tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-75801981667656051992024-03-13T21:33:23.730-06:00Life as UsualCome what may and love it!Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.comBlogger155125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-59377044351270624372013-11-28T08:50:00.000-07:002013-11-28T08:50:00.511-07:00Great People are Grateful!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX0UnyxWiajp5aJK6h9f0gR-_POXgc2KTcHxJ1kdhyphenhyphenj3sPsHBacpp0KUXtdTXL4N-eVIwJavARELlsWSpVxaycv5lnME2n9eBI1_QwWzQTPxwPZxsugreLSske5DcnS0VMaCVUwd2yHxA/s1600/IMAG0274_ZOE002%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiX0UnyxWiajp5aJK6h9f0gR-_POXgc2KTcHxJ1kdhyphenhyphenj3sPsHBacpp0KUXtdTXL4N-eVIwJavARELlsWSpVxaycv5lnME2n9eBI1_QwWzQTPxwPZxsugreLSske5DcnS0VMaCVUwd2yHxA/s1600/IMAG0274_ZOE002%5B1%5D.jpg" height="640" width="362" /></a></div>
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My whole world. </div>
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(fits in my stroller)</div>
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<br /></div>
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Happy Thanksgiving!</div>
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<br />Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-74052217933073679372013-06-24T00:33:00.002-06:002013-06-24T00:36:34.489-06:00CompassionI had a memorable dream a few weeks ago.<br />
<br />
In my dream I was walking with my children through a place reminiscent of Disneyland.<br />
I noticed a little girl wandering alone in a darkened corner. She was crying. She was lost.<br />
<br />
We stopped.<br />
<br />
Instantly, I <i>knew</i> this little girl. The child was me. I felt her fear and sadness and my whole body smiled with compassion. I went to her.<br />
<br />
I approached her carefully because she didn't know me. I knelt in front of her and spoke comforting words, telling her I was there to help. Eager for rescue, she hugged me tightly. I felt her relief.<br />
<br />
I took her by the hand and led her, along with my children, to a little cafeteria-like restaurant. We were the only ones there. The children chose plates of food and joined together at a table as I paid for our meal. Standing at the register, I looked over at my contented crew with pleased fulfillment-- my child-self relaxing, smiling, listening to my daughter chatting on.<br />
<br />
I put the credit card back in my wallet, grateful I had the resources to serve her, to nurture her.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-56087428183652408992013-06-05T11:42:00.001-06:002013-06-05T11:42:33.516-06:00Just Imagine it!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYjiZdfldsE0LFkJvpGr-5nK7goQzV1cG4AtVcg6yrxWPDfesDeCZ4aqnP8KSDB5e_Ual9pAZlxTFto1-6uRexLfbT3ZzV5rlbit5DZnNTJVFeNLstMyYc1vwWaslL5aFJ6VgKROwGU3A/s1600/maidenforlorn.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYjiZdfldsE0LFkJvpGr-5nK7goQzV1cG4AtVcg6yrxWPDfesDeCZ4aqnP8KSDB5e_Ual9pAZlxTFto1-6uRexLfbT3ZzV5rlbit5DZnNTJVFeNLstMyYc1vwWaslL5aFJ6VgKROwGU3A/s1600/maidenforlorn.jpg" height="320" style="cursor: move;" width="256" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Picture of "Maiden all Forlorn" by Hyrum</span></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Inspired by "The House that Jack Built"</span></div>
<br />
I seem to be on a mission for my husband to gain full understanding of what is is like to be a stay-at-home mom.<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
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I don't know why. It's not that I don't appreciate being at home. I choose it. The job is just <i>much</i> harder than I ever expected. </div>
<br />
I'm often coming up with new analogies that I think will give him insight into my days. <br />
<br />
My latest idea was sprung from a conversation we had about why I am (too often) so snappy when he gets home from work.<br />
<br />
While we both work all day in occasionally stressful environments- I want him to understand that there is one important major difference- a difference that might explain why I have "crazy eyes" at 5:00.<br />
<br />
That difference lies in the behavior of our co-workers.<br />
<br />
His co-workers, for the most part, follow the social norms relative to speaking, touching, respecting personal space, and hygiene that make for a pleasant work climate. Mine...don't.<br />
<br />
Too illustrate this point, I wish could make a video of an office space in which co-workers acted like children. It would be HILARIOUS, people. Film just isn't one of my talents.<br />
<br />
We have only been imagining it and we are getting a kick out of it!<br />
<br />
Seriously, this is a gem. Anyone out there want to make this a reality?<br />
<br />
Picture it. It's sure to make you smile!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-33286414098084563662013-06-05T10:31:00.001-06:002014-05-08T22:12:09.086-06:00birth<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I've been contemplating this new birth experience, and the birth</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">process in general. We went to the Thanksgiving Point farms recently,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">and while there I saw a baby chick hatch out of it's egg. I had never</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">seen anything hatch. It was meaningful for me. I thought of life</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">inside an egg, and the life understood by the baby boy in my body:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">darkness, tightness, narrow understanding of the world, limited</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">experience, cannot begin to fathom the world that exists outside</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">(space, light, color, freedom, movement, touch, sight, love.)</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">In the scriptures it says that a new birth is required/expected of us.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">We must be born again in Christ, becoming new creatures in Him,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">receive a change of heart. Thereby becoming a people who "have no more</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">disposition to do evil, but to do good continually."</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Birth is initiated by stress. Birth means breaking, pushing,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">struggling, opening. Yet, it also happens on it's own; I think of</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">words like: allow, submit, receive. There is only one way out. "There</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">is no other way nor means whereby man can be saved, only through the</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">atoning blood of Jesus Christ, who shall come; yea, remember that he</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">cometh to redeem the world."</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I feel like I am still inside my egg. There is more to life than I can</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">even imagine, with greater light, love, color, joy, freedom, space,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">breath. Christ talks of making eyes to see, ears to hear, minds to</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">understand, and hearts to soften.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">My heart desires to: Awake. Break free. Shake off the chains. Allow.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Submit. Release.</span>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-52665960931087581832013-05-22T08:15:00.001-06:002013-05-22T08:17:31.088-06:00You Might be Married to a Handyman IF:<div class="MsoNormal">
1. You have a box of “work” clothes in your closet</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2. Your dish-soap is smeared with car grease, and you sometimes
find it in the shower with a washcloth that </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
will likely never come clean again.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3. You think about hiring work out- until you see the price tag.
The cost to do the job yourself is always<br />
considerably less, even with the
purchase of the specialized tool to get it done.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
4. You have a garage full of random, specialized tools.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
5. You are happy you have room to actually park in your garage,
even if you have to shimmy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
6. You have items at your home like a Rocket Candy Launcher and
a 27’ movie screen complete with a </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
pulley system to hang off the back of your
house.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
7. You find drill bits and screws in the washing machine…and everywhere
else.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
8. Your husband rarely reads the instructions, and that’s OK.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
9. You have put your kids to bed to the sound of a
paint-sprayer, tile saw, or sander.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
10. You have to ask your husband to consider NOT using the table
saw after 10pm.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
11. Your husband has a part-time “job” repairing things for
family and neighbors. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
12. The fumes of spray-paint, polyurethane, and glue are,
unfortunately, not unfamiliar.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
13. You’ve had experience wiping sawdust and drywall powder off
of EVERY SURFACE in your house! </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
14. Each time you hold his calloused hands you find a new nick.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
15. When out on a date, he asks things like, “How many furnaces
do you think this place has?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
16. Looking at your kitchen ceiling makes you smile, because you
remember all the time he spent sanding, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
patching, and painting it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
17. Despite the repeated reminder “change your clothes first!”- His
shirts, pants, and shoes have a limited </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
life-span before joining the box of
“work clothes” in the closet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
18. Your kids believe there is nothing dad can’t fix.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
19. You wake up to find your husband spontaneously building a
shed because he felt like it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
20. You know exactly where the bathrooms are located in the local Home
Depot and Lowes.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpzbF4WqtHGCW7io10qK7YWUv2naV5BtKACwGic0lS934Xbfrd5-5sH3eUx9443A95M6KzCW0b1CgVXagjSajxPx_FtUij8msvLhyphenhyphenUhcxtPLH6ZQTIMwoOkSoaPf65-4AoWTBnGlqWlwo/s1600/DSCN0046.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpzbF4WqtHGCW7io10qK7YWUv2naV5BtKACwGic0lS934Xbfrd5-5sH3eUx9443A95M6KzCW0b1CgVXagjSajxPx_FtUij8msvLhyphenhyphenUhcxtPLH6ZQTIMwoOkSoaPf65-4AoWTBnGlqWlwo/s1600/DSCN0046.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-52308015502755397532013-05-20T22:28:00.000-06:002013-05-20T22:28:12.011-06:00We heart spring<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
We have a bird nesting in our porch. I think it is a sparrow. We used a mirror to look up inside the nest and saw three tiny babies. We are excited to watch them grow and are praying we won't scare the mama away with all our noise!<br />
<br />
When we wake up in the morning we almost always see quail in our yard. They travel in pairs, boy and girl, and I think think it is the sweetest thing.<br />
<br />
"Robin Redbreast" is a frequent around here but isn't nearly as friendly as he is in The Secret Garden.<br />
<br />
Hyrum and Audrey showed me their drawings of our birds, and it made me happy.<br />
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<br />Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-17370222439956259362013-05-15T12:50:00.000-06:002013-05-15T12:53:19.610-06:00Transition to "Permanent" childhood.<h3>
My children are losing teeth. </h3>
I have the same feeling I did <a href="http://amabhatch.blogspot.com/2009/01/it-has-gone-too-fast.html" target="_blank">years ago</a> as I packed away the nursing cover- realizing a season was over.<br />
<br />
It was unexpected. I did expect that my children would lose their teeth, and even had some forewarning as they wiggled away. I did not expect the wave of emotion upon seeing their spacey smiles and big, bumpy teeth filling in.<br />
<br />
As the roots of the little teeth dissolve and fall away, so do the hands that steady their clumsy steps, help them get dressed, tie their shoes and pour their cereal. When the tooth finally falls out--it is a symbol that these things are <i>simply</i> no longer needed.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b>This feels like a big transition, </b><b>even a rite of passage, into their "real" childhood-<i> </i></b></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<b><i>the one they will remember</i>.</b></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
I remember the excitement of losing my teeth- felt like the first tangible evidence that I was finally growing up.<br />
<br />
They are moving into a season of trying new things, taking risks, broken bones, friends, and independence.<br />
<br />
All the "show me how's" have made way for the "I can do that's."<br />
<br />
This is when the anxiety sets in. It's hard to let them go, but at least it is gradual. I'm grateful for that.<br />
<br />
I'm thrilled to watch them. Excel. Learn. Discover. and literally gR<span style="font-size: large;">O</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">W</span>.<br />
<br />
Their mouths are as clear as their minds-- making way for their "permanent" teeth: A tangible part of the adult they are becoming...too big for their mouths, awkward, and crooked- imperfect as they grow.<br />
<br />
A season that will never come again.<br />
<br />
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<br />Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-1765161458841949682013-05-09T16:24:00.000-06:002013-05-09T16:24:51.780-06:00Happy Mothers Day!I'm celebrating Mothers Day today.<br />
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I've never auditioned for anything before so it was surprising when I felt the urge to jot down the audition details calling for an essay about motherhood. I felt<i> compelled</i>, and it's always been good to follow that feeling.<br />
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Nothing was really coming to mind about what to write, but during a rare quiet moment, the idea came and my house fell apart while I spent a day writing it. I finished it minutes before driving up to Salt Lake to audition. The audition was one on one, very low-key and comfortable. <a href="http://www.familyvolley.com/" target="_blank">Heather Johnson</a> was kind and sweet. I left thinking all in all it was fun to write, and fun to stretch my comfort zone.<br />
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I was thrilled when I received the email telling me I had made the cast for the show! I ran to the backdoor in my underwear and shouted out to my husband, "Guess WHAT!? I won! I get to be on the show!" To which he congratulated me and I ran back to my room to read more about it- ducking low to avoid the kitchen windows.<br />
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Then I saw the rest of the cast and perused all their amazing writing...and I started to feel intimidated.<br />
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I went to our first rehearsal, on the way there praying that I would at least speak coherently. Just minutes in, we were laughing and sharing. I was enchanted by all these amazing women as they read their truly beautiful essays on all facets of motherhood. I <i>remembered</i> how much I loved writing. I love how it connects you straight to the soul.<br />
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I left thinking about <u>The Element</u> by Ken Robinson and what he writes about finding your tribe. "What connects a tribe is a common commitment to the thing they feel born to do." "Finding your tribe can have trans formative effects on your sense of identity and purpose." I wondered if these women would find me presumptuous if I told them I thought they were my tribe.<br />
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Inspired, I started to write again. My family has noticed how significantly happier I've been. I <i>so</i> needed this.<br />
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Tonight is the <a href="http://www.thanksgivingpoint.org/page.aspx?pid=299&cid=1&ceid=133&cerid=0&cdt=5%2f9%2f2013" target="_blank">Listen to Your Mother</a> show. The<i> first</i> Utah show. This afternoon I sat on the bathroom counter in my underwear to pluck my eyebrows in the good light and smiled at the memory of watching my mother do the same thing and thought of her smell and her beauty. I got ready in a quiet house and had time to reflect on the peace because my sweet sister is watching my kids. I put on beautiful new clothes and felt so loved by my husband who drove an hour last night to buy me just the shoes I wanted.<br />
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I'm on my way to prepare for the night with these beautiful women who accept me and encourage me.<br />
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You know how it feels when you are really thirsty and you drink a full glass of cold water- how you can feel it spread out through your body, simultaneously filling and soothing. That's how I feel tonight.<br />
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I am grateful this mothers day: Grateful for the compelling feeling that led me to this moment. Grateful for the understanding that as women we need each other.<br />
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Happy Mothers Day. <br />
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<br />Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-15620687022614432662013-05-03T09:40:00.002-06:002013-05-03T09:40:52.519-06:00My Favorite Parenting Object LessonI call it the Freedom Funnel: actually I just made that up.<br />
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You've seen a funnel, right? One wide end and one narrow end.<br />
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My husband sat the kids down several months ago and taught them about the funnel. He is an excellent teacher; I don't know where he comes up with these gems!<br />
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So, the space in the funnel represents freedom. The wide side is lots of freedom and the narrow side is limited freedom.<br />
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We can choose which direction we go through the funnel. For example:<br />
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I say, "Little, darling children of mine, please get in bed and go to sleep."<br />
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<b>They can choose:</b><br />
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<b>A:</b> Enter the narrow end of the funnel and obey quickly and exactly- limiting their personal freedom initially and receive the greater freedom of being well-rested, and ready for a great day tomorrow as they emerge out the wide end with happy, praising, kinder, well-rested parents.<br />
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<b>Or B:</b> They could choose to run around and play and exercise all the freedom they possibly can and struggle through the limited freedom of being cranky the next day, earning negative consequences, and irritating their parents!<br />
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It might limit my freedom initially to take the time to clean up dinner (even though I want to crash on my bed and watch a show) but I have the wider freedom the next morning when I don't <i>HAVE</i> to clean up dinner before I make breakfast.<br />
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I can't tell you how often this has come in handy! A gem! What do you think? How do you teach your children about freedom and accountability?<br />
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Similar to how Stephen R. Covey put it: </h4>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: large;">“While we are free to choose our actions, </span></span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: large;">we are not free to choose </span></span></h4>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;"><span style="font-size: large;">the consequences of our </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif; font-size: large; line-height: 16px;">actions.”</span></h4>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, helvetica, clean, sans-serif; line-height: 16px;">Picture source: </span>http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Funnel</span>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-77205343489960919452013-05-01T07:44:00.000-06:002013-05-01T08:08:29.375-06:00Who's with me?I've been hearing these words in my mind lately: "I'm not going to be afraid anymore."<br />
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What is it I'm afraid of? <i>Failure, Mistakes, Embarrassment, Humiliation, Criticism, and Regret</i>.<br />
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Is anyone else afraid of these things?<br />
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Being afraid to fail and make a fool of yourself is time-consuming.</h3>
I doubt I'm the only one that has spent 20+ minutes on a 10 word thank-you note.<br />
I spend WAY more time texting/emailing so I can get the words right instead of making a quick phone call.<br />
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Being afraid to make mistakes is isolating and empty.</h3>
Sometimes I think about inviting people over...and then I think about what to cook and that is the end of it.<br />
I don't begin conversations very often, because I stink at small talk. Now, if you want to talk to me about principles, or growth, or pain the conversation might go better. This doesn't help me make new friends!<br />
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Being afraid of what other people think is paralyzing.</h3>
Basically, I can invite people into my messy, real life and enjoy their friendship or I can wait until my life is clean and put together and go without. <i>Wait</i> until I know how to cook...<i>wait</i> until my house is clean...<i>wait</i> until I have something to say...<i>wait</i> until I have figured out what kind of music I like.<br />
It's easy to look at others and imagine that their life is in absolute order. (Experience tells me that is probably not true- and if it is then maybe there is something I can learn!)<br />
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Ironic that I regret not doing anything because I was afraid I would make a mistake and regret it.<br />
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So, the moral of the story is: Let's don't be afraid to talk, to write, to invite, to give. And let's be kind.<br />
We all make mistakes but everyone can do without embarrassment, humiliation, and harsh criticism. <br />
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Next time we have an awkward phone call, or a good visit in my messy kitchen eating apple slices- We can laugh and be grateful we are spending our time well, together and learning!Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-81164647503126430672013-04-30T11:04:00.003-06:002013-05-20T13:34:19.382-06:00Security, Pure Love and Ugliness<br />
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-size: large;">I wrote this January 2010 and it has been defining:</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">I’ve been studying The Love of God by Pres. Uchtdorf, specifically this line:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“Think of the purest, most all-consuming love you can imagine. Now multiply that by an infinite amount—that is the measure of God’s love for you.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">I’ve been pondering this and asking myself: <b>What is the purest love I can imagine?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The memory that comes to mind is being curled up under my mom’s arm, snuggled into her warm body, feeling safe, secure, at peace and without any fear.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">In addition, I have really been pondering the words of my mentor:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">“I want you to know that I totally and genuinely accept you. This includes your talents, gifts, strengths, beauty, courage, personality and all goodness you possess. It also includes your weaknesses, failures, fears, ugliness, sadness, burdens and all your shadows. There is nothing about you and no part of you that I reject.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Specifically the word, “ugliness.” Do I love myself in my ugliness? Do I love others in their ugliness? It sat in my mind for awhile, and I’ll write more on that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">On December 15<sup>th</sup>, I got in bed at the end of the day; and like many days was just sick with anxiety, dread, exhaustion, and pain. The difference on this night was that I started to cry. I was really <i>feeling</i>. I expressed some of my feelings to my husband and he tried to quickly solve my problems, which made me angry. I did really want his help, even though I was pushing him away in my communication.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">I said, “I feel like I’m being tormented by Satan every day.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">He sat quietly for a minute and then said, “You are holding on to something that has stopped your progression.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">I guessed, “Selfishness.” He responded, “It feels more like anger.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">I continued to <i>feel</i> and cry for a while as I thought about that.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">I received some clarity about my anger, selfishness, and pride. I have a tendency to be a “controller” of myself and those around me. I feel like I’ve been asked by God to give up control and I’m angry about it. I’m proud. I’m not acting as someone who truly believes that God always knows best and always leads us to life and good and happiness. These thoughts humbled me, and surrendered me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">The next evening, I found myself all teary again. This time I was just crying. I was grateful for some understanding. I was grateful to be <i>feeling</i>. My husband and I watched a movie together, and I was feeling happy in his company. I remembered how when we were dating, I used to just relax with him. He was my safe place, of security, peace, and calm; another memory of “pure love.” I didn’t question his love for me—the pretty and the ugly, the strengths and weaknesses. I haven’t been letting him love me like that. I have been trying <i>not</i> to need him like that. In my marriage, I can have the purest love possible in this life, if I will. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;"><b>If I’m not letting him by my refuge, I’m certainly not open to letting Christ be my refuge</b>. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">Ironically, the theme song of the movie we were watching was, “Let my love open the door to your heart.”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">I shared this with my husband, and then I just felt like having a really good cry. I hate crying in front of people, and this was going to by ugly. I felt like going into the bathroom to have it all out, but felt prompted to let him hold me as I cried. </span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';">I swallowed my pride and told him how I felt; he put his arm around me. <i>I let it all out</i>. I cried, sniffed, gasped, and just sobbed. My crying gave way to a peace that I haven’t felt for a long time. I relaxed. I was in that place again of security, safety, and peace.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">This was a breakthrough. My heart is letting in love, and it is pouring in. I’m enjoying my family again. We’re having those perfect moments again. I’m filled with hope for today and the future.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">My behavior hasn’t changed drastically, but my heart has opened. It’s a start; a good start.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">I’ve loved thinking about God’s love for me, His open invitation to come unto Him, to let Him heal me. Hoping, desiring, and being blessed with faith in His ability to change me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">I was watching “To this end was I born” the other day and noticed that in the movies the people petitioning Christ for healing are usually in a sorry state, as I’m sure is accurate. They were “ugly”; they were not presentable, they were desperate. I don’t have to make myself presentable before God will heal me, he loves me in my ugliness, especially in my ugliness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">I discovered this painting that touched my heart. I found out afterwards that the name of the painting is Security by David Bowman—it is a representation of letting Christ be my safe place, my security, peace, and comfort. <b>Today</b>—I don’t have to present myself to him. His arms are open. He wants to love me in my desperation.</span><span style="color: #666666; font-family: Arial;"> </span></div>
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Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-7800886875908685812012-04-08T22:01:00.000-06:002014-05-08T22:01:51.572-06:00Grateful<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">One of my favorite scriptures is Isaiah 49:15-16:</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"> </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">"For can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">not have compassion on the son of her womb? Yea, they may forget, yet </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">will I not forget thee, O house of Israel. Behold, I have graven thee </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">upon the palms of my hands; thy walls are continually before me."</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I'm finding that so much of my experience as a mother leads me to </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Jesus Christ.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">I love that Christ compares the relationship of a mother with her nursing baby </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Not only does a mother not forget her suckling child </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">because of great love, but also her body cannot forget--Can a woman go </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">a day without feeding her baby? No, even her body is a reminder of her </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">baby.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">When I have this baby I have the privilege to sacrifice, enduring</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">pain, for the bringing forth of a new life. I get to bear marks on my</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">body as a reminder of that sacrifice.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">Jesus Christ demonstrated great love by sacrificing and suffering to</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">bring forth life. He wears the marks of his great sacrifice. This</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;">experience can teach me more of my Savior, and I am grateful for it.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><br /></span>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-75970286297557076312011-09-06T11:05:00.006-06:002011-09-06T12:20:40.914-06:00Good, "Clean," FUN at home<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">The other day I sat back and watched this:</span><br /></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTYsMYgEptW9_Qbz3Z-9o9TV-5QIN5CdIBqQB44YzQMjGS6kgajdIrAVK9wfVAGEExjwHQ9ao4gihzOtxPWXOJyWEb5VnG0shTcQ6gqoTx1SLWQYooNcfzQtNUBTfiFZXNqBDdw5u1jYs/s1600/DSC03482.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTYsMYgEptW9_Qbz3Z-9o9TV-5QIN5CdIBqQB44YzQMjGS6kgajdIrAVK9wfVAGEExjwHQ9ao4gihzOtxPWXOJyWEb5VnG0shTcQ6gqoTx1SLWQYooNcfzQtNUBTfiFZXNqBDdw5u1jYs/s400/DSC03482.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649301754916270754" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3t7H3mmlru-1rqPFcP6NrmJ2_GxMrvJ8jjJ-EZUE3QpyYPuSGl9dcxbSPA-qSGc5eTwccql2b5ISp1_d78j32vV-iywahKn1fu20kERecd16cA4BdwS2bQeRRyvIGEq3dWG13n4k2xQU/s1600/DSC03484.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3t7H3mmlru-1rqPFcP6NrmJ2_GxMrvJ8jjJ-EZUE3QpyYPuSGl9dcxbSPA-qSGc5eTwccql2b5ISp1_d78j32vV-iywahKn1fu20kERecd16cA4BdwS2bQeRRyvIGEq3dWG13n4k2xQU/s400/DSC03484.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649301751019152434" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7PLnAl08-RfjPqEdK38eKAhm3ELI3eSMHzQxT0RZMVDu401vgCGmMMOfXWMQFE-p9P-qCUcKvuW6cYy3hgS-YUTrrP_mXnScXTPHCRngkeYSCpPvZtSfQ5k776fYrGiODakTOJWujzTQ/s1600/DSC03470.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7PLnAl08-RfjPqEdK38eKAhm3ELI3eSMHzQxT0RZMVDu401vgCGmMMOfXWMQFE-p9P-qCUcKvuW6cYy3hgS-YUTrrP_mXnScXTPHCRngkeYSCpPvZtSfQ5k776fYrGiODakTOJWujzTQ/s400/DSC03470.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649301762402067602" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1TL9ID8xznNwmrK-OeaUoDp8rh3OZuOaotm-kC2Mc_I6z00o2T1oLQi9k_QQVWVZLWeMVCTCLFjWlgEkz0EmCQVuH808AjauZFICewCQYOdDQaCIQ-5QCfFdDYXitndpLCp5aS8fm-Y/s1600/DSC03495.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy1TL9ID8xznNwmrK-OeaUoDp8rh3OZuOaotm-kC2Mc_I6z00o2T1oLQi9k_QQVWVZLWeMVCTCLFjWlgEkz0EmCQVuH808AjauZFICewCQYOdDQaCIQ-5QCfFdDYXitndpLCp5aS8fm-Y/s400/DSC03495.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649299775741019410" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj33dJaYgkN6xItdBpf1uYXxqOa2hn5yzYJjtflEMfJXHpz2LPcnJAeTQ8dqnJ9W9612P7Kjbo-O4k6ks4EuU8QgDosuVFGjdjEJLZAwmn90h_SGsIHcCVIiRkS-8x4FVfLKs2CcEGMkRE/s1600/DSC03497.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj33dJaYgkN6xItdBpf1uYXxqOa2hn5yzYJjtflEMfJXHpz2LPcnJAeTQ8dqnJ9W9612P7Kjbo-O4k6ks4EuU8QgDosuVFGjdjEJLZAwmn90h_SGsIHcCVIiRkS-8x4FVfLKs2CcEGMkRE/s400/DSC03497.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649299760514283890" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivIv7yGxvXYOwst_Cog8ibaGPV4DzOsj7pA0aW0AND5fn06SXKoUcPyBnqpYb346xrYODDDEqz5UV9DAJ_ZZ4WH4ZDeZwydtez1x41KhxcJ6UiLuOI4I-ZGCucD3v-mWAU4u3sUHUnO8A/s1600/DSC03498.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivIv7yGxvXYOwst_Cog8ibaGPV4DzOsj7pA0aW0AND5fn06SXKoUcPyBnqpYb346xrYODDDEqz5UV9DAJ_ZZ4WH4ZDeZwydtez1x41KhxcJ6UiLuOI4I-ZGCucD3v-mWAU4u3sUHUnO8A/s400/DSC03498.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649299756356338322" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8uw5BhO2fah_JbVgsCzUPzLvJAFgC40Z81t31Ih6QTMjB15YTAjeZp12aZuUDuX-NmqNR9VBEy9PG0ACDLoqcUlwVHzYbUUXnLoeXQgoTeDLxcdqMb1aBWaE-zxd88bIJdQnApcJBf9c/s1600/DSC03499.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8uw5BhO2fah_JbVgsCzUPzLvJAFgC40Z81t31Ih6QTMjB15YTAjeZp12aZuUDuX-NmqNR9VBEy9PG0ACDLoqcUlwVHzYbUUXnLoeXQgoTeDLxcdqMb1aBWaE-zxd88bIJdQnApcJBf9c/s400/DSC03499.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649299750717009154" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXV4Z0lyG9gvNj6ljHwcUbqut5b33nR6Xx94xrJBDVqK7Msrr6qPFoBtsYFyFsCRmaLj5QrTmalxD77BQQW5EZ9ro6a_uKmcHrTnardgJFeQaxgRXNh2Cko0jDufbIwJ0Z5k02W6lrdk/s1600/DSC03486.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLXV4Z0lyG9gvNj6ljHwcUbqut5b33nR6Xx94xrJBDVqK7Msrr6qPFoBtsYFyFsCRmaLj5QrTmalxD77BQQW5EZ9ro6a_uKmcHrTnardgJFeQaxgRXNh2Cko0jDufbIwJ0Z5k02W6lrdk/s400/DSC03486.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5649299778741295762" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"><span style="font-size:180%;">My observation:</span> We spend time and money going all over the place: to zoos, plays, aquariums, farms, fairs, museums, playgrounds, movies, amusement parks, gardens, carnivals.</span></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"></span></span><br /><span style="font-size:130%;"><span style="color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"></span>They didn't smile this big or laugh that hard at any of those places!</span><br /></div>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-17957963364218158542011-07-28T16:59:00.003-06:002011-07-28T17:50:20.175-06:005 Minutes of Today<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://profile.ak.fbcdn.net/hprofile-ak-snc4/41574_2205078929_4101_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 133px;" src="http://profile.ak.fbcdn.net/hprofile-ak-snc4/41574_2205078929_4101_n.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br />Today we arrived home (from a lovely visit with my sis-in-law) feeling a little tired and cranky. Audrey fell asleep in the car. I transferred her to the couch and went back outside to gather the other two and all our stuff.<br /><br />I walk back into the 80 degree house holding my baby, and balancing our overstuffed bag. I hear Audrey crying, no longer on the couch. I put the babe in his highchair as Hyrum is telling me he is hungry. Something stinks. I take out the garbage, but that doesn't take care of it. I locate the smell near the sink, and discover the pot I used to boil corn (...2 days ago?), apparently I should have at least rinsed it. I fill it with soapy water.<br /><br />I find Audrey in the bathroom sitting on the potty but covered in peepee. Apparently she couldn't get her pants undone fast enough. I overlook the puddle on the floor for the moment and get the sweet girl in the bath. Luckily she submits willingly to the washing.<br /><br />Hyrum walks into the bathroom eating a chocolate chip cookie. I get Audrey out and let her sit in her towel at the kitchen counter to enjoy a cookie as well. She stood up to adjust her towel and knocked her breakfast cereal bowl onto the floor. I walk around the counter to see the milk scattered across the chairs and floor when I notice Hebie with a red cup. A red cup of milk. From yesterday? He may have drank some...but most of the curdled milk is down his front and settling into the cracks of his highchair.<br /><br />I relocate Audrey to the couch. I undress Heb and realize he's stinky. When I set him down he goes after Audrey's cookie. I give him a piece of cookie and get one for myself and we all sit down. Hyrum repeatedly asks me to play a game with him as Hebie smears chocolate puree (from the cookie, not the diaper) on my couch and my shirt.<br /><br />I'm still waiting for the energy to get up and clean the peepee, the milk in it's different stages of fermentation, the bum-bum, and the chocolate smears....<br /><br />I'm grateful we had a few Costco cookies, or these 5 minutes may have been much worse!<br /><br />Alright, I'm getting up now. Go team go!Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-46439165736288850582011-07-27T16:49:00.000-06:002011-07-27T17:11:17.063-06:00Happy 24th of July!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jXre7MktGhRgvQbUlzglH3mt21UWE8TJG9_IGf8GnVdQSWfx-2DHCeuoGrcTeTevZo5PfGtALhryYMWyBKG9kxKdWrk4Dhy2sRGZO52usu0uiVu-xyUdpB6wY1Yzkvuee64ljTxjg_s/s1600/DSC03305.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2jXre7MktGhRgvQbUlzglH3mt21UWE8TJG9_IGf8GnVdQSWfx-2DHCeuoGrcTeTevZo5PfGtALhryYMWyBKG9kxKdWrk4Dhy2sRGZO52usu0uiVu-xyUdpB6wY1Yzkvuee64ljTxjg_s/s400/DSC03305.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634172765649385346" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhylvTy8c0nze5bcsGoguO-7VCejoPjSvo0aMnfCnRPChf0pdQNPs2QpsAFVyEqMgSQJdpAgIZOTmT-GNRFdTSuOQCR-BALFefQvpFPz8K3gygXlK7KQgxazgRGKrgs5U2xPJoDVEKjY7Y/s1600/DSC03304.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhylvTy8c0nze5bcsGoguO-7VCejoPjSvo0aMnfCnRPChf0pdQNPs2QpsAFVyEqMgSQJdpAgIZOTmT-GNRFdTSuOQCR-BALFefQvpFPz8K3gygXlK7KQgxazgRGKrgs5U2xPJoDVEKjY7Y/s400/DSC03304.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634172760014878370" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNGz24HXNjVO9tMKNymj7vDK5-mZHMIjRlcSBSWi2cK9oJ3o9R19AV_1UoWAGZXtF1K9mIDyrF6TitJ1INHaBq7Jd7ExQZPVHOjSn6zJkL7RgbuReTaTz3mBc4he2Ax7H5iBV9zcmdEOI/s1600/DSC03306.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNGz24HXNjVO9tMKNymj7vDK5-mZHMIjRlcSBSWi2cK9oJ3o9R19AV_1UoWAGZXtF1K9mIDyrF6TitJ1INHaBq7Jd7ExQZPVHOjSn6zJkL7RgbuReTaTz3mBc4he2Ax7H5iBV9zcmdEOI/s400/DSC03306.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634172771562784866" border="0" /></a>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-22235163320573010362011-07-13T23:17:00.003-06:002011-07-14T00:36:32.775-06:00When I grow up...I want to be like <a href="http://www.soulemama.com/">SouleMama</a>.<br />I read her (Amanda Blake Soule's) book <em>The Creative Family</em> recently and I <span style="font-size:180%;">simply swooned</span>.<a href="http://www.soulemama.com/.a/6a00d8341c4ea853ef01156f821b2d970b-250wi"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 250px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 314px; CURSOR: hand" border="0" alt="" src="http://www.soulemama.com/.a/6a00d8341c4ea853ef01156f821b2d970b-250wi" /></a>Swooned I tell you.<br />If you follow the link to her blog, you get the idea of her style.<br />Simple, wholesome, back-to-nature creativity.<br />She inspires so many delightful ways to celebrate your children's creative energy with natural day-to-day rhythm and ritual.<br /><br />Rather than try to tell you what the book contains, I'll tell you the projects it has inspired for me:<br /><br /><ul><br /><li>A Birthday Crown (just for Audrey so far) out of richly colored wool felt. It is only to be worn on the birthday and I intend to add a little something to it each year.<br /></li></ul><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629088632171607506" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0ii4K1MhyphenhyphenkiCNIqhrPYtwkPXSwxq0z4i8TxO11riZjhqwXqgP7Ch2P6zNP4hng1y6DhOdKUYxOtdXV9d9J39QRjBx6cQ1snCQr6Nh71WuASsJtjv0qj5_MgYiTp5tEwdL3rYX08bFTjs/s400/DSC02054.JPG" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoG6mbZXAliIonZGkx8DaydI3WcR5Zprf04HUqiHtNFcGBgbG0omi2srq1HWPoLxyGHHibbFX_ZuDeqCYmHUuvk3hlVck1QxtKQkYB8pJt2Hrva_xqjUwJihC6_87B0b5wl8lfDTbm-1w/s1600/DSC02028.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5629088624712834786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoG6mbZXAliIonZGkx8DaydI3WcR5Zprf04HUqiHtNFcGBgbG0omi2srq1HWPoLxyGHHibbFX_ZuDeqCYmHUuvk3hlVck1QxtKQkYB8pJt2Hrva_xqjUwJihC6_87B0b5wl8lfDTbm-1w/s400/DSC02028.JPG" /></a> <br /><ul><br /><li>Finger knitting (a great start to learning knitting)</li><br /><br /><li>Embroidery- I took my all-time-favorite drawing of Hyrum's, transferred it to muslin, embroidered it, and framed it for my wall. I <em><strong>cherish</strong></em> this picture. <span style="font-size:78%;">(I 'll have to post a picture of it when I find my camera battery...)</span></li><br /><br /><li>A super simple bunting that I love.</li><br /><br /><li>Nature collections at different seasons...rocks, leaves, acorns, pinecones, seeds, flowers...the kids adore it, and so do I!</li><br /><br /><li>Used a tin can covered in scrapbook paper for our colored pencils. (looks adorable sitting on Hyrum's desk.) We love to sit quietly together and all draw in our respective tablets.<br /></li></ul><br /><p>I am purchasing this book in my next Amazon load.<br />I love her idea of creating an "inspiration board" without boundaries...a place for you to collect things that inspire you. Bulletin board, string and clothespins, one whole wall?</p><br /><p>And the ideas keep comin!</p>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-3037028356304445582011-07-08T09:50:00.003-06:002013-04-17T07:46:30.437-06:00Hmmmm...<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 130%;">What does it say about my mothering if I relate well to <span style="font-size: 180%;">Mr. Mom</span> and the dad in <span style="font-size: 180%;">Multiplicity</span> when he takes care of his kids. (Que clip of him feeding his kids a messy spaghetti dinner to the booming "There was an old lady who swallowed a fly" and cutting saran wrap with a saw. OR clip of him getting his daughter ready for ballet pictures)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 130%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: 130%;">It's funny that they are both Michael Keaton!</span><br />
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Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-68802966601655082242011-07-01T07:03:00.008-06:002011-07-02T00:31:27.029-06:00Each life<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiDSwHvbP0oSLxEIJp3KMGI3uhiCn0sgb1ctO-0PWhltRy63HmtMEe9ABnSEA8Pye5O7hOagCVB4hEaPlUU1-oB5PI1_CjmUrAWT5m3K10KIn5_Ln4o7DGMbBmtW5AR9o2EIJKM4e7u2c/s1600/84310017.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiDSwHvbP0oSLxEIJp3KMGI3uhiCn0sgb1ctO-0PWhltRy63HmtMEe9ABnSEA8Pye5O7hOagCVB4hEaPlUU1-oB5PI1_CjmUrAWT5m3K10KIn5_Ln4o7DGMbBmtW5AR9o2EIJKM4e7u2c/s400/84310017.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624373242987091474" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGRDP-CBI_rLE-SZ-Xm5avzeYTGdSR51cNKLnfa_5eYA0PQ2wHin0Sn4RW1mIvRtH_a8-mK6WrSwUiV0Bl0Lu8Xr1VfljPQNeeDb6fAlkDfYq9ZEvcIw-p8myJ30EqZIfSp8JZLtkS6mU/s1600/84310007.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 321px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGRDP-CBI_rLE-SZ-Xm5avzeYTGdSR51cNKLnfa_5eYA0PQ2wHin0Sn4RW1mIvRtH_a8-mK6WrSwUiV0Bl0Lu8Xr1VfljPQNeeDb6fAlkDfYq9ZEvcIw-p8myJ30EqZIfSp8JZLtkS6mU/s400/84310007.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624373240767854690" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy_vbWBoc1CjDYYL1F5WkJjrmhqjshgqfk6U79IonX2ToruWBqYg3DqlP_ISX23z5BTMkawbUP9woFUtz3KNN56NvqNfiEJmiq-xMYT-8dTfiny5vxIGuyT2ZgQ4qqpJ8SHMlgM70t-WE/s1600/84310028.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy_vbWBoc1CjDYYL1F5WkJjrmhqjshgqfk6U79IonX2ToruWBqYg3DqlP_ISX23z5BTMkawbUP9woFUtz3KNN56NvqNfiEJmiq-xMYT-8dTfiny5vxIGuyT2ZgQ4qqpJ8SHMlgM70t-WE/s400/84310028.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624373242809645490" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMlob6QJ0CghC-kK_gktp3VQFpzHLF1CGYNUbDIlKZGNUrLFnX-amSsM3QQBVI9p8iiBKeIXycLrVYLH7t6a3Fq-qTi-_AJ1yOuIyVH-v9IGofgUBv-xMDfvWlRvyO_tH0ECfJ-ITvaRQ/s1600/84310020.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMlob6QJ0CghC-kK_gktp3VQFpzHLF1CGYNUbDIlKZGNUrLFnX-amSsM3QQBVI9p8iiBKeIXycLrVYLH7t6a3Fq-qTi-_AJ1yOuIyVH-v9IGofgUBv-xMDfvWlRvyO_tH0ECfJ-ITvaRQ/s400/84310020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624371415552617202" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyOCiPUNQ_sxI9xJZepNjtxGAZuGY0qm0yOL3WCo0ksu2O8qM2aaRGVDChcqbrATur87n77P5K5qATbPoQLFNc_oWmOztVIG-1pELTnc2vmDzIt-BB9MFLK6Qz0hslBOwydBhVui4s7fM/s1600/84310014.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyOCiPUNQ_sxI9xJZepNjtxGAZuGY0qm0yOL3WCo0ksu2O8qM2aaRGVDChcqbrATur87n77P5K5qATbPoQLFNc_oWmOztVIG-1pELTnc2vmDzIt-BB9MFLK6Qz0hslBOwydBhVui4s7fM/s400/84310014.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624371406763711906" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiefDnpwhBaW30cqobYGp5sU0abeVbJ0pGWbfWtUcUXOWDGLs5McoQiZYpi78uPrFS6Qbkp4JVqpxQtk_xFQJ-Ucau518V8sBDCnajfJi3Vnj0ipmgRCbF9-O4lotpRxZFMZESnE7_7CP4/s1600/DSC_0055.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 193px; height: 256px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiefDnpwhBaW30cqobYGp5sU0abeVbJ0pGWbfWtUcUXOWDGLs5McoQiZYpi78uPrFS6Qbkp4JVqpxQtk_xFQJ-Ucau518V8sBDCnajfJi3Vnj0ipmgRCbF9-O4lotpRxZFMZESnE7_7CP4/s400/DSC_0055.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624371404522756514" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTITcY1XvEDU1VQhhiMARJLFSDLN633bYrGFL2Jo20jVK1AVaTfdzvdCLfd_jkagK26SBnInbN7aYa1pc1DbaD66FbC9to_08p1rfIL1SV3KYg5llJQyWEHvMWD-S500Ilp2I_eziqVHs/s1600/DSC_0021.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTITcY1XvEDU1VQhhiMARJLFSDLN633bYrGFL2Jo20jVK1AVaTfdzvdCLfd_jkagK26SBnInbN7aYa1pc1DbaD66FbC9to_08p1rfIL1SV3KYg5llJQyWEHvMWD-S500Ilp2I_eziqVHs/s400/DSC_0021.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5624371402984827986" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">Today marks four years since we've seen our Grandpa Hatch.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1 Wedding</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Graduations</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Birthdays</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">4 Baptisms</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Blessings</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">1 Ordination</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">13 grand babies (+2 coming)</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">By the end of the year, over half of his grandchildren will have never met him in this life.</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hard nights and days for his sweet wife</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">New talents</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Stretched comfort zones</span><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">New goals</span><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br />Mom: "Where is grandpa Hatch"<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hyrum</span>: "Up in heaven"<br />Mom: "What is he doing all day?"<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hyrum</span>: "Visiting with Heavenly Father."<br />Mom: "Does he know who you are?"<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hyrum</span>: "Yep"<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Audrey</span>: "Yes, Heavenly Father tells him"<br /><br />Mom: "When will you see Grandpa Again?"<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Audrey</span>: "When he comes on Earth again."<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hyrum</span>: "When Jesus comes again. And when we resurrect than we<span style="font-style: italic;"> never ever </span>die again."<br />Mom: "What are you going to do when you see Grandpa?"<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Audrey</span>: "Say, I LOVE YOU!"<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Hyrum</span>: "Give him really big hugs and give him a lot of treats!"<br /></div><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">I think Grandpa is working as hard as ever. I feel comfort thinking of him working for us and encouraging my family from heaven--with direction, clarity, and peace.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><span style="font-weight: bold;">God lives. Families are Forever.</span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Grandpa hasn't missed any of it</span>.<br /><br /></div>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-20858350616249550522011-02-28T22:11:00.003-07:002011-02-28T22:23:49.938-07:00A new member of the family...<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOYbM5MoxGPwRp_clRj-YDIJSKIIkyWKXSebamtoXnsrlg3aCkKP0sJ0R31Qr_aJIxoGcIFb4qlF_bS0Tza8T5eEJhXNwJQtsBOdNX5uhAa9HkmQGKODHQMcU6r44-2Gk_pJKf51J_6Ro/s1600/DSC02768.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOYbM5MoxGPwRp_clRj-YDIJSKIIkyWKXSebamtoXnsrlg3aCkKP0sJ0R31Qr_aJIxoGcIFb4qlF_bS0Tza8T5eEJhXNwJQtsBOdNX5uhAa9HkmQGKODHQMcU6r44-2Gk_pJKf51J_6Ro/s400/DSC02768.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578975519592687154" border="0" /></a><br />Announcing: COTTON<br /><br />Call us crazy, but we got a puppy!<br />He is an English Creme Golden Retriever. He is 8 weeks old.<br />We've had him in our home almost two weeks.<br />He is such a cute little puppy! (And it's a good thing because that helps us be patient with him!)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXbRuwnvPruqAbGNyuyfPOzQYdzWMorMcChJ0EaECirSjrS9rmcTwCUvEG_DpCRtdSmDNZgMdSqtUzMZNURwKsu2P95Pz5W2A6zvjLkW9HutX58RTy-M_rkE8G-HC830UFH00MY5B3ZBQ/s1600/DSC02769.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXbRuwnvPruqAbGNyuyfPOzQYdzWMorMcChJ0EaECirSjrS9rmcTwCUvEG_DpCRtdSmDNZgMdSqtUzMZNURwKsu2P95Pz5W2A6zvjLkW9HutX58RTy-M_rkE8G-HC830UFH00MY5B3ZBQ/s400/DSC02769.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578975513433929330" border="0" /></a>This is Audrey with Cotton when he was only 3 weeks old.<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxd0hBBWJNzUgFuocmQk0kO3s94mWRzONn9YNBaXf-ZCuRjO545DjdF4d5QhpMX3A_A4VlYz9yvmdE7CmO0JyaJBKjcWpWSlcgcCZek3txLartTYW64DczeRQNgBMQaQMo18X2toFJWk/s1600/DSC02508.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpxd0hBBWJNzUgFuocmQk0kO3s94mWRzONn9YNBaXf-ZCuRjO545DjdF4d5QhpMX3A_A4VlYz9yvmdE7CmO0JyaJBKjcWpWSlcgcCZek3txLartTYW64DczeRQNgBMQaQMo18X2toFJWk/s400/DSC02508.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578975506442712482" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46orFAmzV-3CRlu2Xik2_8to0ZmPZLrME-_pJ4FJslHbgkV4FCh3nBkj5hZSl5e0SOKkeFViAFm1OL8KBUBjYPb7Q3dbgL8Xv3pP40ln178aTEs_gZL0HxsjPNXCpDperk_Dsm_W7x7s/s1600/DSC02507.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj46orFAmzV-3CRlu2Xik2_8to0ZmPZLrME-_pJ4FJslHbgkV4FCh3nBkj5hZSl5e0SOKkeFViAFm1OL8KBUBjYPb7Q3dbgL8Xv3pP40ln178aTEs_gZL0HxsjPNXCpDperk_Dsm_W7x7s/s400/DSC02507.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578975495708403074" border="0" /></a>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-64346179891120766542011-02-03T08:08:00.003-07:002011-02-03T08:32:24.831-07:00Morning, Can we be friends?<div style="text-align: left;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://c0278592.cdn.cloudfiles.rackspacecloud.com/medium/88527.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 253px; height: 186px;" src="http://c0278592.cdn.cloudfiles.rackspacecloud.com/medium/88527.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br />Dear Morning,<br /><br />Can we be friends again?<br /><br />It's silly, but when I see you coming I cover my head and pretend I don't know you. I'm sorry to say that when you come to my door I groan a little, let you in begrudgingly and then-as you know-I haven't welcomed you with hospitality.<br /><br />It's not you it's me.<br /><br />You are still more beautiful than ever. You've been happy to see me and listened as good as always. Maybe you've been a little cold, no doubt in response to my distant behavior.<br /><br />I hope you'll forgive me.<br /><br />Remember the good times? It used to be that there wasn't enough time for us--just you and me. We used to inspire and encourage each other. My day is always happier when I visit with you.<br /><br />Can we be friends again? Like old times?<br /><br />Love,<br />AbbyAbbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-80382504114848964692011-02-01T08:30:00.003-07:002011-02-01T08:43:48.408-07:006 months old!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVsbYcxk5WIE6DsEx_4Wpnujh3oul4ePnoH0XwBgy9BBj-vOj56iTnNB46OG1pbBsfYlciW1Kvx1HI55pjh-wOe7NmxJd9IBCHFqrncs6WoIeHKSDWlrPPUAwI26f_FnMgMYBylveYsx0/s1600/JM0G7502.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVsbYcxk5WIE6DsEx_4Wpnujh3oul4ePnoH0XwBgy9BBj-vOj56iTnNB46OG1pbBsfYlciW1Kvx1HI55pjh-wOe7NmxJd9IBCHFqrncs6WoIeHKSDWlrPPUAwI26f_FnMgMYBylveYsx0/s400/JM0G7502.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568745580735449378" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:130%;"><br /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Count the rolls, baby!<br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:130%;">(Remember, he was born on the fourth of July)<br /><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOfh3eXT1GBtDQT9Ddj15upSY2IRlRbYRkGXBvPlnbSA3B9enPS1yMJIPbtobgSOV44kiz1qZ31FhqK_9Z82F4EVp_N0OhfEFNUABYDqd4yyDH4cyihN_OYjB-ajAoMsKrs0oKiJMpxiM/s1600/+7474.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOfh3eXT1GBtDQT9Ddj15upSY2IRlRbYRkGXBvPlnbSA3B9enPS1yMJIPbtobgSOV44kiz1qZ31FhqK_9Z82F4EVp_N0OhfEFNUABYDqd4yyDH4cyihN_OYjB-ajAoMsKrs0oKiJMpxiM/s400/+7474.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568745570505381506" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh6kul8m12euFZiExEZmNjRwHJF5OEYaCTk5c4RfCmBXd9m8roPJKa0Qeu_BMiFPhBwFUGOQOAQo6YiCJxJyEhG2snAg8YW9VymKo_8m6px98UUi-sqKApCZzvQDSAHqlH5xenuN-pFY0/s1600/JM0G7456.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh6kul8m12euFZiExEZmNjRwHJF5OEYaCTk5c4RfCmBXd9m8roPJKa0Qeu_BMiFPhBwFUGOQOAQo6YiCJxJyEhG2snAg8YW9VymKo_8m6px98UUi-sqKApCZzvQDSAHqlH5xenuN-pFY0/s400/JM0G7456.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568745565634636194" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUl0LmN5J0H_DlI1huHKXhf5pLQVj-Q_-cy4M1qGj_MGim7PYXi9K6LHG_QQphmQSMmOlh-oESmTQdyGUKQBz2y1JjQ3RiqzsDo3k9uj4oMWioWb5j15hd9YmnBdlwwvbEgoYENZ-tJ4/s1600/JM0G7471.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUUl0LmN5J0H_DlI1huHKXhf5pLQVj-Q_-cy4M1qGj_MGim7PYXi9K6LHG_QQphmQSMmOlh-oESmTQdyGUKQBz2y1JjQ3RiqzsDo3k9uj4oMWioWb5j15hd9YmnBdlwwvbEgoYENZ-tJ4/s400/JM0G7471.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568745555089292706" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcaPxrgrSeMjYbINW1rfaK-o1Wu94-iU9HLHFm3s125WJrD1j-wNX1BvQcYADPU_SwkeDFZRh8ByK_29zYGrdfiLhfr_M-QggVsq9Gt2poKELxRcPXA6JOrhAevwBWnJ5lpsq2oGqqzCs/s1600/JM0G7427.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcaPxrgrSeMjYbINW1rfaK-o1Wu94-iU9HLHFm3s125WJrD1j-wNX1BvQcYADPU_SwkeDFZRh8ByK_29zYGrdfiLhfr_M-QggVsq9Gt2poKELxRcPXA6JOrhAevwBWnJ5lpsq2oGqqzCs/s400/JM0G7427.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5568745547301906322" border="0" /></a>Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-35097037537645645552010-11-19T21:50:00.000-07:002014-05-08T21:56:19.102-06:00A goal met!<div>
Today I have met a goal.</div>
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Today marks 40 days without sweetener.</div>
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The goal was originally choosing to remove refined sugar, but after the mass exploitation of honey I experienced, I decided to remove any and all sweeteners. Fruit only. It would have been better if I would have limited it to "whole fruit," because I still went overboard on the 100% juice sweetened jam.</div>
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I'm proud of myself! How to celebrate? I only know how to celebrate with food! :)</div>
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Most poeple think that going without sugar will mean weight loss; I admit, I was hopeful, myself. </div>
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I have proven an experiment in the last six months plus of sugar limiting. I used to over-eat sugar. Now I over-eat wholesome, nutritious foods. Many yummy things, but usually BREAD (with a slather of jam.) Anyone looking to GAIN weight? I've got the perfect solution! Cut out sugar and bring on the carbs! It actually makes perfect sense. </div>
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The best benefit of being without sugar is my mood. I am a much happier person when I choose not to eat it. Ironic, since I used to think chocolate made me happy. I can cope with daily stress with more dignity, which I always need.</div>
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I'm not skinnier, but I can cope with my chubby self with a little more joy.</div>
Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-24694773964135544332010-10-26T07:38:00.005-06:002010-10-26T08:24:28.286-06:00Heber's Blessing Day<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVobn_haU-5VOtzHoopFMcCOVsXCa1yA2JGRK_wBTJ131O_MWC5kkv2-ELdjIgMG7-xn5OFBtbmWlgmXUKU9mH_NB9FZqbtPCtYrwfJUtkix4pcYR6GC2IsleUeLrRh9S_c2v_hCACcG8/s1600/Picture+647.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVobn_haU-5VOtzHoopFMcCOVsXCa1yA2JGRK_wBTJ131O_MWC5kkv2-ELdjIgMG7-xn5OFBtbmWlgmXUKU9mH_NB9FZqbtPCtYrwfJUtkix4pcYR6GC2IsleUeLrRh9S_c2v_hCACcG8/s400/Picture+647.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532358030155011922" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Rh7-QiwBss1YnPAXWnplSiMVFxrGI1_Gay0iSe2vDTPtiX203n8xfRIFt4O3IPvpFkQiUn-wvZfGr5fYr1kRb89EirhcmuhJeEx-opASIsZdwqfFGUy4FkdfsdYrKvGGyN9tA7Yvz2U/s1600/Picture+659.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 286px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Rh7-QiwBss1YnPAXWnplSiMVFxrGI1_Gay0iSe2vDTPtiX203n8xfRIFt4O3IPvpFkQiUn-wvZfGr5fYr1kRb89EirhcmuhJeEx-opASIsZdwqfFGUy4FkdfsdYrKvGGyN9tA7Yvz2U/s400/Picture+659.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532357310684161538" border="0" /></a>We blessed Heber on the first Sunday in September. It was only our third week in our new ward. Thank you to everyone that came to celebrate this baby with us, and we missed all of you who couldn't make it.<br /><br />Heber was only 2 months old in these pictures....he might be my chubbiest baby yet!<br /><br />The evening of his blessing day Heber gave us his first giggle.<br /><br />We love our bubb.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-32171549846522678502010-07-28T21:54:00.003-06:002010-07-28T22:02:51.706-06:00Trying to be like grandmaHyrum came to me yesterday with this observation:<br /><br />"Grandma always uses kind words, even when she tells me 'no' she uses kind words."<br />Then he emphatically points at me saying, "Not like <em>you</em>."<br /><br />I explained that Grandma was older than me and had practiced longer (though I'm sure she's always been a patient woman); I told him I was still learning.<br /><br />"Okay Mom, I'll help you. When you use mean words I'll just say <em>Remember Mom, you're trying to be like Grandma!</em>"<br /><br />He makes me smile.Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7580198166765605199.post-60703167241376137502010-07-11T11:00:00.002-06:002010-07-11T22:36:57.592-06:00Baby Heber<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MN_HDdQkX1xlLN4ez7CEOrs3CbsFJhV3ccStHWYIg0LSOoZ3ZjlNcDi1egcdsfFEXq85WwUqJrX0YrJhvnNT0X6wbVUGpuEiFP2K1x8ruIDRxNcOUNiMjkxeaOzG8y97NuMo9lgAkqc/s1600/DSCN7459.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MN_HDdQkX1xlLN4ez7CEOrs3CbsFJhV3ccStHWYIg0LSOoZ3ZjlNcDi1egcdsfFEXq85WwUqJrX0YrJhvnNT0X6wbVUGpuEiFP2K1x8ruIDRxNcOUNiMjkxeaOzG8y97NuMo9lgAkqc/s400/DSCN7459.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492873366798928130" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoLbF5yP-tWrIDFCOJCQ1brkv3UojIj84lCi8Xsd9QmU5Sibgik2lp1kHQACnO-uvoCi2YgvQ6ImMZfZTbcyGDQNKI4aIrnCmqKBCs-7RPz88eqA3fVHv5f76SK2IEoeHQyP1-Et3C_2M/s1600/DSCN7415.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoLbF5yP-tWrIDFCOJCQ1brkv3UojIj84lCi8Xsd9QmU5Sibgik2lp1kHQACnO-uvoCi2YgvQ6ImMZfZTbcyGDQNKI4aIrnCmqKBCs-7RPz88eqA3fVHv5f76SK2IEoeHQyP1-Et3C_2M/s400/DSCN7415.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492873030223945938" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZkqdnLJx7n6z3e3M5RhB_Ow45bSuC5mZVfEldaGTiIS06wJxTNIIdY_AhepvGflB5nGvVhfc3egZRuET6YMQVQEjXP6DQpmNHhg9Ra6ozWrKyHdW5eH_C0hWg5Vy9Ozgrf71QuxIK7-E/s1600/DSCN7381.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZkqdnLJx7n6z3e3M5RhB_Ow45bSuC5mZVfEldaGTiIS06wJxTNIIdY_AhepvGflB5nGvVhfc3egZRuET6YMQVQEjXP6DQpmNHhg9Ra6ozWrKyHdW5eH_C0hWg5Vy9Ozgrf71QuxIK7-E/s400/DSCN7381.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492873024291084002" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifjrP3LykTpN36msAr3lJeY65aGYCyHhty5mFcEzRP99cuvbM8ThUsANB6PcoRhTU2hkhY1YkPBC4bi-xPYtgrlcWXHzEAFn-5F0ni3dyoFlwEEP8przFYl86QZ_byKM6xwwAjLCw2NI4/s1600/DSCN7379.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifjrP3LykTpN36msAr3lJeY65aGYCyHhty5mFcEzRP99cuvbM8ThUsANB6PcoRhTU2hkhY1YkPBC4bi-xPYtgrlcWXHzEAFn-5F0ni3dyoFlwEEP8przFYl86QZ_byKM6xwwAjLCw2NI4/s400/DSCN7379.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492873013319103842" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjxdMP0z6sXuYqe1XviaczRYh5s6FfULXmJzIpXBk87amjC79CoN4u_eJWAZBMybeIHikKpc8bkme8L11OrJft4gi-uOOHho6F7bi4gcoCychJMULjp4qiONhtd9Wx5_W8mObFZiJBhyphenhyphenY/s1600/DSCN7370.JPG"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjxdMP0z6sXuYqe1XviaczRYh5s6FfULXmJzIpXBk87amjC79CoN4u_eJWAZBMybeIHikKpc8bkme8L11OrJft4gi-uOOHho6F7bi4gcoCychJMULjp4qiONhtd9Wx5_W8mObFZiJBhyphenhyphenY/s400/DSCN7370.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5492873009349062866" border="0" /></a><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;">Our baby boy was born on the 4<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">th</span> of July.</span><br /></div><br />Saturday night we went to watch the Stadium of Fire fireworks in Provo. I was having mild contractions every 15 minutes or so for 4 or 5 hours that evening (but that wasn't anything new). We made it home around 11:00 and made it into bed around 1:00am.<br /><br />I woke up around 2:00 with contractions coming about 3 minutes apart and with a little pain. I got out of bed and walked around for a few minutes. I was excited to finally be in real labor. I woke <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Ammon</span> up saying, "I'm having contractions that hurt." He said "OK" and rolled back over. He was really tired, and I didn't mind letting him sleep for a little longer.<br /><br />I got dressed and went outside to walk through my contractions. On Friday the 2<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">nd</span> we had the big Hatch family reunion, and we still had a full house of visitors. I didn't want to wake up the family and I found the night air invigorating. It was a beautiful night, bright moon and stars. I even saw a shooting star. It was peaceful and quiet. I called my mom, and my midwife. My midwife encouraged me to labor at home as long as possible, for my comfort. She indicated that if I could still talk through the contractions I probably still had hours ahead of me. I resolved to go to the hospital at 4:00.<br /><br />At about 3:15 I went back inside and woke up <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Ammon</span>. He heard me tell my mom to meet us at the hospital at 4:00, so he thought he had time. He hadn't shaved all weekend, so he quickly shaved and got dressed. Meanwhile, I was packing a few things, and the contractions became really intense. I had about 5 big contractions at home while <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Ammon</span> was getting ready, informing his mom we were going to the hospital, and trying to maneuver the car out of the parking lot that was our driveway. I was getting a little discouraged by the pain, not knowing how much longer these contractions would continue. In the car ride over I had another contraction. After a word of prayer we hurried into the hospital. I had another contraction right outside the elevator, during which my water broke. The security guard in the lobby ran and got us a wheelchair.<br /><br />The elevator opened and we got on. I told <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Ammon</span> the 2<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">nd</span> floor (but I was wrong, the 3rd floor is Labor and Delivery.) In between the 1st and 2<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">nd</span> floor the baby was crowning. The doors opened on the 2<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">nd</span> floor. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Ammon</span> called for help and the Mother/Baby nurses came running out. 3 nurses jumped on the elevator and pressed the button for the third floor.<br /><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">Ammon</span> said, "I don't know what I am doing!" The nurse said, "I don't know what I'm doing! I'm not a Labor/Delivery Nurse!" Between the 2<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">nd</span> and 3rd floor the nurse delivered the baby, which involved pulling the umbilical cord from around his neck, and he cried a good cry. The door opened on the third floor with nurses ready to clamp and cut the cord. They transferred us both into a delivery room, and took care of us. My midwife came into the room about 10 minutes later!<br /><br />The time of birth was declared as 3:40 am. The nurse that delivered the baby was excited to have been a part of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Heber's</span> birth. (Apparently she was famous for almost burning down the hospital when her unattended potpie caught fire in the microwave. She hoped this would give her something better to be known for.)<br /><br />We had planned to name him <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">Heber</span> Taylor Hatch, but as we were filling out the paperwork, we didn't feel right about the middle name. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">Heber</span> Taylor is my maternal grandpa's grandpa. So we reviewed the names of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Ammon's</span> maternal grandpa's grandpas. I found it incredibly ironic that the same generation on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">Ammon's</span> side was George Washington <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">Kearns</span>--seeing as <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18">Heber</span> was born on the 4<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19">th</span> of July. So after some deliberation and fun we named him:<br /><br /><div style="text-align: center; font-weight: bold;"><span style="font-size:130%;"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_20">Heber</span> Washington Hatch</span><br /></div><br />We realized afterward that we gave both our boys the exact same initials: <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_21">HWH</span>.<br /><br />I am so in love with my baby. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_22">Hyrum</span> and Audrey are excited to have him.<br /><br />When family asked <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_23">Hyrum</span> what he though of his new baby brother he said, "He has the same arms, same legs, same back and head as other humans."<br /><br />We're taking it one day (and night) at a time, loving our tiny baby boy!Abbyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17884937709330050209noreply@blogger.com10