tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-51887403757966441462024-03-19T04:04:54.444-07:00What Sara SaidI love home decor, weddings, my babies, Jesus, my husband, my dog, clothes, books, and music. Discuss.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-15774391971220724472014-01-22T16:44:00.001-08:002014-01-22T16:44:48.119-08:00Failure CupcakesSometimes as a stay-at-home-mom you get a bug in your butt to go above and beyond the call of duty (probably not a plague solely inflicting stay-at-home-moms but that's beside the point). It usually strikes me during two very different times. 1. When I am having a really crappy day and everything is a cluster and I think creating something will make me feel better and somehow cause the universe to right itself again. 2. When I am having a particularly GOOD day and the house is clean and dinner is in the crock pot and the kids have been at my parent's house for the better part of the afternoon and I feel a calmness in my soul that only comes when I haven't had to answer any questions or sing any songs that involve arm movements for a few hours. Today was one of the latter. The boys and I came home from my parent's and I put Graham down and thought, "yes, Everett and I will bake cupcakes for community group and I will make them kind of fancy and Cory will come home to a happy, smiling wife who is aglow from the glorious combination of a sense of accomplishment and extreme amounts of sugar.<br />
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So as we set to work making said cupcakes everything was going so smoothly and a part of me, just a small little voice, was thinking how awesome of a baker I was and how impressed I was with myself and if my inner voice used the term "you go girl," then maybe you get the picture. And just as I was finishing the final step (red velvet cupcakes with homemade chocolate whipped cream filling and mascarpone butter cream frosting by the way, what am I freaking nuts??) I realized that my stupid frosting was too runny and I was out of powdered sugar. This is that moment that everyone knows where your romantic afternoon baking adventure turns into frantic attempts at correction and intense irrational anger and let's just say my inner voice had changed it's tune quite a bit in a matter of seconds.<br />
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Now, a rational person would simply cover the frosting and throw it in the fridge and run out for some powdered sugar when her child woke up. But I am not a rational person. So instead I tried adding a little more cheese and the dregs of powdered sugar I could brush off the counter and out of the empty container and said a little prayer over my Kitchen Aid. What resulted from this was an ever so slightly thicker frosting that I went ahead and frosted my cupcakes with. Now, as I type this , the cupcakes are sitting in the fridge as the frosting sslllloooowwlly slides of each beautiful red velvet cupcake and onto the bottom of the container which will result in some kind of lake of frosting in a matter of hours.<br />
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My first thought after I realized that they weren't going to turn out beautiful and perfect was "well, I'm definitely not serving these to anyone," because who wants to expose a SINGLE FLAW and own up to the fact that you aren't the world's best baker? Certainly not me. And as that thought crossed my mind I was immediately slapped in the face with how dumb it was. Newsflash: no one thinks I'm perfect. The only one who expects my perfection is me, which is even crazier because who more than myself is daily faced with my imperfections, mistakes, and shortfalls. I've realized lately, and this situation being just one of many moments that have helped me solidify this realization, is that I am WAY too hard on myself. That so much of my life is spent not doing the things that bring me joy because they feel hard or I might fail or worst of all, people will this less of me. I start writing a blog post, read it back to myself and think of how much better it could be and then delete it. I think about making a craft or start making a craft and then get frustrated when it's not perfect and give up, or never start in the first place. I have always known that I pay way too much regard to what other people think of me, but I never realized how much I was letting my own self-judgement get in the way, and how many GOOD things were so often spoiled by my fear of failure.<br />
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So tomorrow, I'm going to slap those weird looking but probably delicious cupcakes on a cute pie plate and I'm going to serve them with joy in my heart because making something weird looking is better that not making something because you are afraid it's going to be weird looking. I think that will be my new life mantra, can someone please whip up some kind of cute craft with that quote in gold glitter please? Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-70738096446159693122013-10-10T16:25:00.002-07:002013-10-10T16:25:49.164-07:00Extremely Loud and Incredibly CloseA couple weeks ago I finished reading <u>Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close</u> by <span class="st">Jonathan Safran Foer and</span> it is one of those books that when you finish the last word and set it down next to you the weight of it doesn’t go away. And as you go about your life it settles somewhere deep inside of you, keeping hold and becoming somehow a part of the inner workings of who you are from then on. This is what the best books do to us, and by us I mean those who count their best friends among both the living and the imagined characters that share our history with us. Those of us that create alternate universes that are populated by the people we love whose voices we only know in black and white.<br />
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When I think about my childhood, I think of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tree-Grows-Brooklyn-P-S/dp/0060736267" target="_blank">Francie Nolan</a>. I picture her reading on her fire escape and I picture myself somehow next to her there in the dappled afternoon light and I feel the warmth of that memory like it is one I actually experienced. In college it was <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Trembling-Leaves-Western-Literature-Series/dp/0874171806" target="_blank">Tim Hazard</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Unabridged-Journals-Sylvia-Plath/dp/0385720254" target="_blank">Sylvia Plath</a> and <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Diaries-Young-Rainer-Maria-Rilke/dp/0393318508" target="_blank">Rainer Maria Rilke</a>. Their stories, so much wrapped up in my own, that it's almost impossible to fully explain myself without giving them mention. <br />
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<br />Now that I am a mother I find I have so much less emotional energy and space for books that mean so much, for characters whose presence are so lasting. I reach for books and even movies that I don't have to think about once they are over. I am thankful though, that <u>Extremely Loud</u> is one that I made an exception for. The main character, Oskar, loses is dad in the twin towers on September 11th. The book deals with the aftermath of that moment and how the family chooses to mourn each in their individual ways.<br />
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Experiencing that kind of unimaginable pain through the eyes of a young child makes me think of my own little boys, their bright smiles and shining perfect eyes looking down at me from the picture on my mantle. The little boys that are sleeping peacefully right now at my parents house, completely unaware of what sadness is, of what pain and loss feels like. I want to drive across town and pull them from their beds into my arms, feel the sweaty warmth of their bodies through their footie pajamas. I want to wrap them up so tightly that they will never leave my arms and never grow up to know what we as adults know all too well, that people leave you without warning. I can't begin to explain how much I want to protect them from ever knowing that pain.<br />
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Tonight I mourn how deeply we are made to love our children, how painful it is to have such a love in your heart in such an imperfect world. That I can not protect them from whatever might happen in their future that will cause them sorrow. That one day they will be adults and the transparency and innocence in which they love me will be gone, and walls will be placed between us that my love will now be able to scale. And I mourn that my parents must love me that way, now, and I can’t become the child again that they probably want me to be, to love them in the way they want me to love them, ever again.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-32878827898231859532013-09-24T15:22:00.001-07:002013-09-24T15:22:34.817-07:00BedtimeEvery night it is the same. After teeth are brushed and good night kisses are doled out to the rest of the family, Graham and I sneak down to his room for our time. I turn his sound machine on and quietly whisper “lay on mama,” and he gladly complies and lays his head pressed into the crook of my neck, the place it seems, like many parts of my body, that has been created for his particular needs. I feel his steady, slowly deepening breath tickling my skin and the tiny movements of his hand on my back, somehow saying through his skin that he needs this time just as much as I do.<br />
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I know, because I’ve done this whole thing before, that I won’t know when it will be the last time we do this little dance. That one day he will wiggle from my arms and crawl into his bed by himself, and that will be that. So this time around I hold on as tightly as I can, and I slow down time all around me and let the things waiting for me to do upstairs, wait. I know he is my last baby, the last one who will press his body against mine as he slowly gives in to sleep. It is a blessing to know that when your children are babies each moment is fleeting. It means you get to enjoy them more readily, cherish them more deeply, and take the time to remember the little details that make the memories that will one day make up the whole of your life.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-58275457703616317962013-08-19T14:43:00.001-07:002013-09-24T14:45:51.231-07:00A Post About UnderwearAs I go about my days in this insanity I call my life with two little boys under three I often think random things and have absolutely no one to tell. For some reason my little men don’t like it when I talk about anything besides trucks, cars, or that isn’t some kind of sound effect (weird). When I am having these conversations with myself sometimes I think, “maybe I’ll update my Facebook status with that little tidbit,” and then I realize no one cares about the thoughts I am having while folding underwear (and by folding underwear I mean balling it up and making sure it ends up in the right drawer. But folding makes me sound so much more domestic.) The good news is I just now realized that I have a blog that I don’t think anyone reads and if you do you specifically come here to hear what I have to say. So without further ado here is my much anticipated list of underwear folding (*cough* bunching *cough*) thoughts. <br />
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1.The minute I put lotion on my hands someone will poop so I will have to wash them again which will make the lotion application a complete waste of time.<br />
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2.There is no such thing as “done with the laundry.” There is “doing laundry” and there is “not doing laundry, i.e. your house is gradually and rapidly being overcome with laundry.”<br />
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3. If you vacuum, someone is going to spill there entire meal on the floor. <br />
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4. If you buy a new rug, someone is going to vomit on it almost immediately<br />
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5. The percentage chance of your children napping is equal to the amount which you need said nap time to recover your sanity. I think this is a real equation, look it up.<br />
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6. If you suddenly get the inspiration to go to the gym regularly it is fact that everyone will take turns getting sick in your home for the next month, preventing you from taking the children to the childcare room. Unless you are the kind of mom that pretends your kids aren’t sick so when you take them to the gym and they throw up on all the toys you can say “that’s so weird, he was completely fine this morning,” I’m looking at you, lady at my gym who did that one time and didn’t fool anyone. <br />
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7. You will have a day when you are exhausted and emotionally drained and pray your kids go to sleep early. And then they do and an hour later you will find yourself sitting there going through pictures of them on your phone.<br />
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8. Some days, you just need to go to the gym and then sit on your butt and eat two huge cookies and not feel even a little bit bad about it. <br />
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9. I’m pretty sure that before the fall dogs didn’t shed.<br />
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Were you expecting something a little more profound in that list? Sorry, I don’t have the energy for profound. But apparently I do spend a lot of time thinking about food, how easily everything gets dirty, and laundry. Your welcome, world. If your really lucky there might just be a part two in your future. So now you have something else to look forward to besides season 3 of Downton Abbey.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-32623090558041726262013-08-15T15:01:00.000-07:002013-08-15T15:01:25.091-07:00A Beautiful LifeThe sun is filtering through the trees as it makes its quiet ascent to its place in the morning sky. The air is cool and still and the birds are calling to each other from all around me as I write. And a sun-faded red car with its one wobbly wheel sits abandoned next to me on the deck where it was forgotten about for some other toy yesterday.<br />
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When I was younger I always wanted to be surrounded by beautiful things. I would only listen to certain music or read certain books, and refused to let anything in my home or on my body that I felt didn't measure up to the image I was trying to present. If you would have told 22-year-old me that I would have cheap looking plastic toys in my house for my children I would have thought you were crazy. And that you just didn't <i>get </i>me.<br />
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In the last few years I have felt this very present tension within myself between that old desire and the realities of the life I lead now. I used to spend hours online scouring the internet for the latest indie band and read forums and obscure websites trying to find beautiful music, which I would listen to locked in my room while reading along with the CD liner and maybe crying (just a little). These days I listen to whatever is right in front of me, sometimes a CD (yep I still use those crazy old-fashioned things) and sometimes (22-year-old self please cover your ears) a good song on the radio. I used to sit beneath the tress and watch the clouds move and change above them as I pondered God and life and love and all its mysteries and lately I spend my time on such philosophical questions as, "what should I make for dinner that my 2 year old will actually eat," and "is that poop or chocolate, please tell me that's chocolate."<br />
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I'm starting to realize this tension I feel doesn't have to exist. That the addition of the faded plastic toy car in the picture of my idyllic morning doesn't ruin the frame, it only adds to it. That is the car that my children push each other around in, their squeals of laughter filling up the backyard as they tumble out of it. That is the car they push around with their chubby little feet. And it is also the car they use to bring me treasures like pretend ice cream cones and hot dogs that they present with chubby dirt-stained hands and expectant faces. I can't imagine anything more beautiful, more perfect, than the happiness of my children. I can't picture something I could buy, or wear, or hear that would bring my more joy than their joy. And I don't care if it is ugly toys or really crappy music (didn't I mention Everett's favorite song is a Selena Gomez number?). What is better, beautiful things or a beautiful life?<br />
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To reconcile my desire to find the beauty in this world and the realization that there is beauty in so many more things than my 22-year-old self dared realize might be the greatest gift that my 30's has to offer. <br />
<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-44126745610955412232013-04-04T15:39:00.001-07:002013-04-04T15:42:28.664-07:00Ghosts(I wrote this in November and kept changing my mind about posting it. But the truth is this is more me than probably any other post I will or would write, and I want this space to be documentation of who I really am and what was really going on at this time in our lives. Also, if people don't want to read it they don't have to. Which is totally obvious, but sometimes I forget that.) <br />
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There is nothing sadder than thinking you see someone you know across the room and realizing it can’t be them (it can’t be them) because they are dead. This time of year brings ghosts into our lives that for the rest of the year stay silent. I’m not talking about real ghosts, but the people in our lives that we lost and the way they still exist for us, somewhere in our brain or our hearts, maybe a little of both. <br /><br />I am thirty years old and my heart is filled to the brim with ghosts.<br /><br />Yesterday I was walking through the grocery store and thought I saw an old co-worker. Not the kind of old co-worker that you see and that you hope you don’t see you because you didn’t have that much to talk about when you saw each other everyday, so you dread the awkward conversation of two people who no longer have even geography in common. No, I’m talking about the coworker that made me laugh, that kept me sane. The one who tried to give me sage advice because, at ten years my senior, he looked at me as a little sister or daughter, depending on the day. The one (of only two) I invited to my wedding. But I didn’t see him because he is lost to me, ever since I got a phone call from his number years after we worked together. When I picked it up and greeted the caller with “Hey stranger!” and it was just that. His sweet wife who I didn’t know at all, calling to tell me that he would be someone I thought I would see in the grocery store, years later, but would not. <br /><br />Last night as I was trying to go to sleep I kept thinking about my Noni’s date cookies. They were the most un-kid friendly cookie ever invented. Something your Noni from Italy would make instead of your Grandma from California. Yet every time I would spend the night at her house there would be a frozen roll of those cookies waiting to be thawed out, sliced, and baked just for me. I laid there, last night, thinking I would do just about anything to see her veiny, weathered fingers slicing her knife through that hard frozen roll of cookie dough. But she is gone as well, and with her, the smells of her kitchen and the feeling of her small, bony body underneath my own as we rocked in her pink easy chair. There is something different about the way you see people that you didn’t get to have around into adulthood, innocence and selfishness blurring the edges of your memories. All they can be is what they were to you because it is almost impossible for a child to see past that. How tragic that such a long life has been whittled down to cookies and rocking chairs in my mind. A woman who lived through more war years than not, more hard times than good, that spoke a language I did not understand into her kitchen phone to people that were and still are a mystery to me. <br /><br />My dad died when I was nineteen. I write that sentence easily, the easiest seven words I could ever type, because I live that sentence. Every big moment in my life, every sad day, every time my boy does something to make someone else laugh, there is the marked and tangible absence of him. He is a myth I will tell my children someday, a part of myself that those closest to me will never know. A person that I don’t even really know, another victim of a life oversimplified by those who remember him. I don’t even have the mundane details of daily life to keep him tethered to reality for me, having not lived with him since I was a baby. All I have is the stories people tell me of him and the memories I try to hold onto like paper floating away in the wind. <br /><br />The first boy I ever loved died when I was twenty, before I was old enough to realize what real love felt like, and that what I felt for him was not it. The first time I saw him we were fifteen and he was walking past me in the hallway of my high school and it was like I was living in a Taylor Swift song, everything was in slow motion. Years later I would feel like I knew him better than anyone in the world, and even more years later I would realize I didn’t know him at all, and that maybe no one really knew him. He was the kind of person that was born to be a legend, someone that had a way of existing for each person that loved him exactly how they saw him in their mind. I am not happy he is gone because I know there are people whose lives go on with the marked absence of him. But I am glad that the person he exists as in my mind can never be ruined by the imperfection of a flawed reality.<br /><br />The ghosts that we know remind us of who we are, our truest selves, because they are a part of that person. They aren’t just stories we tell or people we knew, they are wrapped up in who we are for having known them. That is how lost loved ones go on existing. Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-51350169699175547042013-01-30T15:03:00.001-08:002013-01-30T15:03:58.616-08:00Graham is OneOn Saturday we celebrated my last baby's first birthday. I know he is my last because when I imagine a world in which I get pregnant again I instantly get a stomachache and try to thing of who I could give the child to...so I'm pretty sure we are done.<br />
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I can not believe that Graham is one already. I scooped my last scoop of formula the other day and then I cried. I got an email from babycenter.com about "my toddler this week" instead of "my baby this week" and I cried. I can't say that I'm not a little bit excited to be moving out of the baby stage but knowing that these last fleeting moments of chubby baby legs and sweet baby snuggles truly are the last, I can't help but mourn a bit. However, since I got pregnant with Graham when Everett was only 8 months old I have had an extra long run of non stop baby, so I would like to think that I really got the most bang for my buck of the baby years.<br />
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Graham entered into his first birthday with four teeth and one more on the way. He is the toughest little baby you will ever meet and when he is playing with Everett and they bonk heads or both fall down, he usually laughs and Ev usually cries. He is literally the hungriest baby in the universe and would eat non-stop all day if he had the opportunity. Everett is going through a picky phase and is hardly eating anything so Graham usually finishes up all of his leftovers. You only know he is done eating when he smears his food into his hair, which is adorable but also means he is never clean, ever. He is quite opinionated, well I'll just say it, demanding. He always wants to be held by his mama and always wants to be wherever the action is. He reaches out his little arms and screams at whatever he wants until he gets it. His brother didn't do this so I have a feeling Graham will be the assertive one. <br />
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For his party this year we wanted (let's be honest, I wanted) it have a cute little tee pee and cool Indian headbands, and he got both. It's always funny spending so much time on a party for someone who could care less, but event planning is kind of my love language so hopefully my boys learn to love a good theme.<br />
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<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-65692199599468045432012-11-17T22:15:00.000-08:002012-11-17T22:15:23.491-08:00Two Years and Ten Months, Respectively<br />
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This is Everett before it turned cold and drizzly out. The longer I am a parent the less pictures I take so forgive the less than current picture, but you get the idea. He is two years and 3 months old. He is, how do you say, the freakin' most awesome kid I've ever met. I was so scared that he would wake up on his second birthday and be the "terrible two" tornado you are always warned (aka threatened) about. But he has continued to be even keeled and friendly. Of course he has his moments of irrational anger and there are times he wakes up from his nap and there is someone over that he usually loves and he will refuse to look at them or acknowledge there existence. But who doesn't have moments like these, even in adult life. His favorite things right now are Curious George, my iPhone, and popcorn. He could eat popcorn for every meal if we let him. He is sweet and accommodating, and if his brother is crying he will say "brother OK mama?" in a concerned and caring voice that just kills me. The last few nights when I put him to bed he will pat his little pillow and say, "lay with me mama?" and I just dare someone to turn down that adorable request.<br />
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Our chubby little baby boy is slowly turning into a little boy and everyday it seems like a little more baby fat has disappeared of his little frame, which makes me sad, but excited to see what kind of boy he will turn into. He truly is a joy.<br />
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This is Graham. He will be ten months in ten days. Our little skinny baby is now a full on fatty. He eats everything in sight. You can't put something in your mouth around him without him crying and looking at you like you haven't fed him in weeks. I can't seem to feed him often enough. I think as sweet as Everett is will be how strong willed Graham is. He knows exactly what he wants and will let you know it. Usually what he wants is for me to pick him up and hold him. He will be contentedly playing in the living room and if he hears my voice in the kitchen he will immediately start crying for me to come get him. Everett was a complete daddy's boy at this age and Graham doesn't care about anyone but me. Sometimes it feels a little suffocating, but I know one day soon I will miss this sweet time when I was his whole universe. He is getting more and more steady on his feet and has recently started being able to walk while holding on to the couch. He is strong and sweet and loves to be held upside-down and tickled. He also REALLY loves bottles and can drink them faster than any baby I have ever seen. He loves when Everett talks to him or plays with him and can now clap when you ask him to and will "dance" if there is music on, which looks a lot like baby pelvic thrusting which is hilarious and a little disturbing. <br />
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I am so in love with my boys. I am starting to see the beginning stages of the two of them playing together and discovering how to be brothers and it is so much fun. <br />
Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-69976158808506378322012-11-15T10:45:00.001-08:002012-11-16T07:10:58.244-08:00When Worlds CollideI just realized today why being a stay at home mom feels so hard. Right now I am listening with one ear to the monitor for signs that my nephew is awake from his nap while feeding my 10 month old a disgusting meal of gummed down biscuit that he consumes like a pack of wild dogs going after a bone, all while my two year old sleeps peacefully downstairs. While doing all these things it came to me that I have just never worked this hard in my entire life. The days I spend with my children are relentless, unending marathons of picking up messes, making meals, playing with cars and trucks and too many things that make too many noises, and of course changing an infinite number of diapers. Too many of which, by the way, require a change of clothes for all of us after the deed is done.<br />
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It should go without saying that I love it and LOVE my children. Even when it's hard and overwhelming, one little smile from my baby or funny comment from my toddler and my heart is so full that I think it might burst. I wouldn't trade it for a day job. (Unfortunately i feel obligated to say that because mommy guilt kicks in and I worry that I will be judged for complaining about my children, or taking the blessing of being with them everyday for granted. For the record, I am an awesome mom and my kids are super awesome, and yes sometimes I want to hide in my room while they fight it out Hunger Games style). But every job I have worked up until now, no matter how busy or fast-paced I thought it was, did not hold a candle to this. The jobs I've had outside the home have been at least somewhat self-paced...meaning I could pick how hard I chose to work or how much I would try to get done in a shift. There might be a demanding boss, and sometimes customers or clients, but if I wanted to be crappy at my job, I could be. Or, I might have worked my butt off, but at least there was a break or a lunch on the horizon, or the joy of joys, the end of the work day. But being a stay at home mom has absolutely nothing to do with me and there is no pause button or stop button, and definitely no mute button (which would sometimes be the button of choice, let's be honest). I can't choose how hard I work because children have to be fed and changed and entertained and especially in this phase of life, there is no way that they can rely on themselves for any of these things. They need me for absolutely everything in their lives and the work isn't done until they decide it is by finally going to sleep at which time I usually fall into the couch and stay in that position until I get the energy to go to bed. <br />
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Yesterday I spent a few too many hours dwelling and wallowing on this fact. "Just one minute to do what I want," I thought to myself, while angrily washing one more dish and soothing another crying child. I went to a dark place of bitterness and jealousy and selfishness that I'm not really proud of. But eventually kids do go to sleep and there is a moment to take a breath, after putting away the ocean of toys I spent the day tripping over and cleaning up the remnants of the days meals from the kitchen. And when I had a second of rational thought I realized something. This is exactly what my life is supposed to look like right now. It is no accident that God has been working through my issues with idolatry of self that I wrote about in my last post while I am in a stage of life that is the perfect place to let that work happen. What better way to cut away the love of self than to be in a place where I have almost no time to think about/worry about/even acknowledge myself? What better way to kill the demon of want and consumerism and vanity than being stuck in the house with three kids and only the energy to throw on some sweat pants and my hair in a ponytail?<br />
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A funny thing happens when you ask God to move. He does. And you want it to be this magical experience where you wake up and all of a sudden you don't care about the dumb things you used to and you feel this supernatural love and joy and peace and your children's crying all of the sudden sounds like angels singing and you could care less how much money is in your bank account or how many pairs of jeans you own. But it doesn't really happen that way. It happens in the way it's happening right now. You capture what is vile in you and offer it up to Christ in repentance, and then he starts working on you and in you, and it is usually hard and painful and stretching in ways you didn't really sign up for, if you are honest. But it is also pure JOY, because you realize how pure, how TRUE the gospel is. How petty the things of this world truly are when held up next to Jesus and his infinite power and how beautiful it is when you feel that power inside of you.<br />
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<span class="text Col-3-1">When I made this connection I could do nothing else but worship, to thank God for loving me enough to want me to be better, to be changed. Colossians 3:1-4 says </span><br />
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<span class="text Col-3-1">"If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at teh right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory."</span> </div>
<span class="text Col-3-4" id="en-ESV-29505"></span><br />
<span class="text Col-3-4" id="en-ESV-29505">My life is hidden with Christ in God, what?? My gross, jealous, bitter, selfish life is hidden behind His perfect one? If that doesn't make you WANT to be better, to kill those things in you as an act of worship and thanks for that being true I don't know what will. Because that is the truly beautiful thing about this whole thing. It is already done. All these things are already hidden in Him and my perfection is complete because it is HIS perfection that God sees in me. But he still chooses to work in us because he knows we need it, that life is better when are attentions and desires are towards Him and not the things of this world. Thank you Jesus, for loving me more than I even can comprehend.</span><br />
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<span class="text Col-3-4" id="en-ESV-29505">Being a mom to little ones is hard, really hard. The knowledge that it is supposed to be hard doesn't change that, but it does give me something to cling to in those moments when the dishes are piling up and the baby is crying. My prayer is that my children see this struggle, somehow see and remember this time when there mom is learning how to cling to Jesus amid the biscuit crumbs and toy cars. And that they will learn to cling to him, too. </span><br />
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<span class="text Col-3-4" id="en-ESV-29505"> </span> Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-84979803332508626382012-11-08T10:04:00.004-08:002012-11-08T10:04:54.277-08:00A New NormalRight now the wind is blowing in fierce gusts against our house, shaking the trees last desperately clinging leaves and sending them falling and swirling to the waiting earth below. It is overwhelming and beautiful that the same Creator that makes that wind and created those leaves is doing the same thing inside of me, something I have not allowed to happen for what feels like forever. I feel Him there, in the deepest corners and the most forgotten crevices of my heart and it feels scary and painful and SO necessary. <br /><br />Jesus love me. He LOVES me. He loves ME? It’s a sentence that I write but still do not understand, a concept I don’t think I ever will. Yet as amazing as it is that God loves and forgives me, my idols rob me of the joy that this knowledge should bring. How is it that temporal things can seem bigger or more important than that which is eternal? Especially such small things, even by the world’s standards. Specifically body image, comparison, and insecurity. <br /><br />In the 11 years I have been a Christian these issues have come up and been “worked through” time and time again. They have never gone away and I have had varying degrees of denial or acceptance of the role that these things play in my life. But they are always there. Lately, the ugliness of these sins have been truly disgusting to me. I am SICK to death of talking about things I have bought, or want to buy, or wish I could buy. I am sick of worrying about what the clothes I am wearing say about me, what people will think of my hair, makeup, nails, shoes, the existence of baby weight or the loss of baby weight, if strangers would look at me and think I was wealthy (yes I have actually had that thought, more often than I would care to admit), if I’m prettier than insert name here, if I’m skinnier that insert name here, if I’m more fashionable than her, I could just go on and on. How often these thoughts captivate my mind I don’t even want to admit to myself. They are a constant dialogue of flesh and sin that plays in my head and I just can’t take it anymore.<br />
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I feel like for the first time I understand the consequences of idols. I have always understood the definition of what an idol is but this is different. The Spirit has been talking to me despite the clutter that all this sin has caused in my heart. He has been shouting, actually. For the first time I have a picture of what I have been missing out on because of my constant unrepentant sin. Joy! Joy in the spirit that is real and tangible and isn’t based on circumstances. Joy in serving Him, in seeing the transformation of other’s souls, of having a relationship with Him and feeling his working in life. I am so filled up with other things I have suffocated the joy right out of me. Such a tragic way to spend a life. <br /><br />The thing is, I do not have the power to change the desires of my heart to the things that matter. I can’t just will myself to not care about my appearance no more than I can will myself to go to sleep and wake up looking like a Victoria Secret model (let’s be honest, I’ve had that wish a time or two). Repentance in this area will be a complete transformation of my mind, my daily activities, the way I spend my money, and even my relationships with the people I care most about. I don’t even really know where to start. Actually I do know, its also where I finish and where I continually return to day after day as I fight this battle. Jesus. Praying to Him, reading His Word, crying out to him as I struggle to change the way my mind has always worked. Praying that he captures my heart in a way that I fear I have never let Him.<br />
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*As I process through all this I already know that I will regret putting this on the internet and that is exactly why I am. Even if no one reads it I will know it s here and transparency is essential to the death of this sin*Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-64334965900597780522012-09-16T20:02:00.000-07:002012-09-16T20:02:41.592-07:00Late night mama ramblingsBeing a parent is weird. Right now I am sitting in a dark, quiet, peaceful living room while my husband sleeps down the hall and my children sleep across town at my mom’s house. When they are here I find myself sometimes wishing they weren’t. Wanting one minute, one hour, one day of no one asking me for anything, or crying because they want me to hold them, or asking me to play in the dirt with them. <br />
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Now, here I am, in the middle of exactly that thing that I wish for so often, and I am completely lost in thoughts of them. Everett’s sweet voice saying, “Ok mama,” which is how he says yes to any question I ask him, even if “Ok” doesn’t quite work. Or his little, chubby arms connected to his little, chubby hands reaching up and up and up to me, his fingers moving back and forth as if he is trying to pull me closer to him by sheer will. To say that I love that boy is such a cheapening of my emotions that it is almost not worth saying. He makes every day of my life better. He is joyful and funny and silly and brilliant and has been pretty much every day of his two years on this earth. <br />
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Oh he is a little tester of my patience, too, don't get me wrong. He has recently discovered his bottom lip, which he can stick out farther than should be possible. He knows exactly what he wants and will make you go through every option until you arrive at what that thing is. But even in those moments when he is crying and running through the house screaming and shaking his arms and hands at me in anger, I am struck, practically floored at how much I love him, how visceral love is sometimes...that you can actually feel it in the pit of your stomach. <br />
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And then there is my charming little Graham. The past 4 months of his life have been such a challenge. We recently discovered that my breast milk was just not working for him and that he didn’t grow from four months to six months old. The guilt was overwhelming. Pretty much the one thing I was really in charge of by myself, keeping him nourished, I was failing at. He was such a fussy baby for that time, and we now realize it was simple hunger. Now that he is eating bottles and fattening up, he has become an entirely different baby. Once fussy and clingy, now mild and flirty and so loving and joyful. He still clings to me, but it isn’t the desperate, suffocating kind of cling. Now it feels like “hey mama, I just like to be close to you if that’s OK.” And trust me, it is more than OK. He is trying to crawl and you should just see him try to reach for his big brother, with so much pride in his eyes already. He is downright proud to be Everett’s little brother and I know that sounds crazy but it really seems true. And when he looks into your eyes and then smiles and looks away with his little tongue poking out from between his gums I swear your can hear the drippings of your melted heart on the floor. <br />
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I think I’m writing this because I need to get it all out, to say the things about my boys that are constantly swirling around in my head. And maybe a little bit to give me things to remember when I’m having a moment where the frustrations of the day overshadow all of this love. Also, I know that this time, this precious, exhausting, intense time when my children are young and each day is filled with hugs and tears and kisses and chubby cheeks are going to be over so quickly, already I feel them slipping away, and I want to be able to remember. To not just have pictures of this time, but words that explain how I was feeling and remind me of all the blessing my life has held, and I’m sure I will realize then that none were more blessed than these days I’m living right now. Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-44718313802031005992012-08-05T20:49:00.000-07:002012-08-05T23:21:49.760-07:00Six Years Later<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Cory and I did not have the easiest dating relationship. Someday I might share the whole saga in hopes that our story might help someone else to avoid it, but let’s just say we broke each others hearts, and drove our friends crazy, over and over again before we finally got married. The other day I found an old journal from that time and as I was reading over it that now extinct but unforgettable feeling of sadness swept over me. Reading the words of my then 22 year old self, I could feel and remember the nights of anguish that I spent writing them, wondering why I had such strong feelings for a boy that I could not make it work with. Why we could not just let each other go when it was obvious the only thing we did was hurt each other time and again. <br />
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It is bittersweet to look back at that time. Hard, because back then the hurt was so tangible and all-encompassing. But sweet too, because now, six incredible years of marriage and two kids later, I can see clearly that God was not working in the obvious parts of our dating relationship, he was working in the unseen ways that God so often does. And what he was doing was redeeming something that our sinful flesh tried again and again to destroy. God KNEW who he was making us into as individuals, and the couple he wanted us to become for his glory. So no matter how many times one of us tried to screw it up, he was gently (and sometimes not so gently) trying to make our crooked line straight. <br />
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So now, on the eve of our sixth anniversary, I can’t help but reflect on this life we have created. Cory is exactly the husband I would have prayed for if my single self would have had any idea what was good for her. He is a man that is fiercely devoted to Christ and to his family. He gives, serves, and loves in endless measure. Last night I had the pleasure of watching him marry two friends of ours. As he was preaching the gospel and instructing the groom on how he is called to love his wife, I said a silent prayer of thanks to God that he has given me the husband that was not only speaking those words, but living them out each and every day by his love and devotion to me. <br />
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Happy anniversary my love, my best friend. Thank you for fighting for us back then, and continuing to fight for us (all four of us!) now.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-56718325610608848732012-08-02T15:37:00.002-07:002012-08-05T20:58:46.556-07:00Tuesdays with Sara but not on Tuesday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It’s not Tuesday, but I’m doing a special edition post about this book because it it currently knocking my freakin’ socks off and I just have to share it with someone.<br />
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Have you ever been reading a book and come across a particular quote that you thought you might want to share with a friend, or post on Facebook, or write in your journal? While reading this book I have felt the desire to do this many times, but I can’t. If I started copying something down I would literally have to write the entire book into my journal and there just isn’t time for that in my days. <br />
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I did not expect to feel this way about a book. Confession time. I am a passionate lover of books, a passionate lover of Jesus, yet I don’t think I have finished a “Christian book” all the way through in years and years. Non fiction just kind of bugs me as a general rule, and more often than not I get bored or distracted and trail off reading in chapter 3 or so. But this book has been a game-changer. It is speaking to me exactly where I am right now. I am mom of young children who spends her days providing for other people’s needs, desperately (and most of the time sinfully) clinging to any moment in the day where I have a “free” second to spend for myself. I spend those times just staring at Facebook, looking for things on the Internet to buy, daydreaming about trips to the ocean alone with my husband, and very often catatonic in front of some mindless TV show. <br />
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Rest is not bad, and please don’t hear me saying that. Also, I love being home with my children and being able to serve my husband. But I have been finding my rest, my strength, in the wrong places. But worse that that, I think, is that I have been looking for God in the wrong places too. it’s RELIGION, and it is gross. I have compartmentalized God into this unattainable free hour in the day where I can go summon him up by reading the bible or writing in my journal. Like he is sitting on my nightstand waiting for me to let him into my life. I have created my life and my relationship with God in such a way that whether I’m seeking him or not seeking him, I’m not really seeking him. Does that make sense? The thing that I am looking for is not real. It is not the God of the bible, it is not Jesus Christ and his grace and love for me, it is this false sense of duty I have made for myself that never satisfies and never works. <br />
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God isn’t just here while I read his Word, or here when I am doing something “good,” or going to church, or serving in some specific arena at church. No, Jesus Christ is real and he is here and everywhere every second. Gospel wakefulness is not about paying God back in some way for the work that was accomplished on the cross, or trying to replace what has already been done for me by some work of my own. It’s about acknowledging what has already been done and living in the freedom that comes with it. So when I’m washing the dishes, or changing a diaper, or watching a movie with my husband, or resting by myself during the day I am doing these things to the glory of God. As someone who knows they are forgiven and seldom gets things right but doesn’t have to, as someone who knows that she is loved and wants to serve and love and give and worship in response to that knowledge.<br />
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As I read over this the funniest part is that nothing about it is a huge epiphany. I have known all of these truths for some time. But I didn’t know them deep in my heart and I did not live my life as though I believed them. Truthfully, I’m not quite sure how to live my life as though I know these things. But I feel encouraged that there is not one way to do it, and it is not my job to do things “right,” which always seems to be my first inclination.<br />
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Jared Wilson puts it this way.<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
"Gospel wakefulness is an experience of such power- of such awakening - that it persists and endures, settling deep into the heart and the conscience of a believer, that is carried through all emotional highs and lows." </blockquote>
That is how I want to live my life, with a deep and enduring knowledge and dependence on the gospel and its power and truth in my own life. <br />
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<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-8747926081099528802012-07-27T14:32:00.002-07:002012-07-27T14:32:47.694-07:00Graham's Birth Story<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I can't promise this will be the most well-written post, but I wanted to get as much down as I could before I forgot.<br />
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Since Everett was ten days late, I spent the last weeks of my pregnancy trying to embrace the idea that my due date was just going to be one more day of pregnancy and that I was probably going to be in for the long haul. My goal was to keep working until I went into labor and would have visions of walking down the hall and seeing a gush of water much to the horror of my male coworkers. I just couldn’t make it though and the last week of January I decided to start working part time so I could try and rest up while we still had the luxury of daycare for Everett. I knew soon enough it was going to be just me and the boys all day everyday and I wouldn’t have the ability of calling in to my new “job.” At about 3 o’clock in the morning on January 25th the familiar feeling of a contraction woke me from a deep sleep. It wasn’t painful it was just very obvious, enough to cause me to take notice and look at my phone to start timing them in case another one came. I continued to have somewhat normal contractions up until about 6:30 when I finally felt Cory waking up beside me. “I think I might be in labor.” I said, almost apologetically. I knew that I just COULDN’T be in labor. It was 7 days before my due date and that I was just not that lucky. I felt bad even saying the words out loud because I knew I was just getting him excited for something that probably wasn’t happening. <br /><br />We decided to have him go into work to finish up a few things in case this was “it” and that he would take Everett to daycare just in case, and if I was in labor one of our parents could pick him up later. Cory left in that frantic panic/excitement that dads have when they think they are about to start the crazy journey of labor that will end in meeting their child. I stayed home and tried to relax as the contractions continued to come. I had yet to feel any pain, just tightening/pressure/cramps that were about 10 minutes apart. As the hours passed they grew farther and farther apart and I found myself getting more and more disappointed. It ended up being a really nice day, however, because Cory came home and we went on a walk around the neighborhood and then took a long walk around Target and then out to dinner at P.F. Chang's in an effort to distract me from the reality that this was not going to happen tonight. At dinner I had a few contractions that stopped me in my tracks but I stopped timing them or trying to anticipate them as i decided that I would know when this was real without having to look at a timer. <br /><br />At around 3 a.m the next morning I woke up to more contractions that felt a little more intense than the morning before, but still nothing painful, just pressure in my back and a little discomfort. They continued for a few hours and then AGAIN just stopped. At that point I started feeling like I was taking crazy pills. I worried that I would have these stop and go contractions for the next 7 plus days and I was dreading it. At my last midwife appointment I was only a centimeter dilated so I rationalized to myself that maybe all these baby contractions were getting me farther along so I would have less work to do later. Cory and I decided to call our midwife Lynn and let her know what was happening and see what she had to say about what had been going on the last two days. She told me I should just come in and get checked so I would know if something had changed so I wouldn’t feel discouraged. I was more than willing to do that because at that point I was pretty frustrated. Cory and I decided to put my hospital bag in the truck just in case even though there was NO way we were going to use it. <br /><br />When we got to our appointment Lynn checked me and I will never forget the look of surprise she had on her face when she looked up at me and said, “Sara, you are at a 6 and fully effaced!” Cory and I looked at each other with shock and glee and fear and excitement. I think I didn’t fully understand what that meant because I asked Lynn if it was possible I could stay a 6 until my due date which was still 6 days away. She laughed joyfully and said, “Um Sara, no, you are having this baby today!” Never have sweeter more terrifying words been spoken. I can’t tell you how surreal it is to not be feeling any pain, or even any contractions and to be told you are actually in labor. We didn’t know what to do with ourselves. She told us that it was pretty much up to us. We could either go to the hospital right then and she would call ahead for them to admit us, or we could go home and wait for things to get going and then go when we we ready. <br /><br />We decided to go out to breakfast and decide what we wanted to do next. As we sat waiting for our food I felt like I was going to faint. I think the reality of what was about to happen was sinking in and I choked down a bagel and some water and tried to steady my nerves. Towards the end of breakfast I started having some more painful contractions, the ones that make you grip the table or the chair next to you. At one point I put my head down on the table and I think our poor waiter must have thought we were in a huge fight because he kept coming over to check on us and I finally told him that I was in labor and apologized for acting strangely. At that point I decided I wanted to go to the hospital. I am one of the few people in the world who actually feels comfortable in the hospital and I like the feeling of security I get there. It helps that I know that being Lynn’s patient means I am given a lot more freedoms than the usual labor patient which I think makes a big difference. <br /><br />We got to the hospital and got settled in our room. At that point i was definitely having regular contractions but nothing that was particularly painful, just constant. They put the monitor on to check the baby’s heartbeat and that is when things got tricky. My initial plan was to only have intermittent monitoring so I would be able to move around as needed, but during the first hour when they kept me hooked up the Graham’s heart rate was dropping with each contraction and not picking up again the way it is supposed to after each one was finished. This was scary, obviously, because I wanted my baby healthy, but it was also frustrating because I had to let go of my desire to have full movement and accept the fact that I was going to have that thing strapped around my belly for the rest of the day. <br /><br />About the same time we got all settled in Kelly came. Kelly is my best friend and I knew that I wanted her in the room for my second child’s birth. <br /><br />I hate to say it, but the rest of the day was kind of...fun. Yes, my contractions were uncomfortable, but not super painful. And it was definitely scary that Graham’s heart rate kept dropping with each contraction. But I trusted Lynn (my midwife) and knew that she was staying on top of things and would keep us both as safe as she was able. So we all chatted with the nurses and waited for Lynn to come back at 5 o”clock to check my progress.<br /><br />At about 6:30 she came back and checked my dilation. I was still about a 6 or a 7 which meant that the contractions I had throughout the day weren’t painful because they weren’t really doing much. My water still had not broken and we were all kind of at a stand still. Lynn decided to let me have some dinner before she manually broke my water so they brought in a bagel and some yogurt for me to eat. Throughout the day I had tried a million different birthing positions to try and find where I was most comfortable. I had tried on the birthing ball, in a rocking chair, hanging over the back of the bed while up on my knees, and my favorite, the shower! Unfortunately I couldn’t stay in the shower long because they needed to keep the heart monitor on because of Graham’s tricky little heart rate, but it definitely made me realize how awesome water births probably are for pain management. When my dinner came I had found myself on my knees backwards on a chair with my face buried into my Boppy pillow which was sitting on the windowsill, with the air conditioning blowing directly on my face. This was my favorite and most comfortable spot I had discovered all day and I happily ate my bagel in between contractions and chatting with my husband, my best friend, and our very sweet and beautiful nurse who by the end of the night became a friend. She even stayed past her shift so she could be there to help deliver my baby. <br /><br />After dinner and a few more contractions Lynn came in to break my water. I knew once that happened things would speed up and get more painful so I prepared myself as I felt the familiar gush of water between my legs. It felt like it was about 30 seconds later that a guttural bellow of “pressssurrrrrrrrreeee” escaped from my mouth. Things got real, and really painful, almost immediately. Before I knew it I was in that out of control, in pain, can’t stay on top of things part of labor that I hadn’t yet experienced with this child. Each contraction was more intense and I became much more vocal. Everyone around me kept saying, “you’re almost done,” and “you’re going to meet him soon,” and it was making me really angry because I was only a six or a seven at that point and I didn’t want them giving me false hope that this part was going to be over soon. Before I knew it all of this stuff was coming down from the ceiling and out of the walls and the baby warmer was moved closer to me. “Give me a break,” I remember thinking, convinced everyone was jumping the gun. Lynn checked me and to my surprise and relief I was a ten and was ready to start pushing. Pushing was fast and hectic and painful. Much like my labor with Everett it was hard to figure out when a contraction was happening so I never knew when to push. <br /><br />Pushing is the hardest part of labor for me. All of the hours of contractions are hard but it is the kind of pain that just happens to you, there is nothing you can really do to avoid the pain but you just have to ride it out. Pushing, however, requires you to actively engage and choose the pain. It’s up to you and no one else to find strength within yourself and push your baby out of you. It is a feeling of pride and joy and pain and fear like nothing else in this life.. I spent most of it picturing Everett’s perfect cute little face, and even found myself chanting his name. I knew that if I kept him in my mind I would remember why all of this was so worth it. At one point Cory laughed and said, “Um, don’t you mean Graham.” I was in my own private moment at that point and didn’t even realize other people could hear me, and tried to explain that I knew who was coming out of me, thankyouverymuch. :)<br /><br />It only took about half an hour of pushing and Graham was in my arms. I just kept telling him I’m sorry that it was so awful and that I promise we never have to do it again. Him, of course, but me either. I knew in that one moment that our family was complete and he was the perfect period on a beautiful sentence that was waiting for him to be finished. I can’t explain what an amazing feeling it was to look around at the people in the room with us and I laid there with my brand new baby. Lynn, the woman that delivered both of my babies with such grace, kindness, and skill. My husband, who I can not imagine being a better partner to share this life with. Kelly, my best friend who I’ve known since 8th grade, who truly knows me and I her. And my mom, who stood there in shocked silence and admiration at the daughter she created creating life of her own. <br /><br />I am so grateful that I got to deliver two healthy babies naturally and in such company. I am so grateful that I now get to be their mother for the rest of my life. God has truly blessed me with more in this world than I deserve, and at the end of all of this, that is the utmost gift. Him. Who gave us Himself in order that we might know and be with God. That gift being more than we could ever hope for, He also gives us the blessing of family here in this world along with the promise of eternity with Him in the next. <br />
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<br /><br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-54900495061164494012012-07-20T13:29:00.001-07:002012-07-20T13:29:15.142-07:00Choo-Choo<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This week we took a short drive up to Virginia City, NV so that Everett could take a ride on what he lovingly calls a “choo-choo.” We lucked out that the day we were up there they were running the steam train so it was extra noisy and extra legit. There is no better feeling in this life than watching your child have fun, of that I am convinced. It is an honor to be a parent, to get to sit back and experience moments of something new with your child. To watch Everett’s face light up and his little eyebrows furrow as he tries to figure out a different sound or a strange sight. He is exuberant and thoughtful at the same time, embracing life with complete joy yet very intellectually, wanting to know what things are and how they work. I spent the drive home just thinking about Everett’s short little life, and now Graham’s, too...how much fun the next few years are going to be as they both grow older and begin to experience all the amazing things in this world God has given us for our pleasure. <br /><br />I can be very frustrated as a parent, I get impatient and I daydream for the time in our lives when I don’t have little ones pulling at me, wanting something from me. When I have the time or energy to, oh I don’t know, start or finish a book again. But it’s days like this when I don’t want to push that fast forward button. I want to press pause and just marvel in where I am and the blessings I have...these two little souls I have been given charge of. <br />
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<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-37721777529357237852012-07-15T14:31:00.001-07:002012-07-16T10:55:21.143-07:00Sleep is for Babies<br />
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Sometime in the last few weeks Graham (who is six months old by the way) has made the very adult decision that sleep is for babies and he is over it. He went from going to sleep at about seven or eight to fighting sleep until about midnight in the wide eyed, jerky necked, “I absolutely refuse to put my head on your shoulder because I know the minute I do I will fall asleep” kind of way.<br />
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Everett has always been such a great sleeper, even as a little baby. Because of this, Graham’s lack of sleep has sent me into a tale spin of emotion, frustration, and despair that has been very unexpected. I want to be the kind of parent that rolls with the punches and is patient and loving and kind. These last few weeks have made me feel like the complete opposite. I feel my fuse growing shorter and shorter throughout the day and the closer it gets to night time the more my anxiety grows and I have found myself yelling, actually YELLING at my baby...who can’t help himself and just wants me to hold him and soothe him and cuddle him. How dare he. Nothing will make you feel crazier than trying to discipline an infant, I promise you that. <br />
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Today at church I walked in feeling desperate for the Word of God. Desperate to be reminded of His promises. And I left feeling exactly that. But more importantly, I was reminded that there is only one Promise that matters and is sure and that is the promise found in the Gospel. He has already fulfilled the only thing I truly need and that is the forgiveness of my sins through Jesus Christ, something that happened way before me and that nothing that I do or don’t do can change. <br />
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I think that if I’m honest I believe there are all these “bonus promises” that I deserve because I am a Child of God, like a happy life, or a comfortable one, or more specifically-a child who sleeps and give me time by myself at night so I don’t absolutely lose my marbles. These “bonuses” I expect are not outside the realm of possibility. God does bless us beyond measure and merit all the time. He has given me many things, including grandparents who take my aforementioned baby for the night so I get one night of peace. But these things are not promised to me and are not things I deserve, should expect, or even need. The ONLY thing I need is the one thing that can’t be taken from me.<br />
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Being reminded of this truth has made me realize that I think far to highly of myself and this plays out time and time again in me trying to do things in my own strength. I am a good parent, but I absolutely can not raise these two boys God has entrusted me with by myself. I need His patience, His mercy, and above all else, His word poured over me again and again because I so often lost sight of these things.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-57317312104584692492012-07-10T21:13:00.000-07:002012-07-10T21:13:14.346-07:00Burn out<span style="font-family: inherit;">I have felt Gods leading in my life more and more lately. I don’t mean in the big picture, “this is what you are supposed to be doing for the next 5 years, Sara” kind of way, but in the “Sara, read my Word.” “Sara, pray with Everett,” kind of way. It is amazing to me that the God of the universe speaks to us in such small places, in such simple things. That He cares whether or not I know his Word, that He is paying attention to my little family in our little town. </span><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Even more surprising, however, is that I KNOW that it is God, the God that created all things who is speaking to me and there are times when I actively and intentionally ignore it. Just today, I finished cleaning the house (a feat in itself with two children under 2) and I was sitting down to watch the next episode of Dawson’s Creek when I heard that voice speaking to me, telling me I should use this time that the boys are still sleeping to spend some time with Him. I wish that I could say that I immediately grabbed my bible and sat down to read, but I actually continued on my path towards the couch, the remote, and the mental off button I so thought I needed. It took five minutes of actively debating with myself before I turned off the TV and starting reading. </span><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><span style="font-family: inherit;">That five minutes speaks volumes about the state of my heart. About where I find my rest and where I put my energies. Lately I find myself spending most of the day just surviving until I am able to have my next break. As I play with, feed, or tickle my boys I am thinking two hours ahead when I can have some time to myself. I think this says two things. 1. I am in need of rest and solitude and that 2. When I do have time for these things I am not finding them in the right places.</span><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><br style="font-family: inherit;" /><span style="font-family: inherit;">Motherhood is no joke. There is no clock to punch at the end of the day and there is no drive home from the workplace to give you distance from the work that is left undone. At any moment of any day I am surrounded by something, often many things, that need to get done. Even in moments when I try to relax I find my</span>self not enjoying it because I’m thinking about the five more “productive” things I could be doing during that time and hounded by the knowledge that there won’t be time later. Because of this I need to pray about and seek wisdom into ways that I can get true Rest. Do I need to wake up earlier so that I know I will have uninterrupted time with God before my children wake up? I have never been good at that so I know it would be a struggle and fear I am just setting myself up to have one more thing I get frustrated that I can’t get done? Do I need to find a way to give up my own picture of what I think my home is supposed to look like in order to spend more nap times engaged in prayer, reading, writing?<br /><br />I know that I am blessed to be home with my children everyday, that I will look back at this time with joy and pleasure. The worst thing I could do is not engage with my children and husband while I have this time because I feel burnt out and tired. THIS is my calling, THIS is my mission field and I need to remember that just like any other it is not something I can do in my own strength.<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-87823634946540421382011-07-03T14:54:00.001-07:002012-07-16T10:55:54.895-07:009 months<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtJd4h0rrpJ63LzkpBzl2uXF4qCdI84OCYOVbyBk6qVx79ExZkCT_mVN63fhWNvfo_3HCmo4E5CWV5eZmJYUXNbLpHCioty_a_gSirqq80Qpp17sRrW81cZgQaEzgV5w38pnym-F3mWNg/s1600/IMG_5652.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="640" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625248174870399074" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtJd4h0rrpJ63LzkpBzl2uXF4qCdI84OCYOVbyBk6qVx79ExZkCT_mVN63fhWNvfo_3HCmo4E5CWV5eZmJYUXNbLpHCioty_a_gSirqq80Qpp17sRrW81cZgQaEzgV5w38pnym-F3mWNg/s640/IMG_5652.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" width="426" /></a><br />
Everett's ninth month was a blur, to be perfectly honest. I have been super sick with this pregnancy (much like the last one), so updating a blog has been pretty low on the priority list. Ahead of it was trying to find every possible second of sleep I can fit in a day already filled with taking care of Ev and working full time. But this little guy has been growing into quite the big boy these last few months. He is crawling like a champ, he is eating everything in sight, and he is talking so much. Not actual words, but he can say "Bella," and "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Da</span>-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Da</span>" which we are still trying to decide if he actually is talking to Cory.<br />
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This last month he has decided that his daddy is the greatest thing on this earth. He is so social and easy-going, but if his dad is holding him and then puts him down or worse yet, walks out of the room, he cries like someone is pinching him. It is really cute and really sad. I can't help but feel a little jealous, which I know is ridiculous...I know that he will trade favorites a million times in his life, but I can't help but wonder why he doesn't cry when I leave the room? You know, just me, his mom, the one that carried him and labored with him and delivered him and nursed him and stayed up all night with him. Just that person. I sound super bitter, but I really do love how much he loves Cory.<br />
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His favorite thing to eat right now is meat. You can put fruit and veggies and meat on his tray and he will pick through all of it until the meat is completely gone and then look up at you for more.<br />
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I love that he is getting bigger and more curious and exploring more. I love that you can tell he understands when you ask him a question and that he grabs on to you when you hold him. He is amazing!!Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-59035280796938586032011-05-24T20:01:00.000-07:002011-07-03T14:52:20.762-07:00May 21st 2011May 21st, 2011 I woke up like I do every Saturday. Cory was already up playing with our little man. The house smelled like coffee and Everett's babbles and coos traveled down to me from the living room. It was a beautiful morning.<br /><br />I left my boys to their fun while I got ready for the day. Before I jumped in the shower I did something I don't do on the usual Saturday. I took a pregnancy test...<br /><br /><br />...and it was positive...<br /><br /><br />Those four words have to stand on their own because they are that crazy. To remind you, it took us almost two years and the help of fertility drugs to conceive Everett. The fact that I am writing this down, that I am living this out, is so crazy and magical and amazing and scary and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">blessed</span> that there are almost no words for how I feel. I feel a closeness to God that I haven't felt in a long time. I feel like he is whispering to me, "Sara, I got this, why do you worry so?" "Sara, I love you, why don't you trust Me?" I am humbled with how GOOD God is. And not because he has given me something that I wanted, but because He has a plan, and He IS to be trusted, and that His way is set before us and we can let him lead. I know all that sounds so cheesy and earnest and not really like me, but it is TRUTH.<br /><br />There have been moments (like right this second for instance) where these feeling of fear and worry start to creep in. I feel like I am just figuring out how to be a mommy to one little person, and soon I will have two. Now I don't just have Cory and I to think about when picturing this HUGE life change, but Everett. Will he feel loved? Will he feel left out? Has he had enough time to be confident in our love for him before having to share us? I think a lot of these fears are because last time I found out I was pregnant it had been such a long time beforehand of anticipation and planning and dreaming of it that once we got that positive test there was nothing to feel but pure JOY. I think this time I'm a little in shock and am processing it very differently.<br /><br />Of course I am excited. This past month I have felt that familiar yearning in my heart for a child. I drive by the hospital and wish I was there, giving birth to a beautiful baby...so I know I'm ready, and I know that we will love this child just as much as Everett. I just need a little more time to wrap my head around it.<br /><br />Oh, and I need to remind myself of the Truth that I wrote about three paragraphs ago. He is to be trusted with all things. Even the ones we aren't quite ready for.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-86118724545615212522011-05-05T21:30:00.001-07:002012-07-16T10:56:31.416-07:00FTWToday was a good day for two reasons:<br />
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1. My husband and I are attempting to eat <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">carb</span>-free (well <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">carb</span>-less) for a month. Trust me, we are not "those people," but we both have some baby weight we could still lose so we are hoping that a month of not eating <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">carbs</span> will bring us back to food reality...wherein we don't think a huge plate of Chicken Marsala <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Marscapone</span> (which, by the way, I really need to share the recipe for because it is SO good) is considered an acceptable weekly dinner option. The theory is a month with no rice or potatoes or pasta will make stuff like <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">quinoa</span> and brown rice feel like a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">treatsy</span> because we are now used to just veggies and meat. Don't tell me if you have already proven this theory wrong in your own life because my little heart can't take it.<br />
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Anyway, we've been eating a pretty steady stream of different forms of meat from the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">bbq</span> alongside a big pile of veggies. So tonight I had this crazy idea to make Shepard's Pie with cauliflower instead of potatoes. I've heard a mythical story that cauliflower can substitute for mashed potatoes but I've never had the desire to see if it's true. The result?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjje9UCcNNCKiTi2f0xzOZRHuICKRP7HEYAYCivtBLaC7zGdvBOWPf_uNCpDjDBEO__WjiwsEFJ1NSeU5WeCQs3xpwb6mq8HRIJaf7Nuparuapk4NWz3m4GSbFDuQdFd_mIGeFBzqSDPS4/s1600/CameraBag_Photo_1000.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5603459271076422626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjje9UCcNNCKiTi2f0xzOZRHuICKRP7HEYAYCivtBLaC7zGdvBOWPf_uNCpDjDBEO__WjiwsEFJ1NSeU5WeCQs3xpwb6mq8HRIJaf7Nuparuapk4NWz3m4GSbFDuQdFd_mIGeFBzqSDPS4/s400/CameraBag_Photo_1000.jpg" style="display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 332px;" width="332" /></a><br />
The fact that it is almost gone tells really sells something. If my husband doesn't like something he will politely eat one plate of it and then 20 minutes after dinner start slowly snacking until he's full. It's very sweet actually. The double bonus of this meal was that little Everett was able to partake as well. All of a sudden he is over baby food so I've been trying to figure out what to feed him. This meal was perfect for his little tiny fingers.<br />
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2. The above picture was taken on the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">ipod</span> Touch that I got for Christmas. A really sweet present and something I was really excited about, mostly so I can have a camera next to me at a moment's notice in case Ev does something cute. Needless to say, there are a lot of pictures on it. However, I may or may not have forgotten I placed this very small and expensive gift in my front <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">hoodie</span> pocket and then threw said <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">hoodie</span> in the washer. When I discovered it all sad and wet laying inside of my washer I spent the next hour having a moral dilemma...tell my husband and both disappoint him and confirm that I am an idiot in one conversation. Or, NOT tell him and then when he discovered my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">ipod</span> wasn't working I would just play dumb. Luckily the truth won and I told him. He took it really well and just kind of chucked and shook his head. Should I be offended that he didn't seem surprised :). <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Anyhoo</span>, I put it in the junk drawer and tried to forget it happened. But today, in a true <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">Cinco</span> De Mayo miracle, I plugged it into the charger and it WORKS. If ever anyone doubts the power of the Mac please tell them this story.<br />
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So all in all a good day. By the way, I entitled this post <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">FTW</span> because I posted the story of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14">ipod</span> on my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15">Facebook</span> and someone responded, "Mac <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16">FTW</span>." I had to google <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17">FTW</span> because I had no idea what that meant. I'm a nerd.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-76225328130714476792011-05-03T19:10:00.000-07:002012-07-16T10:57:01.344-07:00The loves of Everett's life- 8 months<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIgehaySzfHroB2dG3lbEyxJQNv-231KclQSIW12Kgkc5O1Jq4b7DEX0wtVoFAfqpaG8TZsV8aMdiRRLUaTZWIFK3jLXSn47oCrH1pPSY7PPVYrmG-gavyradQn7O1vk2pL9SurDZadf0/s1600/IMG_5330.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="400" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602680615384969842" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIgehaySzfHroB2dG3lbEyxJQNv-231KclQSIW12Kgkc5O1Jq4b7DEX0wtVoFAfqpaG8TZsV8aMdiRRLUaTZWIFK3jLXSn47oCrH1pPSY7PPVYrmG-gavyradQn7O1vk2pL9SurDZadf0/s400/IMG_5330.jpg" style="display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 267px;" width="267" /></a>Daddy.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZOnLcPQsvJAZcEKVxK8X94AcFXXnG7QSZz6xiSri1Y0ClcGOOz5m9D8v8Ofb0XPIkeuNVNi-5h7qxZGrndDONwSYFcuIcNZWpNTZc0E7kTkbV9Q_dzVH4I5UQR3XSjI-DuNrMgdyDBt4/s1600/IMG_5303.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" height="267" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602679790281697954" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZOnLcPQsvJAZcEKVxK8X94AcFXXnG7QSZz6xiSri1Y0ClcGOOz5m9D8v8Ofb0XPIkeuNVNi-5h7qxZGrndDONwSYFcuIcNZWpNTZc0E7kTkbV9Q_dzVH4I5UQR3XSjI-DuNrMgdyDBt4/s400/IMG_5303.JPG" style="display: block; height: 267px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" width="400" /></a>food.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizvipBNyy9jaV_42Z6BjM7Ot5OnSux6migERxF-roswI4LIXMlkuKea6yLPc5hNp0NfvYD0Ke9sP40-Siuwmr17_607O0DoXFXbIMoGdjnwQUrNb2DjDJAeHrlnP6JDeS3iIUXYJzM77o/s1600/IMG_5210.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602678946361064770" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizvipBNyy9jaV_42Z6BjM7Ot5OnSux6migERxF-roswI4LIXMlkuKea6yLPc5hNp0NfvYD0Ke9sP40-Siuwmr17_607O0DoXFXbIMoGdjnwQUrNb2DjDJAeHrlnP6JDeS3iIUXYJzM77o/s400/IMG_5210.JPG" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 267px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a>Dog toys instead of little boy toys (yum)<span style="font-family: trebuchet ms;"><br /><br /><br /></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPNPcKzHwEdZN2zpkcZEngoV2IWzsbIyHBDppjkoyRVCJk5O24z_v6z5nX-wtkqbysH8UPJu4dvT8M_2fWqlg0feFQYA39TFGGWcuLT0k5boQtpj7a5eRMZt62vBnC624pqekUHp18okE/s1600/IMG_5404+-+Version+2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602681707898153698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPNPcKzHwEdZN2zpkcZEngoV2IWzsbIyHBDppjkoyRVCJk5O24z_v6z5nX-wtkqbysH8UPJu4dvT8M_2fWqlg0feFQYA39TFGGWcuLT0k5boQtpj7a5eRMZt62vBnC624pqekUHp18okE/s400/IMG_5404+-+Version+2.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 267px;" /></a>Mama<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-PUz9Y3yMfw0Lv9ufD67hsuqYSX3XOjQeE4dVZsmo1pOhCKmMfqoot8i7HJrJxWmxRRBVpMAzW5n2Ctqn9SPM2jh3_X3v-PnEe-dkhr4RfPYdDpkIYVDqbLMWwJMqKgFpaKTWcqprf4/s1600/IMG_5421.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602682782256305346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm-PUz9Y3yMfw0Lv9ufD67hsuqYSX3XOjQeE4dVZsmo1pOhCKmMfqoot8i7HJrJxWmxRRBVpMAzW5n2Ctqn9SPM2jh3_X3v-PnEe-dkhr4RfPYdDpkIYVDqbLMWwJMqKgFpaKTWcqprf4/s400/IMG_5421.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 267px;" /></a>LIFE.<br />
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I am in constant amazement of this little man. He is so happy! For a couple days last week he was kind of grumpy (teething, growing, sick, it's pretty much a crap shoot at this stage of his life) but ever since then he wakes up with a huge smile on his face and goes to bed just the same. We keep telling him, "gosh you are in a good mood today," but then we realize this is the boy we know and love, we just forgot during the grumpy days...so it's kind of like having our baby back.<br />
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He is crawling up a storm, pulls himself up to standing, and has even taken a view "cruising" steps. For those non fluent in baby terminology (I seriously learned this term 3 days ago), that's when a baby can walk while holding on to something. It feels like he is gaining a new "trick" everyday, and I'm just waiting for the day when I look over and he is walking on his own. I find myself saying "When Everett was little..." and am reminded by whoever I'm talking too that he still <span style="font-style: italic;">is </span>little. But in my mind this is little<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiptwoziRUZ0Maokdx6oDPza0erHms7HGzDOC4O5QWyImktJAeNNk8PWlUcN_bDLmpmi0sijMEI4ERW0adGTP4G7QIzsYaqdtryAyMvUdFOOi6qPMuxTirXuEJynQXPnDo-hsnK4SYIU0Q/s1600/IMG_0078.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602684580027477714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiptwoziRUZ0Maokdx6oDPza0erHms7HGzDOC4O5QWyImktJAeNNk8PWlUcN_bDLmpmi0sijMEI4ERW0adGTP4G7QIzsYaqdtryAyMvUdFOOi6qPMuxTirXuEJynQXPnDo-hsnK4SYIU0Q/s400/IMG_0078.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 299px;" /></a><br />
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So compared to that he is basically a thirty year old man. The scary thing is that before I know it he really will be!</div>
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<img alt="" src="file:///Users/Currence/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/moz-screenshot.png" /><img alt="" src="file:///Users/Currence/Library/Caches/TemporaryItems/moz-screenshot-1.png" />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-2180397496590322952011-05-01T08:03:00.000-07:002011-05-01T08:39:04.368-07:00not taking pictures of myself is my fave<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB6OQSdH2iXozhkU3jYg86I7tUAzvy87Yacl_IVkqdLS-BQ6_m05hQZrE75414_lWsBn-ScXfaAdeWqtu44rqK2eVOt9XXpyFOYvYqrWEN2zF5LJQfzQUTZEcutUJBQR1xSZ1JnGJCk3w/s1600/photo-1.jpg"><br /></a><br />I hate pictures of myself. Now that we are in the age of digital technology there is this horrible option to take a picture and then immediately after look at it (who invented this? I need names). While most people run up to the picture taker after seeing the flash and click to make sure they look OK or to just see how cute they all are, I never do. I NEVER do. Because I know that I won't like what I see. I will only see a double chin or a weird smile or how one of my eyes kinds of droops down more than the other one or something else very particular about myself that maybe no one else sees but is glaringly obvious to me.<br /><br />Now that I have a baby this issue has come to my attention even more. I pretty much have the camera out every second I am with him. I probably have 1000 pictures of his new little life but only about 4 with me in them. Some of that is because usually it's just the two of us and I'm not really good at the selfie. Also, I always feel a little awkward when my husband and I are together and we are doing something fun and I say "Hey babe, take a picture of me." This is probably an extension of the aforementioned insecurity. However, the biggest reason there are only 4 pictures of me is because I really don't want to see what I look like. Most of the time I can convince myself I look a certain way and pictures always kind of slap me in the face with reality.<br /><br />Here is an example of this. This was Ev's first adventure on a slide. He looks adorable, of course. The sun is shining. We are together and both smiling and there is so much love just screaming out of this picture. But my first thought when I saw it was, "too bad I'm not wearing something a little cuter, wow my hair is messy, nice double chin Sara...etc, etc." <br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB6OQSdH2iXozhkU3jYg86I7tUAzvy87Yacl_IVkqdLS-BQ6_m05hQZrE75414_lWsBn-ScXfaAdeWqtu44rqK2eVOt9XXpyFOYvYqrWEN2zF5LJQfzQUTZEcutUJBQR1xSZ1JnGJCk3w/s1600/photo-1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 299px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB6OQSdH2iXozhkU3jYg86I7tUAzvy87Yacl_IVkqdLS-BQ6_m05hQZrE75414_lWsBn-ScXfaAdeWqtu44rqK2eVOt9XXpyFOYvYqrWEN2zF5LJQfzQUTZEcutUJBQR1xSZ1JnGJCk3w/s400/photo-1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601769257156229170" border="0" /></a> THERE IS NOTHING WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE! The rational side of me knows this.<br /> <br /><br />Facebook and blogs have perpetuated this problem. How is everyone else so perfect? These are the questions I ask myself. How are their houses so cute, and their husbands so fashionable, and how are they always wearing heels even on laundry day? Also, how is everyone so good at photography and so freakin' photogenic? Why is everyone constantly on vacation, or on road trips, or moving into new beautiful houses? And why are there kids always in clean shirts and they don't have any boogers on their faces or eye crusties. How do they all have the energy to get all dolled up for date nights when all I want to do is get take out and be able to wear my sweatpants???<br /><br />I could go on but I won't. I know that the internet is not reality. We are all guilty of painting our lives with the nicest brushes, the prettiest colors. I know this isn't going to change, because really, would I want to read or look at a blog where the woman was always complaining about her crappy life and posting picture after picture of herself in her ratty sweatpants collection? Probably not. So the cure is not the internet changing, the cure is for me to embrace my own life, my own face. To not get so caught up in wishing I was perfect and being able to look at the positives more and the negatives less.<br /><br />I'm certainly not writing this so everyone can tell me how pretty they think I am. I'm writing this because I don't want to let this be my reality. I want Everett and any other children we might have to be able to look at pictures of this time in their lives and see how much love we have for them, to see how happy we were (hopefully still are!) and young we looked and be able to laugh at our funny clothes. I don't want my dumb insecurities to rob them of that. So this is a reminder to myself to get over myself.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-2255522643656598802011-04-23T11:19:00.000-07:002011-04-29T21:29:19.899-07:00on being a stay at home mom<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZcU7Ok7jguFyNnpws1WyJ2MWncpM0paDEUkL7L8jd1F1nHZ2-MiW-614YtUxVZjjdJKaYA34tK8_hfFkASHhDqgKVhDY7GfkUmvEt01-bn9VHti8uPOfEcrKAbodKNx-GIj5okVYSiUE/s1600/IMG_5034.jpg"><br /></a>I work full time. I have had a job since I was thirteen years old. Yes, thirteen. My parents owned an ice cream shop and I worked there. I was so small that when I scooped people's ice cream I literally had to climb up and hang inside of the freezer in order to reach the tubs. It was probably quite odd looking.<br /><br />When Cory and I got married it was never really a discussion as to whether or not I would stay home with our children. His mom worked, my mom worked, of course I would work. Then, we started trying to have a baby. A feeling started creeping up inside of me, I think it was dread. You see, I always knew I wanted to be a mommy. But from the minute that desire turned into the reality of trying for a baby and then ultimately getting pregnant, I fell instantly and indescribably in love with our unborn child. I became a mother, I think, with that first pregnancy test (the first of many pregnancy tests as I've talked about before). When my heart became a mother's heart, that feeling creeping up and eventually filling me was the absolute knowledge that I wanted to be home with my children. That there was no way I would be able to leave them everyday, all day. I tried so hard to swallow that feeling, to tell it (very sternly with my new mommy voice that matched my new mommy heart) where it could go. But it didn't go there. It stayed inside of me and filled up my chest and made it feel heavy and tight. I knew that for us there wasn't an option. My husband works at a church and neither one of us have trust funds or have ever won the lottery so two incomes were completely necessary. I spent my pregnancy praying for this new desire in me to either go away or that God would show us how it would be possible to be an option.<br /><br />When Everett came into the world I actually had a lot of peace about going back to work. I think when you know something isn't a choice you just kind of have to suck it up. The desire in me didn't go away, I just put it to the side and let God work in that area, waiting on Him to provide, or not provide, options.<br /><br />The first month being back at work was pretty brutal. I knew it was where I was supposed to be and I actually really love my job so the days at work were not that hard, but every night and every morning was a struggle to fit everything in that I needed to get done, when all I actually wanted to do was hold him and look at him and smell him. However, one can not just sit around smelling thier baby. There is food to cook, a house to look after, a husband to spend time with and make a priority. You know, all those really small easy things.<br /><br />After that month I started going in the MAD direction. I was MAD at God. I was MAD at my friends who got to stay home with their babies. I was MAD at myself for making choices with our money that led us to a place where we didn't have any choices. Obviously I also spent a lot of time being mad...along with the cleaning...and the smelling...and the holding.<br /><br />It's been about 5 months since I returned to work. I'm not saying that I am glad that I am a working mom, but I do see little glimpses of blessings among the days of struggle and juggling Everett around from me, to my husband, to the babysitter (who we love by the way), and exhaustion. Mostly, I think that being a working mom makes me <span style="font-style: italic;">grateful </span>for the time I spend with my son. I can genuinely say that I enjoy almost every minute I am with him. He brings me joy and he gives me renewed energy every time I am around him. And if I'm honest with myself, I don't think I would be able to say that if I was with him 24/7.<br /><br />I also think my husband has the opportunity to have a relationship with Everett that I don't think he would have if I was the main caregiver. We share parenting, completely, and it has brought me to a place of even deeper appreciation for the husband that chose me, if that was even possible.<br /><br />I'm not saying that everyday I skip around giddy and happy. I spend a lot of my day getting really excited about going to sleep later. I also am not trying to discount the blessings of the stay at home mom. I know that they love their children and that their husbands love their children. I am just speaking of my experience, and trying to find the good where I can.<br /><br />Eventually I know that I am going to be able to stay home. In the meantime, I'm trying to learn to care less about how clean my house is, or not feel bad if we have Pho for dinner 2 days in a row. And mostly I'm just trying to not put myself in autopilot and try to breeze through this time of life and wait until I'm a stay at home mom. It is ENOUGH that God made me a mom, and I'm trying my best to remember that.<br /><br /> Oh, and I go home to this face everyday, what do I have to complain about??<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZcU7Ok7jguFyNnpws1WyJ2MWncpM0paDEUkL7L8jd1F1nHZ2-MiW-614YtUxVZjjdJKaYA34tK8_hfFkASHhDqgKVhDY7GfkUmvEt01-bn9VHti8uPOfEcrKAbodKNx-GIj5okVYSiUE/s1600/IMG_5034.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZcU7Ok7jguFyNnpws1WyJ2MWncpM0paDEUkL7L8jd1F1nHZ2-MiW-614YtUxVZjjdJKaYA34tK8_hfFkASHhDqgKVhDY7GfkUmvEt01-bn9VHti8uPOfEcrKAbodKNx-GIj5okVYSiUE/s400/IMG_5034.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5601228145742893458" border="0" /></a>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-47796463865550234292011-04-19T10:20:00.000-07:002011-04-23T11:19:06.500-07:00Tuesdays With Sara<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRRd3raFRv6jqeUqEELRbWAOpyVyZhsLsd0Uqq4c4oCX1NXo0Xj"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 166px; height: 256px;" src="http://t1.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRRd3raFRv6jqeUqEELRbWAOpyVyZhsLsd0Uqq4c4oCX1NXo0Xj" alt="" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/419bJlkfr1L._BO2,204,203,200_PIsitb-sticker-arrow-click,TopRight,35,-76_AA300_SH20_OU01_.jpg"><br /></a>We just got back from vacation, we don't have any food in the house, all three of us have the death flu, I'm wearing sweatpants, and I wish I was napping. Let's just leave it at that and move on to the book discussion, yes?<br /><br />First things first...I copied this image from a website entitled "Doula Right Thing." That is awesome in and of itself (my husband and I had a conversation about whether or not you would write that "in and of itself" or "inandofitself," he thought it might be all one word. Anyone know so I don't have to google? Also, anyone know why the heck two people would actually care enough to talk about it?)<br /><br />But I digress. The real awesomeness I came here to talk about what this book. I came across "Baby Catcher" when I was obsessively researching labor. It came up in a library topic search I did one day and I like memoirs and I obviously like labor so I picked it up and was not disappointed. There are so many books about natural childbirth but most of them are how-to guides that include a lot of techniques and awkward looking pictures of men with long hair and cut-off jean shorts laying next to naked women squatting but not a lot of heart. This book is very different. It is basically the birth stories of hundreds of women through the eyes of a Certified Nurse Midwife and catalogs all the many different types of births she was a part of throughout her career. I think there is a story for almost every different kind of birth you can imagine, some beautiful and others heartbreaking. I loved reading this while I was pregnant because it made me feel so empowered. It made me realize that millions of women have birthed their babies naturally. And not all of them would consider themselves abnormally strong or brave or special in their normal life. But something about the miracle of birth gave them the ability to do it and reading their stories made me think that if they could, then certainly I could to.<br /><br />This recommendation is somewhat limited because I don't think anyone who isn't pregnant or thinking about getting pregnant would want to read it. But for those of you who fall into these two categories it's a must read.<br /><br />*Disclaimer- there are a couple of stories in which the end result is quite tragic and sad. If you are someone who is trying to avoid thinking about the worst case scenario when it comes to labor maybe you should avoid it. But for me, I think knowing everything that could go wrong made me feel more prepared. Anyway, I thought a proper warning was only fair.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5188740375796644146.post-65283794416836872252011-04-10T15:58:00.001-07:002011-04-10T16:10:36.551-07:007 months<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2n_j62F653_Z9V2G5kZ7RM6pypHOVEQo0dilXunPNdpb1dT5A20mVXT1ZNRPwteUN6Hqo1QoCxo9jHQhgGGidZrGzow4hqENs25w638v1Ukhwsss6SXqoRsZqB2zJelH4A8pZIYKjzw/s1600/IMG_4383.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2n_j62F653_Z9V2G5kZ7RM6pypHOVEQo0dilXunPNdpb1dT5A20mVXT1ZNRPwteUN6Hqo1QoCxo9jHQhgGGidZrGzow4hqENs25w638v1Ukhwsss6SXqoRsZqB2zJelH4A8pZIYKjzw/s400/IMG_4383.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594093449362752386" border="0" /></a><br />This is the face of a boy who knows full well how freakin' cute he is, and just how much that fact is going to work in his favor for years and years to come. My boy is 7 months old. He has been spending the last month of his life tirelessly working towards being mobile. He has many combinations; from scooting, to army crawling, to arms and feet instead of arms and knees, which is particularly cute and makes him look like quite the athlete. He hasn't mastered any of these moves but he spends his days practicing and then finally crying out of frustration when his little energy finally runs out.<br /><br />He has mastered the art of self-feeding. Right now heaven for Everett is a tray full of sweet potato puffs that he can pick up and stick in his mouth by the handful (usually about one or two actually makes it into his mouth).<br /><br />We are heading out to see the my parents for a week. I expect by the end of this vacation he will be spoiled in ways the human race hasn't discovered yet. Life is good.Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04258545970046722406noreply@blogger.com0