in-the-room.jpg" width="387" /></div>
And none of the counselors we ever saw seemed able to tackle that elephant. And, frankly, that doesn't really leave me with much confidence in the counseling profession; because there are a lot of pretty damn good books out there on communication, but what we needed was someone who was willing to go beyond that.<br />
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Have you ever been in marriage counseling? Did the counselor fixate on communication, but without a seeming ability to address underlying issues that <em>fueled</em> the communication?Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-18620140668176749812012-05-16T19:46:00.002-07:002012-05-16T19:48:18.697-07:00Breathe in the aromas.....but not all of themToday I jogged past a Southern Magnolia tree just starting to bloom. The fragrance was IN. SANE. I wish I could send you a waft of it, because it was intoxicating.<br />
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<img border="0" height="272" kba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiW6XhEj53EdEWfyAc0wyq5phf0nQx8CSFZckt8IPXQ5nEGyyhj8Mjmso4yvPXMe1hn69ntuM-yD6cEeQTQDY9KHUzHFBFLMFPU0BEe_i8JuRNwcf_ybb_glwixtWcrbScmF1vniaw1P4/s320/magnolia.jpg" width="320" /></div>
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<a href="http://www.google.com/imgres?q=southern+magnolia&hl=en&sa=X&qscrl=1&nord=1&rlz=1T4ADFA_enUS384US385&biw=1536&bih=695&tbm=isch&prmd=imvns&tbnid=Y5oaLCFZpfT8GM:&imgrefurl=http://aggie-horticulture.tamu.edu/southerngarden/magnolia.html&docid=KviAbUIh4sMLdM&imgurl=http://aggie-horticulture.tamu.edu/southerngarden/magcm.jpg&w=1015&h=865&ei=pGW0T6K3L4awsgKMpvyRAQ&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=473&vpy=189&dur=1631&hovh=207&hovw=243&tx=137&ty=101&sig=107786244315733814027&page=1&tbnh=159&tbnw=213&start=0&ndsp=26&ved=1t:429,r:2,s:0,i:144" target="_blank">source</a></div>
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It almost overcame the unshowered stink of sweat and grime emanating from the dog and me after 45 minutes of jogging.Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-28951233561068234492012-05-14T20:35:00.000-07:002012-05-16T19:41:33.927-07:00"All In the Name of Fun!"I'm highly competitive by nature. This has always mocked me in the world of athletics, because I'm terrible at sports. And when I say terrible, I really mean it. I have <strong>gross</strong> gross motor skills, nonexistent reflexes, and I'm a painfully slow runner. Did I also mention that I'm barely five feet tall? So, I've spent most of my life as a frustrated loser, when it comes to athletic ventures.<br />
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On Mother's Day, each year, our kids' track team (coached by men, of course) plays what I consider to be a hilarious practical joke by running a "Mother's Race." This joke is only made funny by the fact that all the (male) coaches think it's "fun" for the Moms, and coordinating this race is their "gift" to us. Hmmmm...let's see...can I think of a worse way to spend Mother's Day, than to squeeze myself into some spandex and get out on a track with a handful of Type-A moms who actually run marathons in their spare time? (I'm not making this up.) Uh.....what happened to bringing Mom breakfast in bed, and giving her flowers and chocolate? <br />
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<a href="http://www.sdri.net/2011/11/running-in-the-mud/" target="_blank">source</a></div>
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Anyway, a year ago, they kicked the event off by dividing the women up by age. Adding insult to injury, they announced your age to the several-hundred people smart enough to keep their rears in the bleachers. So they all got to find out how old you were before you made a fool of yourself. Awesome. In the interest of time, the only "Mother's Race" was a 100 Metre sprint--not my forte, unless it involves chasing an errant toddler. My valiant efforts that day resulted in nothing more than a pulled muscle and a dismal last-place finish. <br />
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Later that same night, my (then) 8-year-old son decided to solve a mystery for us all-- one that we didn't even know existed. "Mom," he said with solemnity, "I know why you lost the race today." [insert awkward silence] "It's because you're so....well....you know...." and then he held up his arms in a circumferential gesture, as if his body had become a blimp. But not with his arms out to the sides. Oh, no: with his arms out in front, mimicking <strong>huge, imaginary boobs</strong>. And he didn't stop there. He continued, "Because you're so big. Everywhere. And that's why everything jiggles so much and and......everything....while you run," still feigning huge, imaginary boobs--which he was now 'jiggling.' <strong>"That's why you lost."</strong><br />
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<em>Well, thank you. Thank you for that verdict and visual depiction.</em><br />
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Each time I tried to forget the incident, I couldn't, because that injured quadriceps haunted me for over a month. And each day since then, I vowed <em>never again</em>.<br />
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<u>This year's race was yesterday.</u> This year I had only two main goals:<br />
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Goal #1--Don't hurt myself. Really.<br />
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Goal #2--Try not to come in dead last, trailing far, far behind every other runner. But only if it didn't mean compromising Goal #1.<br />
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But then I found out this year they decided to change things up a bit, and instead of only offering the 100 Metre sprint, they were offering a Coed 1-Mile run as well. I've been running as part of a fitness program for several months now, and I'm up to about 3-4 miles. And although I'm still slow, I've got pretty good stamina. And the key word was <em>Coed</em>; that meant my kids' father would run it. <strong>Ka-CHING:</strong> I had a third goal.<br />
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Goal #3--Beat my children's father.<br />
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I won't lie. It wasn't going to be easy. The man towers a foot over me, his legs are twice as long as mine, and he has beaucoup spare time to work out at the gym every week. But to make a long story short, against all odds, and certain that I'd never be able to do it, I had my shining moment of glory. I kept a nice, steady pace the whole race, feeling pretty good. Then when I saw my chance, I made my move, and overtook him in the home stretch. At 8m 10s, I beat him by just a few eternal seconds. And for once in my life, the die-hard competitor in me was triumphant.<br />
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Yeah. I went all Eric Liddell on his Harold Abrams a**. <br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/L-7Vu7cqB20?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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<strong>Oh, I laughed, and smiled, and said it was "All in the Name of Fun." </strong><br />
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Sure. Whatever. 'Cuz if you believe that, then you just keep believing that breakfast in bed, with flowers and chocolate is overrated anyway.<br />
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<a href="http://bedandbreakfastantwerp.com/" target="_blank">source</a></div>
<br />Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-34942040046999907072012-05-12T01:00:00.000-07:002012-05-15T08:29:09.776-07:00Snort Laugh Saturday: Geography of a Woman<strong>THE GEOGRAPHY OF A WOMAN:</strong><br />
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<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Between 18 & 22, a woman is like Africa, half dicovered, half wild, fertile & naturally beautiful.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWGXDhXvlrANZaqv3OHgNlvy738ZAkmMWbn0HkddxkNhVKppvD4FnGnJdR2uBrC57rP0Iipcyoox0l7029bc4aY1eEXW_MZ1mMak0KoJWKex4xyYgIT3J2RjDCf1OnPWhH180T3LqVJI/s1600/cassat+reader.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWGXDhXvlrANZaqv3OHgNlvy738ZAkmMWbn0HkddxkNhVKppvD4FnGnJdR2uBrC57rP0Iipcyoox0l7029bc4aY1eEXW_MZ1mMak0KoJWKex4xyYgIT3J2RjDCf1OnPWhH180T3LqVJI/s320/cassat+reader.jpg" width="255" /></a></li>
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<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Between 23 & 30, a woman is like Europe, well developed and open to trade, especially for someone with cash.</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Between 31 & 35, a woman is like Spain, very hot, relaxed and convinced of her own beauty.</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-VxqMwFDBA-M9OFPb6zbAlJa9lbp0DSiacuFOu6vw23SDh3kl2AaYXbNl_zULfOIeAmKMmV-cJ0lNl3rLtMxn0A3paj_sSeFk90gWxXgcDm2uaDQ4_3OstDt5OVOfqSg6nFaU8A2_Ncw/s1600/cassat+mom+and+child.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-VxqMwFDBA-M9OFPb6zbAlJa9lbp0DSiacuFOu6vw23SDh3kl2AaYXbNl_zULfOIeAmKMmV-cJ0lNl3rLtMxn0A3paj_sSeFk90gWxXgcDm2uaDQ4_3OstDt5OVOfqSg6nFaU8A2_Ncw/s320/cassat+mom+and+child.jpg" width="247" /></a>Between 36 & 40, a woman is like Greece, gently aging but still a warm and desirable place to visit.</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Between 41 & 50, a woman is like Great Britain, with a glorious and all conquering past.</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiymI-oBKjk63gC4D_IhPdR8LBkChAtw0o742y-Jhdy4cOYOFkXeFluuogSLUIAk7SMPaO131FunCX2ex2lhTC54AdrFilVWdi7ucRXMxytqc5FY5D0Fk9pzOoYbk2ea4pc9gJDkC0UnhA/s1600/cassat+older+woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiymI-oBKjk63gC4D_IhPdR8LBkChAtw0o742y-Jhdy4cOYOFkXeFluuogSLUIAk7SMPaO131FunCX2ex2lhTC54AdrFilVWdi7ucRXMxytqc5FY5D0Fk9pzOoYbk2ea4pc9gJDkC0UnhA/s320/cassat+older+woman.jpg" width="237" /></a>Between 51 & 60, a woman is like Israel, has been through the war and doesn't make the same mistakes twice, takes care of business.</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Between 61 & 70, a woman is like Canada, self-preserving, but open to meeting new people.</li>
<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">After 70, she becomes Tibet: wildly beautiful, with a mysterious past and the wisdom of the ages. Only those with an adventurous spirit and a thirst for spiritual knowledge visit there.</li>
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<strong>THE GEOGRAPHY OF A MAN: </strong><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqCQrDuvi7eMDtF-CLx0sDru2pMQEmy6_HRgSQ6OfNriJroObOGQaksY69rLqoD0IeBNJKr0AQT9J0kdBa7Y0KoJdheOkbg313UJvQ4t6y6BzhTfvbFA-rnPWZCRTsw4a-cfN2jAc_xKM/s1600/michaelangelo+david.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqCQrDuvi7eMDtF-CLx0sDru2pMQEmy6_HRgSQ6OfNriJroObOGQaksY69rLqoD0IeBNJKr0AQT9J0kdBa7Y0KoJdheOkbg313UJvQ4t6y6BzhTfvbFA-rnPWZCRTsw4a-cfN2jAc_xKM/s1600/michaelangelo+david.jpg" /></a></div>
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<li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Between 1 and 70, a man is like Iran, Ruled by Nuts.</li>
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quoted from: <a href="http://www.firstwivesworld.com/community/house-bloggers/womens-divorce-support-groups-online-quotes-day#comment-14290" target="_blank">source</a></div>Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-28762473575999507022012-05-08T19:07:00.002-07:002012-05-16T19:54:59.575-07:00Make the LeapToday someone wrote me a letter. In the fairly recent past, this person (who shall remain nameless) wronged me in a very painful way. And then disappeared. But in a renewal of communication, via a short letter, they made the following statement: <br />
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<em>"We all have our faults, but I'm not a bad person." </em><br />
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This got me thinking, a la Pooh Bear.<br />
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I guess it made me wonder, "Well, what, exactly, would it take to make someone a bad person?" Or, perhaps the inverse is really more to the point. What does it take to make a <em>good</em> person? Although someone may not exactly be a <em>bad</em> person, does that make them a <em>good</em> person? Our definitions can get muddled, because it's easier to think in negatives. The behavior in question was quite wrong, morally and ethically. In fact, it was really the cherry on top of a mountain of morally bankrupt choices. But rather than look in the mirror and ask, "Am I a good person?" It's easier to slide on by and keep telling one's self, "Well, I'm not exactly a <em>bad</em> person."<br />
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I guess I'm just struck today by the fact that there really is a wide gulf between a truly good person, and a truly bad person. There's a big leap between good and bad; a gaping chasm of middle ground.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcObqPvLLpm8PzktnxHtcTHUHwjDfH7BGMFFVt4_DwxOoFulOUrGr20BC2sfo4dZppf6Ln0EzRkqOraU_W-ER914vWbILHoMIBcKqjfaDoah6cLrb_5w1CPql5djCldkiieBaewSI7q3I/s1600/chasm+leap.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" dba="true" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcObqPvLLpm8PzktnxHtcTHUHwjDfH7BGMFFVt4_DwxOoFulOUrGr20BC2sfo4dZppf6Ln0EzRkqOraU_W-ER914vWbILHoMIBcKqjfaDoah6cLrb_5w1CPql5djCldkiieBaewSI7q3I/s320/chasm+leap.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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All this made me ask myself, "In what ways do I do the same thing?" because we all have to decide whether we want to make the leap to being a "good person." It doesn't happen by accident. It's way too easy to fall down the chasm of middle-ness; un-good and un-bad. I see this clearly, among people of all faiths, including people in the Christian church.<br />
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I don't want to fall into that middle place. <strong>I want to make the leap.</strong> In a way, as a Christian who believes in original sin (hell, as a parent who has seen it first-hand!) I guess I assume we all start out on the "bad" side of the equation, and my life experience seems to bear that out! I just really want to make sure I make the leap, and get over to the other side. (Don't get me wrong, I know I need help, from Christ and others.) But I think all of us can find ourselves slipping into the cleft that whispers, "You know, you're not really all <strong>that</strong> bad...."</div>
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"So, because you are lukewarm--neither hot nor cold--I am about to spit you out of my mouth." -Revelation 3:16</div>Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-34182882447966962762012-05-07T05:05:00.000-07:002012-05-07T09:21:44.181-07:00WavesOver the years, things seem to come in waves. <br />
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It's great, if it's waves of <em>good things</em>: friends having babies, people socializing with you, good communion with God. It's tough, if it's waves of <em>bad things</em>: kids getting sick or injured, me losing my temper, getting in a slump of running late. It's a crap shoot, when it comes to my emotions; they seem come in waves, too. I'll have a good week, where I feel like I "know where I'm going" with life, and then I'll have a really "off" week, where I feel like I'm back at square one again. I guess what I'm trying to describe is really just the "three steps forward and two steps back" concept. <br />
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Last month, I felt excited because I turned some corners on keeping my house under control. And when I say "under control" I really mean it. I don't mean some fake, "Oh, I'm so sorry I didn't pick up before you came over. Let me just clear my coffee mug off the otherwise pristine coffee table" overachiever perfectionist nonsense. No, I mean not getting reported to the health department. I've struggled with orderliness my entire life. I'm "one of those people" who (without God's help and the 12 steps) you could see on Hoarders someday. When I was growing up, my parents had to finally make a rule that (get this) I wasn't allowed to sleep on the couch any more. Why? Because my room would get so messy that there was no place for me to sleep. Not even on the bed. And so I'd haul my tookus down to the couch, and sleep there for months on end. That's always kind of been my solution to the paralysis I feel when I have to organize and deal with stuff. Here's me:</div>
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So, anyway, house keeping has never been my forte, and I'm constantly looking for signs of improvement on my part. Well, back to my feelings of having "turned a corner." It was all an illusion, because I was about to get hit with a "wave" that I'd already experienced once in my life as a mother, and knew to dread like no other. It is summed up by two words that can (or should) strike terror into the heart of any housewife; two words that shouldn't be naively mistaken as merely "yukky," but must given their full respect like unto a Hiroshima-Nagasaki bomb attack: </div>
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<span style="color: #990000;">Head Lice.</span></h3>
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The remedy for head lice used to be simple: dump a bunch of chemical poison on your kids' heads, shampoo it out, vacuum a little, wash their bedding, and you're good to go. NOT ANY MORE! The lil' buggers have become resistant to all the poisons, and they are as hard to get rid of as a pack of visiting in-laws. The "new" remedy involves six weeks (SIX WEEKS!) of cleaning, washing, combing, shampooing, oiling, laundry, combing, cleaning, washing, COMBING, nit picking, washing, cleaning, laundry, and....well....you get it. (And don't even get me started on all the "home" and "natural" remedies. We've tried them ALL!)</div>
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And, honestly, it's left me feeling a WEE bit exhausted. Each time I think I've gotten rid of the infestation, there's another wave. You can't ask anyone for help. You can't even hire a babysitter to come over! You are a family of lepers, and there's no getting around it. It's been over a month since we discovered the lice, and I think we may *finally* be beating it, but honestly, <strong>it may just be the calm before I get hit with yet another wave.</strong></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbHb-U9A6pmdmewxUYj_nkTwdaYGzY14WYlYv5-QcTE0GLMBn_LwimG1SLv0-VgTWCkxDqqRIY1bhaKlbpoj9C1aOOghBjj8fUwmt_40WyNJxPEMyi4hyphenhyphenfypJUXuyoDv2RNajFZE3Cj68/s1600/wave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbHb-U9A6pmdmewxUYj_nkTwdaYGzY14WYlYv5-QcTE0GLMBn_LwimG1SLv0-VgTWCkxDqqRIY1bhaKlbpoj9C1aOOghBjj8fUwmt_40WyNJxPEMyi4hyphenhyphenfypJUXuyoDv2RNajFZE3Cj68/s320/wave.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://www.freebestwallpapers.info/wallpaper/In-The-Wave/" target="_blank">source</a></div>
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</div>Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-63215478219670510912012-05-06T07:56:00.001-07:002012-05-06T19:15:08.701-07:00Lucky. Blessed. Something like that.Last night my beloved father told me that after 35+ years of marriage to my spunky and delightful mother (and still being in love!) that rather than tout the wisdom of his choice of my mom as his bride, he has finally concluded that he was <strong>incredibly lucky</strong>. Married at age 22; he hardly knew what he was doing.<br />
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<em>"I've never bought a lottery ticket in my entire life,"</em> he said. <em> "But when I look at your mother, I realize I'm so lucky, I <u>should</u> have been a lottery-ticket-buying man. In fact, I'm so struck by how lucky I got, I just might go out and buy my first one tomorrow."</em><br />
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For those of us who don't feel quite so lucky, it's still a relief to hear that all the "rightness" of a match that works and all the "wrongness" of a match that fails might not have been completely within any one person's control, as much as we may be inclined to think. Don't get me wrong, we all make choices. Some of them are good, and some not so good. And we do reap what we sow. But there are factors we can't control, like whether the rain falls on the seeds that we've so carefully planted in the ground. It's easy to take too much credit sometimes; either for things that go incredibly well, or incredibly poorly.<br />
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This brings to mind the wisdom of Charlotte, from <u>Pride and Prejudice</u> <br />
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"I wish [her] success with all my heart; and if she were married to him to-morrow, <a href="http://www.blogger.com/" name="charlotte4">I</a> should think she had as good a chance of happiness as if she were to be studying his character for a twelvemonth. <strong>Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance.</strong> If the dispositions of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or ever so similar before-hand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. <strong>They always contrive to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation; and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life.</strong>''<br />
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Call it luck. Call it chance. Call it God. Call it what you will. But I'm learning that there's more to success or failure than doing everything "right."<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKZhv-HExaf83sJ-7TDaRy2FbjdieGCpfgPj3Wy3FFvy9LWWE1rCsr2cLeRLUBjxzW60aKYt7fEKeMpndj9sEhtOqvKxH0KPKN4JBJNGyfMckZKSnU4YIJ3SIDSxZGptuiMM6exFJ2iTc/s1600/i+was+lucky.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" mea="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKZhv-HExaf83sJ-7TDaRy2FbjdieGCpfgPj3Wy3FFvy9LWWE1rCsr2cLeRLUBjxzW60aKYt7fEKeMpndj9sEhtOqvKxH0KPKN4JBJNGyfMckZKSnU4YIJ3SIDSxZGptuiMM6exFJ2iTc/s320/i+was+lucky.jpg" width="265" /></a></div>Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-9457977268820150172012-03-16T20:01:00.000-07:002012-03-16T20:01:30.810-07:00<div jquery1331952426093="10" style="text-align: left;"><strong><em>"When God closes one door, he opens another, but the wait in the hall is a b*tch. As far as I can tell, that’s divorce in a nutshell."</em></strong> </div><div jquery1331952426093="10" style="text-align: left;">-Rachel Gladstone, Excerpted from <u><a href="http://www.firstwivesworld.com/search/node/petty%20chronicles%201" target="_blank">The Petty Chronicles</a></u></div><div jquery1331952426093="10"><br />
</div><div jquery1331952426093="10">Have you read <u><a href="http://www.firstwivesworld.com/search/node/petty%20chronicles%201" target="_blank">The Petty Chronicles</a></u>? If you're going through a separation, divorce, or even difficult time in your marriage, and you need a humorous read, in very short installments, this may just be your cup of tea. It's not all G rated, but then, neither is divorce. (Start on installment #1, and then search for each "new" episode as you progress along. I'm only up to installment #14, but it's been a cathartic read so far.)</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhOsVS6MZznct1B3dSGJyHStNvZeKeh_L68MnJqwrWU3q9bVgHGrKL06zhy76nxuD4ShXE2Li-gOuqleHGuhktmiEHHNE-Qfr4xvoXeJRrBGwF-9zYzwr3m65j-rWA5bN6m3myOVgJiQ/s1600/wait+in+hall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img aea="true" border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRhOsVS6MZznct1B3dSGJyHStNvZeKeh_L68MnJqwrWU3q9bVgHGrKL06zhy76nxuD4ShXE2Li-gOuqleHGuhktmiEHHNE-Qfr4xvoXeJRrBGwF-9zYzwr3m65j-rWA5bN6m3myOVgJiQ/s400/wait+in+hall.jpg" width="266" /></a></div>Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-81592212001326648532012-03-15T20:14:00.000-07:002012-05-14T04:49:01.848-07:00After all that....but before anything elseIt's been a tough month around here. There's been drama. And I have felt a heaviness. The initial freedom of casting off from the moorings has given way to a different sort of weight. A weight of all the responsibility without breaks: Single Motherhood. Maybe even a little depression. And a good dose of ugliness on the part of certain people, including, sometimes, myself.<br />
<br />
Admittedly, I've also hit <strong>busyness</strong>. Not "business." No, <em>busy-ness;</em> the kind of "busy" that doesn't stop. It's like, "The holidays are over, now get back to the insane-busy schedule of having four children." Since the family kinda fell apart just before the holidays, nothing was "normal." But I suddenly realized last night that we only have one unscheduled night a week now--and even that's about to go away, once the spring sports hit. I guess that's "normal." But I'm hating normal. I'm hankering for an early midlife crisis (Hey, I'm only 34, so I've been informed it's "too early" for a real one!) where I don't run the suburban rat race.<br />
<br />
So as the busyness has increased, and people observe that we appear to be "back to normal," I'm again encountering the dreaded "How are you?" question. But I, frankly, feel a little "stuck." Elizabeth Corcoran posted an essay about <a href="http://elisabethcorcoran.blogspot.com/2012/03/how-are-you-i-dont-know.html" target="_blank">not knowing how to answer the question, "How are you?"</a> and I found I resonated with her thoughts. In my comments, I mentioned that what I really feel like saying is something like,<br />
<br />
"Well, everything looks OK on the outside, but it's not. So, I'd hate to say, 'Great!' Because I'm not! But I can't very well say, 'Well, I'm past that stage where I literally couldn't sleep at night; where I was on the verge of panic attacks; where I couldn't see a road ahead; where I couldn't feel the sunshine. Yeah. I'm a bit past all that now, most days, at least. Now, I'm pretty much in a phase called--<strong>'After all that, but before anything else.' That's how I am.</strong>"Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-25723594696109665912012-02-12T13:11:00.000-08:002012-02-12T13:14:49.161-08:00Sunday Serenity: HopeHope is a funny thing, isn't it? It's usually such a <em>good</em> word. But it's a real be-yotch when you've been putting your hope in something that doesn't work out. I mean, if you've <em>really</em> been putting your hope in it; in an all-your-eggs-in-one-basket sort of way. The funny thing is, I rarely realize I'm doing that, until all my hope comes crashing down, and it hits me, "Uh, I had no Plan B." That's when I know I've done it, but usually not before.<br />
<br />
Now, I know that the problem isn't hope, in an of itself. It's what I put my hope in. And that's usually my own best-laid plans. And those plans usually involve some variation of: <br />
<br />
[Maximum Happiness + Minimum Pain = My Master Plan] <br />
<br />
It's usually followed up with some sort of prayer to sanctify it, such as, "Oh please! Oh, please! Oh, <strong>please,</strong> God! Make this be Your plan!!!! <span style="font-size: x-small;">And Thy will be done and all that too.</span> Amen." If I was Catholic, I might throw some Holy Water in the direction of this "hope." And then I'd call it a day, and go about my business. <br />
<br />
Until it doesn't work out.<br />
<br />
Then, I go back to God and ask, "What happened? Why did You mess up the plan we'd agreed upon?" (Actually, usually I try to weasel my way into going back to bed and hiding under the covers, but that, thankfully, doesn't usually work out.) And then, if I'm lucky, I might finally hear that still, small voice. And I start to get an inkling of the fact that I've been putting my hope in something other than the right thing. Actually, something other than the right <em>person</em>. 'Cause I know He doesn't let me down. <br />
<br />
<div class="lyrics" style="text-align: center;"><em>My <strong>hope</strong> is built on nothing less,</em></div><div class="lyrics" style="text-align: center;"><em>Than Jesus’ blood and righteousness.<br />
I dare not trust the sweetest frame,<br />
But wholly trust in Jesus’ Name.</em></div><div class="chorus" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="chorus" style="text-align: center;"><em>Refrain:</em></div><div class="chorus" style="text-align: center;"><em><strong>On Christ the solid Rock I stand,<br />
All other ground is sinking sand;<br />
All other ground is sinking sand.</strong></em></div><div class="chorus" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="lyrics" style="text-align: center;"><em>When darkness seems to hide His face,<br />
I rest on His unchanging grace.<br />
In every high and stormy gale,<br />
My anchor holds within the veil.</em></div><div class="lyrics" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="chorus" style="text-align: center;"><em>Refrain</em></div><div class="lyrics" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="lyrics" style="text-align: center;"><em>His oath, His covenant, His blood,<br />
Support me in the whelming flood.<br />
When all around my soul gives way,<br />
He then is all my Hope and Stay.</em></div><div class="lyrics" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="chorus" style="text-align: center;"><em>Refrain</em></div><div class="lyrics" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="lyrics" style="text-align: center;"><em>When He shall come with trumpet sound,<br />
Oh may I then in Him be found.<br />
Dressed in His righteousness alone,<br />
Faultless to stand before the throne.</em></div><div class="lyrics" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="lyrics" style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/NM7vodGhOaE?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div></div><div class="lyrics" style="text-align: center;">On Christ the Solid Rock I Stand by Avalon</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Hugs, Ruthie</div>Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-57000927059311057362012-02-11T20:05:00.000-08:002012-02-11T20:05:02.874-08:00Snort Laugh Saturday: Diary of a Dog - Diary of a Cat<strong>EXCERPTS FROM A DOG'S DIARY</strong><br />
Day number 180<br />
8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!<br />
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVORITE!<br />
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!<br />
11:30 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!<br />
12:00 noon - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!<br />
1:00 pm - OH BOY! THE YARD! MY FAVORITE!<br />
4:00 pm - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!<br />
5:00 PM - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!<br />
5:30 PM - OH BOY! MOM! MY FAVORITE!<br />
<br />
Day number 181<br />
8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!<br />
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVORITE!<br />
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!<br />
11:30 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!<br />
12:00 noon - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!<br />
1:00 pm - OH BOY! THE YARD! MY FAVORITE!<br />
4:00 pm - OH BOY! THE KIDS! MY FAVORITE!<br />
5:00 PM - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!<br />
5:30 PM - OH BOY! MOM! MY FAVORITE!<br />
<br />
Day number 182<br />
8:00 am - OH BOY! DOG FOOD! MY FAVORITE!<br />
9:40 am - OH BOY! A WALK! MY FAVORITE!<br />
10:30 am - OH BOY! A CAR RIDE! MY FAVORITE!<br />
and so on.....and so on.....<br />
<br />
<strong>EXCERPTS FROM A CAT'S DIARY</strong><strong><br />
</strong>Day number 180<br />
My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat, while I am forced to eat dry cereal. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope of escape, and the mild satisfaction I get from ruining the occasional piece of furniture. Tomorrow I may eat another houseplant. <br />
<br />
Day number 181<br />
Today my attempt to kill my captors by weaving around their feet while they were walking almost succeeded, must try this at the top of the stairs. In an attempt to disgust and repulse these vile oppressors, I once again induced myself to vomit on their favorite chair ... must try this on their bed. <br />
<br />
Day number 182<br />
Decapitated a mouse and brought them the headless body, in attempt to make them aware of what I am capable of, and to try to strike fear into their hearts. They only cooed and condescended about what a good little cat I was...Hmmm. Not working according to plan. <br />
<br />
Day number 183<br />
I am finally aware of how sadistic they are. For no good reason I was chosen for the water torture. This time however it included a burning foamy chemical called "shampoo." What sick minds could invent such a liquid. My only consolation is the piece of thumb still stuck between my teeth. <br />
<br />
Day number 184<br />
I am convinced the other captives are flunkies and maybe snitches. The dog is routinely released and seems more than happy to return. He is obviously a half-wit. The bird on the other hand has got to be an informant, and speaks with them regularly. I am certain he reports my every move. Due to his current placement in the metal room his safety is assured. But I can wait, it is only a matter of time... <br />
<em>____________________________________________________</em><br />
<br />
Same environments, different attitudes, right? Today, I heard Max Lucado read part of this on the radio. He cracked me up, and reminded me that gratitude is all about attitude. It's a choice.<br />
<em></em><br />
Diary of a Dog - Diary of a Cat <em>Adapted from </em><a href="http://www.lisashea.com/lisabase/fun/diarydog.html" target="_blank"><em>here</em></a><em>.</em>Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-87989258091158071322012-02-10T20:55:00.000-08:002012-02-10T20:55:21.974-08:00Cherishing the MomentsShe cupped my cheeks in her chubby hands and whispered, <br />
<br />
"Momma, you da apple of my eye. I love you."<br />
<br />
She is two. Really.<br />
<br />
My baby. My "Isaac." My "Joseph."<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5xDld03Srb4Q39EHiD7_mKeOm-Zs92zK35C1htNKz1QVVoJgjK_LEHrMBbWHgfBItZx_EYAW2rbnZptX8CXmA1wGhvHi9LvK3wyVfspqTPNQe7EytXVeIQSTzaEhJArwZLddku4GgCcQ/s1600/IMG_0854+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" sda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5xDld03Srb4Q39EHiD7_mKeOm-Zs92zK35C1htNKz1QVVoJgjK_LEHrMBbWHgfBItZx_EYAW2rbnZptX8CXmA1wGhvHi9LvK3wyVfspqTPNQe7EytXVeIQSTzaEhJArwZLddku4GgCcQ/s320/IMG_0854+-+Copy.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
Two recent posts on Motherhood had me, in turns, busting a gut, and then feeling (somewhat) graciously reprimanded. What do you think? <br />
<br />
Is motherhood <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/glennon-melton/dont-carpe-diem_b_1206346.html" target="_blank">just getting through the Chronos, in hopes of the Kairos</a>?<br />
<br />
Or is it to be <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/2012/02/what-to-do-in-hard-times/" target="_blank">cherished <em>every</em> minute, of <em>every</em> day. No matter what?</a><br />
<br />
Or is the magic of motherhood, maybe, <strong><em>some of each? Or, even, both at the same time?</em></strong><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I thank God that whatever it is, there is grace when I miss it, in the midst of the Chronos, and grace that awakens me to those moment of Kairos.</div>Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-45970175684949711662012-02-01T09:18:00.000-08:002012-02-01T09:19:38.449-08:00Wednesday Randomness<strong>This actually came out of my mouth yesterday:</strong><br />
<br />
"Son, the floor is for walking on; not a storage area."<br />
<br />
<strong>Conversation on the home front:</strong><br />
<br />
Me (speaking to the same seven-year-old son.) "Hey, do you remember that new kid who just joined the track team? He has blonde hair."<br />
<br />
Son (several <em>minutes</em> later) "What color skin does he have?"<br />
<br />
Four year old Daughter "Well, if he's blonde, then he can't see. So he can't run anyway!"<br />
<br />
The End.Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-7717905948397239442012-01-28T11:33:00.000-08:002012-02-01T18:37:57.892-08:00Snort Laugh Saturday: Breastfeeding HumorI figured I'd just spell it out in the title. This post is about breastfeeding, and if that's not your cup of tea, read no further. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9V3fqreIvtfNYXaMVqK_2RaYYPNG1pzpO8U3vRgF5tVkFB1L7-L78feSPxi6JnMZHwdP65c0aRIoUOlm8WrCR4lUIq-QjxR2feJSUifjGRTR-XJartZWgwzyqu-xf2fCzVukeeZZO0io/s1600/breastfeeding+rocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9V3fqreIvtfNYXaMVqK_2RaYYPNG1pzpO8U3vRgF5tVkFB1L7-L78feSPxi6JnMZHwdP65c0aRIoUOlm8WrCR4lUIq-QjxR2feJSUifjGRTR-XJartZWgwzyqu-xf2fCzVukeeZZO0io/s400/breastfeeding+rocks.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
I'm what I like to call an "Avid Breastfeeder" as opposed to a "Militant Breastfeeder." I'm all about helping women to breastfeed as long as both they and their baby want to: whether it's one month, or several years. As long as mom and baby are happy, I'm happy. If breastfeeding isn't working, and formula is, then great! And vice versa. I just want mothers to feel empowered to make the choice that's right for them.<br />
<br />
I have done extended breastfeeding with both of my biological children, and to this day, I wish I'd been able to breastfeed my adopted children. Breastfeeding has been a wonderful bonding agent for me, a Mom who isn't naturally the "nurturing type." (For anyone who knows me, they'll admit that's basically a huge understatment.) I can be strict. I can be stern. I can be a disciplinarian. But nurturing? It doesn't usually come naturally, and that's why I loved breastfeeding. It was probably the only area where "nurturing" came easily. And for that, I thank the good Lord. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg94Mg8kyyCK4tLDj8Of4s3TXpnt3gIJ_X2Y-n-9EZu5TGEoDZUGU1tzNYoOLJuyeNvJJApYp6Ja7KoPn7XJuSLiVbhd09DO1UbvxeuwSXZEqgwntGE_KRFVpRvnrJcE3_9aPQabpIyumA/s1600/chocolate+milk+breastfeeding.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gda="true" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg94Mg8kyyCK4tLDj8Of4s3TXpnt3gIJ_X2Y-n-9EZu5TGEoDZUGU1tzNYoOLJuyeNvJJApYp6Ja7KoPn7XJuSLiVbhd09DO1UbvxeuwSXZEqgwntGE_KRFVpRvnrJcE3_9aPQabpIyumA/s400/chocolate+milk+breastfeeding.png" width="398" /></a></div><br />
Anyway, I'm linking to an article published in <a href="http://www.thedcmoms.com/2011/12/the-right-to-breastfeed/" target="_blank">The DC Moms</a> about a woman who was kicked out of a local DMV for breastfeeding. Yeah. Ridiculous. You don't have to be a "Militant Breastfeeder" to be incensed on her behalf. Anyway, if you want to read the whole story, it's entertaining. However, what I want to highlight today is the author's final remarks, which, if you've ever been reprimanded yourself for breastfeeding in public, completely ring true, and may also make you laugh out loud:<br />
<br />
<em><span style="font-size: large;"><strong>"Oh, and for anyone who is offended by the sight of a woman breastfeeding? This former nursing mom suggests that you carry a light blanket with you and gently drape it over your head if a breastfeeding mother is nearby."</strong></span></em><br />
<br />
Touche!<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.thedcmoms.com/2011/12/the-right-to-breastfeed/" target="_blank">The Right To Breastfeed</a><br />
by Rebekah at DC Moms<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZSYrPBEHAQ3lrOskwgrwWyfF4crTX7Ee2Uxy3vzrp35Lkr6JIRlerfu0c0JtlDQRaILaWtC4YCfQRBJSYakGu4m28t0xsOj7qGPmsIPHJkCpLFEzNDqVDxy2c0elEaBkBbCZBlzRHrtw/s1600/breastfeeding+cartoon.jpg%22%20imageanchor=%221%22%20style=%22margin-left:%201em;%20margin-right:%201em;%22%3E%3Cimg%20border=%220%22%20gda=%22true%22%20height=%22281%22%20src=%22https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZSYrPBEHAQ3lrOskwgrwWyfF4crTX7Ee2Uxy3vzrp35Lkr6JIRlerfu0c0JtlDQRaILaWtC4YCfQRBJSYakGu4m28t0xsOj7qGPmsIPHJkCpLFEzNDqVDxy2c0elEaBkBbCZBlzRHrtw/s400/breastfeeding+cartoon.jpg%22%20width=%22400" target="_blank">Lastly, here's another funny breastfeeding cartoon. It's PG-13ish, so I'm just linking to it.</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">~Ruthie</div>Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4841372208255090075.post-331269944350472462012-01-27T21:22:00.000-08:002012-01-29T08:53:07.454-08:00Anatomy 101Our dog doesn't know it, but his life is about to change forever. You see, he hasn't been neutered. Yet. But his appointment is already on the calendar, so it's a Sword of Damocles that he's blissfully unaware of. I won't spoil these last few weeks of joyful intact-ness for him, by letting him in on the secret.<br />
<br />
But with inquisitive boys around, his canine manliness hasn't gone unnoticed. In fact, it's been the subject of several impromptu anatomy lessons. So tonight, my nine year old son pointed to the dog's testicles, and asked me, "What is that?" I was a bit surprised, since I assumed he <em>knew</em> what those were. I simply stated, "Those are his testicles." <br />
<br />
My son responded with an equally perplexing, "What are testicles again? His GUTS??"<br />
<br />
A bit stymied, yet keeping my poker face, I replied (with a bit of circumlocution, in hopes that he'd "get it" since his five year old sister was there) "No, that is his scrotum."<br />
<br />
At this, he suddenly perked up, and wordlessly bounded into the nearby bathroom--not ten paces away. With the door wide open, we heard him bellow, "Where are my testicles, again???"<br />
<br />
<em>Side note: THANK GOD he at least had the sense to go in the bathroom.</em><br />
<br />
At this point, my five year old daughter finally piped up, and shouted back in earnest sincerity, <strong>"Don't you know??? They are on your knuckles!"</strong><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7t9UzUfHyx3Gxy3I2VgJw39FWQnerdb0OLPIowN-c91GHuVwsdI-U1kHInGuA8jViq3O5_V5WH9VsbfVqN5HWNMP3jbuIIA9LbUDOho5-vijV7X7yrGdmmAx9Oo4opqyArO5mS5YFgIM/s1600/IMG_9431.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" gda="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7t9UzUfHyx3Gxy3I2VgJw39FWQnerdb0OLPIowN-c91GHuVwsdI-U1kHInGuA8jViq3O5_V5WH9VsbfVqN5HWNMP3jbuIIA9LbUDOho5-vijV7X7yrGdmmAx9Oo4opqyArO5mS5YFgIM/s320/IMG_9431.JPG" width="213" /></a></div>Heyruthiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13439546952256063599noreply@blogger.com0