tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2923625216155161682024-03-05T14:11:14.197-07:00The Driver JourneyAprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.comBlogger122125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-56587030636099961622015-04-14T16:51:00.000-06:002015-04-14T16:51:13.251-06:00Grace at FourOur sweet Grace turned four this past January. My how the time flies. Grace had a milestone year. She gave up her binky, potty trained, moved to a big girl bed and started preschool. Three was a year of big change for Grace.<br />
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I believe three is a hard age because a child goes from being a baby to being a kid. They are learning so much, and often as a parent it is easy to forget they are still so little.<br />
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Four may be my favorite age for my children. The physical labor of parenting lessens, and I am able to enjoy their company.<br />
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Our Grace is precious. She is smart and funny. She is beautiful. She adores all of us. Her imagination is awesome. I wish I could pop inside her brain and hang out for a bit.<br />
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I am excited to watch Grace learn and grow. She is truly a gift. Each year I ask my kids a few questions. Here are Grace's answers.<br />
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<b>What is your favorite color?</b> gold (She has never said this is her favorite color before. I didn't even know she knew gold was a color.)<br />
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<b>What is your favorite food?</b> chocolate (Jack told her to say that.)<br />
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<b>What is your favorite toy? </b>my treehouse<br />
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<b>Who is your best friend?</b> Elena<br />
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<b>What is your favorite activity?</b> I like to make puppets (This just makes me giggle because I've never seen her make a puppet.)<br />
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<b>What is your favorite game?</b> Uno<br />
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<b>What do you want to be when you grow up?</b> a doctor and a mommy<br />
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<b>What are you thankful for?</b> my mommy<br />
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<b>What is the best thing that happened this year?</b> I went on the big kid swing<br />
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<b>What do you like best about being four?</b> riding my bike<br />
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Grace also wanted to add that she "likes to write rainbows."<br />
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I just love this girl's imagination and sense of humor. Four is truly the best.<br />
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-75869478893354219642015-01-09T16:02:00.001-07:002015-01-09T16:02:02.173-07:00Six Already!<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Our Jack turned six the day after Christmas. He is by far the best Christmas present I have ever received. Time passes too quickly. I cannot believe it's been six years since he was placed in my eager, terrified arms for the first time. I miss baby Jack, but I love Jack at six. He is just so cool. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Five was a huge year for Jack. Huge! He started kindergarten and lost his first baby tooth. He gained independence in many ways: riding his bike around the block without us, going to a playdate alone, pouring his own juice, doing the drive line at school instead of me walking him in. Our boy is growing up. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">A competitive nature emerged in Jack this year. He discovered our town's skate park and loves to ride his bike down the biggest jump. Whether at the skate park, climbing wall or monkey bars, he loves to push the limits of his physical abilities. He absolutely hates to lose at anything and enjoys making up games for the family to play.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jack also has such a kind heart. Recently, <span style="text-align: center;">Grace decided she no longer needed to sleep with her lovey. After tucking her in, I walked into Jack's room with tears rimming my eyes. "What's wrong mommy," Jack asked worriedly. "Grace doesn't want to sleep with lovey anymore, and I'm sad," I replied. With tears brimming his eyes, Jack said, "That </span><i style="text-align: center;">is</i><span style="text-align: center;"> sad." That is the boy I love more than life itself. A boy of contradictions. Tender yet tough. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Each year I ask my children a few questions after their birthday. Here's what Jack had to say this year:</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;">What is your favorite color?</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">blue</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br style="color: #111111; line-height: 18px;" /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;">What is your favorite food?</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">chocolate</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;">What is your favorite toy?</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Trash Pack and Hexbugs</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;">Who is your best friend?</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Jackson and Brody</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="color: #111111;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;">What is your favorite activity</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">rock climbing</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;">What is your favorite game to play?</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Shark Attack and Frozen</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;">What do you want to do when you grow up?</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">be a ninja</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;">What are you most thankful for?</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">my family</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;">What is the best thing that happened this year?</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">losing a tooth, Christmas and my birthday</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;">What do you like about being six?</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">I can do more stuff by myself</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;">What do you like best about school? </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">"I'm just glad to be there"</span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #111111; line-height: 18px;">I love this boy of mine. Happy birthday sweet Jack! Enjoy six! </span></span><br />
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-54696858816131051412014-07-16T13:11:00.002-06:002014-07-16T13:11:49.222-06:00I Am A Runner<div class="MsoNormal">
I run. I am a runner. Of course, I am a runner in the same
way that I am a writer. I am a runner not because of any acclaim, not because I
am good at it. I am a runner only because I run, or maybe we should just tell
the truth and call it jogging. Nonetheless, I run. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I may be the world’s worst runner. Picture a three-year-old child
running toward the swings, arms flapping, zero form, just trying to get to the
fun. That is what I look like running. It is ridiculous. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizuI2wQeddNkR99A_poZrvWcqM51ljplLd5ff5aoNj5Kba8zQxT_CTUFlIKZSsRWXKKajKMY5VudKK3aIQREWYMLfL7Y2YRQkMn33kI_y-0YKVwCdiIZhwMKxs-pQWxLmlIWJCSZk0inU/s1600/run.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizuI2wQeddNkR99A_poZrvWcqM51ljplLd5ff5aoNj5Kba8zQxT_CTUFlIKZSsRWXKKajKMY5VudKK3aIQREWYMLfL7Y2YRQkMn33kI_y-0YKVwCdiIZhwMKxs-pQWxLmlIWJCSZk0inU/s1600/run.jpg" height="400" width="300" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Besides that, I do not actually like to run. It is hard. I
sweat, and I can’t catch my breath. My face gets all red and my legs ache. I
also find it incredibly boring. Mainly, I just think about all the things I
want to write. I create worlds and opinions and arguments as I stomp down one
foot in front of the other.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
However, I still run, usually, a few times a week. I do this
because I know the end game. I know when the run is over and I am standing,
hands on my knees, in my front yard or on the treadmill, trying to catch my
breath that I will be happy that I ran. I will have a bit of pride and a deep
gratitude. Pride in the discipline to do the work and gratitude for a body
still able to exercise hard. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I run so that I can chase my children around the soccer
field. I run because my own mom had a stroke in her mid-fifties. I run because
I am stubborn. I run because I am anxious. And truth be told, I run because I
want to be fit and thin. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Running may not be a cure all. I may still have a stroke in
my fifties. Running doesn’t always keep my anxiety in check. But, it does make
me free. And strong. And brave. And tough. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I will keep running and writing. I will scratch both out
in spite of my skill or grace in the endeavor. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<!--EndFragment--><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
You can too, you know. Whatever the thing is that you want
to do, just get to doing it - one foot in front of the other, until one day you find your elusive nine minute mile. <o:p></o:p></div>
Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-20558337358134923702014-07-11T08:35:00.001-06:002014-07-11T08:35:56.743-06:00Jack's Last Day of PreschoolI didn't expect it to feel like a punch to the gut. For months, I knew the day was coming. How is it then that it snuck up on me?<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Winter lingered long this year. Maybe the May snow tricked me into thinking I had more time. But sure enough, the last day of preschool arrived like a thief in the night.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6t4DvHbYLDlCVaeeKivg0ZJ2hk8QRg1oAIwWEGf-Ilvfq5fuxoXsP4qoReVPnqwP2j4oHqcDMLb-fcTwGbZcgDdZAKNglMbTxyfpUj3T-Hlgy4jvQ78yAHF02fKZm9xErvuFu6MBFn-M/s1600/IMG_4066.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6t4DvHbYLDlCVaeeKivg0ZJ2hk8QRg1oAIwWEGf-Ilvfq5fuxoXsP4qoReVPnqwP2j4oHqcDMLb-fcTwGbZcgDdZAKNglMbTxyfpUj3T-Hlgy4jvQ78yAHF02fKZm9xErvuFu6MBFn-M/s1600/IMG_4066.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last day of preschool</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaRK8x_7ImTRdCI3V7cprJa3zlWIkzUFH9qZfOsiDjgk_41La94F9aZ2XNiRzOJAW6paBB8rXOFwQxpgndAv72CHDOPqhmGILVFarlHA6yT-HznY3srywSieUZzK0O8cFftqQJ64_4Cv0/s1600/IMG_1868.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaRK8x_7ImTRdCI3V7cprJa3zlWIkzUFH9qZfOsiDjgk_41La94F9aZ2XNiRzOJAW6paBB8rXOFwQxpgndAv72CHDOPqhmGILVFarlHA6yT-HznY3srywSieUZzK0O8cFftqQJ64_4Cv0/s1600/IMG_1868.JPG" height="213" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">First day of preschool</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
Do you know those first day of kindergarten posts that always pop up on Facebook and Instagram? The ones of tentative children and weepy mothers? I've always thought those were slightly dramatic. I mean, the kids are going to school not to war. Oh, silly me, I was wrong.<br />
<br />
That morning as Jack dressed and headed out the door, I couldn't even get him to stand still for a momentous photo - the last day of preschool. The end of an era. Didn't he grasp the importance? No, he just knew snack would probably be something sugary since it was the last day. He just wanted to get there and be done.<br />
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I snapped a few forced shots before loading us into the car. My throat caught and I couldn't breath right. What in the heck was happening to me? Surely, I could make the drop without a meltdown.<br />
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Jack bounced out of the car and into his classroom. He was excited and full of energy. I held back tears and refused to make eye contact with the other mothers. After walking out of the little red schoolhouse with Grace on my hip, I sat in my car and weeped. Weeped as if my baby boy had gone to war.<br />
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Baby Jack is gone. He is bike riding, Lego building, fence climbing, doing it on his own Jack now.<br />
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I miss baby Jack, but I love five-year-old Jack. He is funny and interesting. He is my heart, always has been, this first born child who challenged me. Who still challenges me.<br />
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I counted down the years that day in the car while wiping snot with the back of my hand, because surely I wouldn't need a tissue on the last day of preschool. 13. Only 13 more years until high school graduation. That is shorter than the time I have been out of college and wasn't that just yesterday?!<br />
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So long baby Jack. And don't mind the crazy lady sneaking into your room after you fall asleep. I may crawl in beside you and smell your hair and watch you sleep. Like I used to when you would fall asleep in my arms nursing. And don't mind me next month when I wield my tissues and weep as I drop you off for kindergarten. </div>
Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-39519448215227967252014-06-30T14:04:00.001-06:002014-06-30T14:04:52.530-06:00Back to BloggingWow! I stopped writing. I stopped writing everything a few months ago. For the past few months, I have been annoyed. I have been primarily annoyed at my children; however, I have also been annoyed with others too. I have not been pleasant to hang out with.<br />
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Over the past week or so, I have asked myself the question of why I am so easily frustrated. First, this feeling of annoyance creates incredible guilt. I have a wonderful life. I love my family. My husband is seriously the best man I know. My kids are mostly well-behaved and adorable. My life is full of gifts I do not deserve. I want for nothing.<br />
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So, my first revelation in processing this feeling of annoyance was that it is circular. I feel tired and annoyed then I feel guilty and the guilt creates pressure to be less annoyed which makes me more annoyed. Silly really, but true none-the-less.<br />
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Then, I started reading "Dad is Fat" by Jim Gaffingan. This has been the best therapy. I hit on the solution and the cause of my annoyance problem in one of Jim's chapters.<br />
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"The blurbs are meant to be (hopefully) funny, silly, and/or insightful. Some of these observations will lean toward a dark, sarcastic take on the prison sentence that is parenthood... Occasionally I receive comments that associate my musings with being anti-family... This could not be further from the truth. I love being a parent and enjoy finding the humor in parenting... You joke about it. That's how you deal. If parents don't like being a parent, they don't talk about being a parent. They are absent."<br />
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As I have dug into my faith: reading the Bible, going to Bible study, trying to be a Biblical wife. In doing those things, I lost my sense of humor. I stopped talking like myself. I started trying to emulate someone else. The Proverbs 31 wife maybe? I don't know. But at some point I decided that I needed to be more mature and serious. The problem is I just don't work well that way. I cannot write without being honest. And I think parenting little children is ridiculous most of the time. I am like a fish out of water as a mom. I am just flapping around trying to get back in the water. <br />
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Yes, I have rainbow and butterfly moments. But mostly, we are a hot mess. There are the occasions when I look at my children and my heart melts. Of course there are. Sometimes we all eat healthy, and go to bed on time. Sometimes I even do crafts or school work. I have days where I feel like a superstar.<br />
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Yet, there are many, many moments with my kids that I do not like. For example: waking up to a crying three-year-old at 2 a.m., my five-year-old putting his sister in a headlock in Target, kids refusing to go to bed in a way that makes me want to hunt down Super Nanny. These moments do not make my heart melt. Instead, they make me want to bang my head against a wall.<br />
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I lost sight that this is not failure. This is just parenting. Whose kids do not drive them nuts? What mom is perfectly happy when their kid poops in the pool?<br />
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My children have humbled me. Especially when there is an audience for the chaos. Recently, we spent a week with family at the beach. I have always prided myself on being a successful, self-assured girl who gets what she wants when she works hard enough. I felt like an utter parenting failure when each night on this trip everyone else was trying to rest quietly in their rooms for the night, and my children were fighting and crying and refusing to go to bed.<br />
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So, instead of trying to focus only on the rainbows and butterflies, and writing nothing. Or worrying that what I write will not be taken as comedic survival, I am just going to write what I feel. I am going to share the good and the bad. Because, do you know what? Parenting <i>is</i> ridiculous. It is love and fun and poop and chaos. It is a love so deep and strong I am suffocated by it. But it is also frustration so strong I want to punch a hole in the wall. It is life. I can love it and still want to run away to a secluded island with a stack of books and a comfy pillow. That feeling doesn't make me (or you) any less faithful or any less in love with my family. It just makes us human.Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-81098798203375009052014-02-12T11:07:00.001-07:002014-02-12T11:07:54.589-07:00Grace Turned 3!Our sweet Grace celebrated her third birthday in January. We kept it simple this year with a small gathering. She got to eat a pink cupcake and rock her new Minnie Mouse shoes. She was in heaven.<br />
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Grace's sweet and stubborn personality is shining through, bringing us joy and frustration. I love it! She has always been tough as nails. Grace loves books and all things Disney. She adores her big brother, thinks her dad hung the moon, and treats my every word like the gospel. Three is a sweet, sweet age.<br />
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I asked her a few questions and her answers are good y'all.<br />
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What is your favorite color?<br />
pink<br />
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What is your favorite food?<br />
ravioli with cream sauce<br />
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What is your favorite toy?<br />
my pink car<br />
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Who is your best friend?<br />
Libby<br />
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What is your favorite activity?<br />
being on the computer<br />
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What is your favorite game?<br />
hockey<br />
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What do you what to be when you grow up?<br />
I'm not gonna tell you<br />
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What are you thankful for?<br />
Jesus<br />
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What is the best thing that happened this year?<br />
I played and played<br />
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What do you like about being 3?<br />
sleeping in my big girl bed<br />
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Happy birthday Grace! You are my favorite girl in the whole wide world.<br />
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-83112180417611122582014-01-23T13:38:00.000-07:002014-01-23T13:38:07.595-07:00A Lesson in Grace for This Worn Out MommaMothering young children is a seesaw of emotions. My children are adorable and funny and so sweet. But, they can also be really big jerks. This is the work of parenting and I completely accept the responsibility. Yet, some days I feel like the world's worst mother. <div>
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Before I had children, I would often say I wished I could pop out a five-year-old. It wasn't lost on me the enormous work of rearing babies and small children. It is exhausting. Thankfully, it is also full of mercy and grace. </div>
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I think it may be the winter but this week my kids are being crazy. Crazy y'all! I don't really blame them, I want to put on my flip-flops and run around outside in the warm sunshine too. Colorado winters are not for the weak, which is why I should start packing. </div>
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So yesterday, I cried twice. First, in the car on the way to Bible study. Two key principles for raising my kids are teaching empathy and generosity. It doesn't really matter to me if we don't always eat healthy, their rooms are a disorganized mess, or they are filthy at the end of each day. All those things are surface issues that will become easier as they mature. </div>
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Cultivating a heart for others and an understanding that we are all called to serve one another, those skills will take a lifetime to build. And they are rare qualities. So when my kids are jerks, I take it personally. </div>
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From the time they got out of bed it was whining. "I don't want that cereal," "I don't want to wear that dress," "I will not go potty." Oh my word. I have failed at putting even an ounce of gratitude in these kids. Or at least that is how I felt in the moment.</div>
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The straw that broke the camels back? Finally we are in the car and I decide to be nice and play their favorite song, "Let it Go" from the Frozen movie. They like it loud so I turned the volume up. I was ready to improve our mood. And then from the backseat I hear a whiney, tear-strained voice, "turn it up!" </div>
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This was a moment to demonstrate mercy or maybe grace to my children. Instead, I turn off the radio and start to yell at them. Because you know a five and three year old totally understand lectures. I tell them they are ungrateful and that I am mad. I start to cry because I am frustrated and failing. I turn the radio to NPR and ignore their cries from the backseat. I hate being the worst mother. </div>
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The day continues to spiral downhill from here. I drop my son at school and my daughter and I head to a scheduled playdate with a friend. Visiting with my friend is improving my spirits and the kids are playing nicely together giving me a break. </div>
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Then it is time to go, but I miscalculated the time it would take to get from my friend's house to Jack's school. I am rushing out the door when Grace looks at me and says, "I need to go potty." Are. You. Kidding. Me!!!</div>
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Now is the moment you pick to decide to finally be interested in going potty. I tell her no and I make her poop in her pants. Thankfully, we are still wearing diapers while we work on potty training. She cries. I rush to school and am four minutes late. All the other parents are gone. Jack is the last kid. </div>
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I apologize to his teacher and ask how much money I owe her for being tardy and she says, "Everyone gets one get out of jail free card. Don't worry about it." Ah, mercy and grace. Then I bend down and hug Jack and tell him how very sorry I am for being late. We walk out of school and I again get down on his level and say, "Mommy was irresponsible. I am sorry I wasn't there on time." And my sweet boy looks at me and says, "It's okay mom. Everybody messes up sometimes." Mercy and grace. </div>
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We get home and I unload the kids and smell Gracie's diaper odor wafting out. I take her upstairs to change her and tell her, "I am sorry baby. I should have let you go potty." And she says, "It's okay. I'll go potty now." Mercy and grace. And then I cry for the second time. </div>
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My children do understand the beginnings of empathy. They may not understand it completely but they taught me a valuable lesson about showing mercy and offering grace. </div>
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-8586805004480955842014-01-08T14:11:00.000-07:002014-01-08T14:11:43.882-07:00The Ugly of Getting OldA few years ago I noticed this white hair in my nose. My nose of all places! Every single time it grows back I get out the tweezers and pluck it. Every single time it brings tears to my eyes because it hurts. I don't think we are meant to pluck nose hairs.<br />
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After birthing children, I began to notice (or have pointed out for me) my body aging. It isn't pretty. I know we live in an enlightened age where we should be able to grow old gracefully. Um…it doesn't seem so graceful to me. Plus, I am not ready to be old. I don't feel old and I don't want to look old either.<br />
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After Grace was born everything in my body changed. I am not sure if it was hormones, stress or just years passing. Suddenly old lady stuff started happening. First this weird thing popped up on my neck. I asked my doctor about it and she told me it is called a skin tag. Ehew! I think it was my first official old lady moment.<br />
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I do understand that by today's standards 36 is young; however, a few decades ago it wasn't really considered that young. When my mom was my age she had teenagers not toddlers.<br />
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Another sobering moment occurred at the salon. I needed my eyebrows waxed because even though I had just birthed my second child, I did not want caterpillars on my face. I was laying on the waxing table enjoying my moment of relaxation when the lady asked if I wanted my lip waxed. I told her no. Then she tugged at my upper lip hair and said, "I make you beautiful." As my cheeks flushed red, I told her to go ahead and wax it. Holy cow, I thought child birth and plucking nose hairs hurt, but the lip wax may take the cake.<br />
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I came home with my ego badly bruised and my husband asked what was wrong with my face. Now at my house we do not share everything. Doors are closed when we poop. I never ever talked to my husband about facial hair. Other than labor where he had to help me pee, we just don't talk about or share our gross stuff. So humiliated and dejected I had to tell him about the lip waxing.<br />
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Shortly thereafter, I started noticing gray hairs on my head. I just kept pulling them out. The result was a few months later these short wiry gray hairs popping up all over the top of my head. Now I just let them grow in.<br />
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Yes, there is hair color and waxing and even doctors to remove gross skin stuff, but I still know it exists. Old age is starting to creep in and it isn't pretty.<br />
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The good news is that the thirties are my best decade yet. The pressure to be pretty and perfect and driven and delightful that I felt in my twenties is gone. I accept myself more, wrinkles and all.Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-25244521755943653752014-01-04T21:11:00.001-07:002014-01-04T21:11:09.736-07:00Jack Turned Five!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtiJRfZufp2NPcXASBMJn6Bma_fKy15R4SZ50hJ04LMFCX_v51a7x4yqpfh85ZOWwyzijnDmG1zWHJvVueCoculhv-Rn3GYREyqePuNaNoqUnWE89iVKPN-01C9zWYqv4eFh8B_ovMOVE/s1600/IMG_3731.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtiJRfZufp2NPcXASBMJn6Bma_fKy15R4SZ50hJ04LMFCX_v51a7x4yqpfh85ZOWwyzijnDmG1zWHJvVueCoculhv-Rn3GYREyqePuNaNoqUnWE89iVKPN-01C9zWYqv4eFh8B_ovMOVE/s400/IMG_3731.jpg" width="266" /></a>Sweet Jack turned five the day after Christmas. My how the time has flown. And yet, I don't even recognize the girl I was before I became a mother. Only five years but I feel like a different human being.<br />
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Jack at five is fun, adventurous and whiny. Will the whining ever stop or does it just become attitude as kids grow older? I am happy to say that he is almost always a well behaved kid with others.<br />
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This year Jack learned to ride a peddle bike. He also decided that his team is the Denver Broncos (and here we thought we were raising the kid right). He is learning to swim and went down the big slide at the pool for the first time. He also earned 865 superhero training points on all of his little guy adventures.<br />
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He is an amazing big brother. While he and Gracie can sure tussle, they love each other fiercely. The best complement to my mothering I have ever gotten is when his preschool teacher commented that my kids are always so affection with each other.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR46_jnUiG1EmVsGWU6giXmkAmuU3wj_aRP5sBP-5vV35H46TxRComWm8B9wNhEGnaawJMN2GKywI1DjXHCsrocwUbaT-LaxIJndsikwS4KlYHXs0zSIQR4hknhJvhVmzyzg4McmmvrOI/s1600/IMG_3718.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR46_jnUiG1EmVsGWU6giXmkAmuU3wj_aRP5sBP-5vV35H46TxRComWm8B9wNhEGnaawJMN2GKywI1DjXHCsrocwUbaT-LaxIJndsikwS4KlYHXs0zSIQR4hknhJvhVmzyzg4McmmvrOI/s400/IMG_3718.JPG" width="400" /></a>Jack adores his dad and loves to do "man work" with Christian. He and Christian go on bike rides and cut grass and kick the soccer ball. They are two peas in a pod and I couldn't be happier with their close relationship.<br />
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My favorite routine with Jack (which sometimes does make me want to pull my hair out) is bedtime. I lay down beside him and we talk about his day and what he is thinking about. Tonight he told me about the special golf tee he keeps in his bedside table. "It was the one I hit my first ball off of. Daddy gave it to me."<br />
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I love my boy. He is just precious. The way he sees the world and interacts with others is fascinating. Well, maybe not to the rest of you but to me who grew him in my body and watched him grow from a tiny helpless newborn to a kid, it is fascinating to see his personality develop.<br />
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As always, I asked Jack a few questions.<br />
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What is your favorite color?<br />
all the colors<br />
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What is your favorite food?<br />
ravioli with cream sauce<br />
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What is your favorite toy?<br />
working trucks<br />
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Who is your best friend?<br />
Wynn and Libby<br />
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What is your favorite activity?<br />
swimming<br />
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What is your favorite game to play?<br />
Uno<br />
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What do you want to do when you grow up?<br />
the kind of work Daddy does, an engineer<br />
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What are you most thankful for?<br />
my mom, my dad, and Grace<br />
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What is the best thing that happened this year?<br />
the Disney World trip<br />
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What do you like about being five?<br />
running faster<br />
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Happy Birthday sweet Jack! We love you dearly and are so proud to have you in our family.<br />
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<br />Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-72356369721514459792013-12-18T08:28:00.001-07:002013-12-18T08:28:34.475-07:00It Isn't About SupermomI read an article today titled, "<a href="http://www.modernmom.com/53a7b8b4-3b45-11e3-8407-bc764e04a41e.html" target="_blank">Killing Off Supermom</a>." I was all "sing it sister" and "amen" and then I went upstairs and took a shower and something occurred to me. Something I have been ruminating on for awhile now.<br />
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A month or so ago I posted a few articles on Facebook about women not judging each other. A few weeks later my husband and I were talking and he suggested that us ladies are now metajudging. I think that is geek speak for saying that we are now judging each other for judging each other. And he is right.<br />
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After reading that article today it all came together for me. It isn't about supermom. So maybe we should just get off her back. If a woman manages to do crafts, hold down a full-time job, keep a spotless house, have a rocking body, wear the trendiest fashion and have well behaved children; who am I to criticize. Why do I feel the need to say, "she must have help" or "she can't possible really be happy." Seriously? Maybe she is totally happy.<br />
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The bottom line is that it isn't my business how she does it or even if she does it. And for me this is the big lesson here. The one thing all of the not judging each other articles are missing. Wait for it...supermom isn't making you feel bad. Nope. If you believe supermom (or who you determine to be supermom because I bet she doesn't actually call herself that) is making you feel bad then you need to look in the mirror.<br />
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Whomever she is for you, if your supermom friend (or enemy) gained twenty pounds, started dressing her kids in dirty clothes and feeding them Kit-Kats for dinner. If she never made another craft or cleaned another toilet; you would not feel better about yourself.<br />
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We have to determine what the standard is for our families and our lives. If Facebook or Instagram or Twitter or other people's blogs make you feel less than then you need to delete your accounts and stop looking at what other people are doing.<br />
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This message from <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Andy_Stanley" target="_blank">Andy Stanley</a> hit home for me. It is the <a href="http://northpointministries.org/futurefamily" target="_blank">Future Family series</a>. His message titled <a href="http://northpointministries.org/futurefamily/watch" target="_blank">Common Cause </a> hit the nail on the head. He said based on verses from the book of James that any conflict, whether with husband, child, friend, co-workers, is always about us. Us! We need to stop and ask, "where am I part of the problem." We need to say, "what do I want that I am not getting." And in doing so we then see that the other person being different will not make us happy.<br />
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And this is true for your perceived Supermom. What is your standard for yourself and your family? Isn't that what we want to demonstrate for our children? That who they are and how they feel about themselves should not be determined by another.<br />
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So ladies, instead of tearing down Supermom. Instead of metajudging. Maybe we should just do our personal best. And some days that best may be cereal for dinner and snuggling down in front of the television for seven hours with our kids.<br />
<br />Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-33125538833300971962013-11-29T09:18:00.003-07:002013-11-29T09:18:31.712-07:00Birthday ResolutionsToday is my 36th birthday. As a mom, nothing makes me feel loved like a birthday. These sweet babies are so excited to shower me with love today.<br />
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Maybe because my birthday falls at the end of the year, I tend to think about years in terms of age. This is going to be a good year. I physically feel better than I have in years. I mentally feel healthier than I have in years. These two elements are so very important.<br />
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Last year was good but hard. I had fun and challenged myself but I also did some tough work. We took our kids to Disney and the ocean for the first time this year. I participated in the Listen To Your Mother show. I became more intentional about my priorities and the people who matter. It was good work this year.<br />
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I wanted to share two incredibly superficial goals for the upcoming year. Goals that will require hard work but not the soul wrenching kind of last year.<br />
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First, I want to be in the best physical shape of my life. I told you it was superficial! But there is a deeper element. I have young children. I have been blessed with this one body to cherish. It is all I get. And I want to honor the gift by doing my best to take care of my physical self. I want to be strong. Intentionally strong. My goal this year is not only to exercise and eat healthy but to focus on strength and endurance. I want to run and lift and play with my family and I am going to need to be fit to keep up.<br />
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Second, I want to be a published author. Listen To Your Mother opened a door to my passion. I love to write. Love it, but because I am chronically insecure I struggle to focus on being a writer. This year, I will focus on writing. And not just as a hobby but as work. How cool would it be if I wasn't just a writer but a published author? Wow! I might just explode with joy. Adding a career that is my passion to this already abundant life! Goodness me, it <i>is</i> a fairytale this life I am living.<br />
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My goals this year of course are to love my family well, to love God and be kind and generous. But I do desire a bit of the superficial too. Pursuing strength and passion. Ah, it is going to be a good year.<br />
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<br />Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-72162148254635985432013-11-27T08:01:00.001-07:002013-11-27T08:01:14.653-07:00Giving Thanks - Thanksgiving 2013Last week I was a grumpy grump dreading the impending holidays. A November of travel and a jet lagged husband left me tired. However, a date night and decision to keep it simple this Christmas improved my mood. Not to mention a few nights of good sleep.<br />
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This year I have been counting gifts. First on <a href="http://www.thedriverjourney.blogspot.com/2013/08/gifts-of-joy-week-1.html" target="_blank">this blog</a> and then on <a href="http://onethousandgifts.com/get-the-app" target="_blank">this handy app</a>. No doubt, I am fortunate. The story of my life reads like a fairytale. And yet, like many, I forget to recognize my abundance.<br />
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Why do we always want more even when our bodies and houses overflow with excess? We are a society of <a href="http://www.nbc.com/the-biggest-loser/" target="_blank">The Biggest Loser</a> and <a href="http://www.tv.com/shows/hoarders/" target="_blank">Hoarders</a>. My biggest issue this holiday season isn't how to feed my children or insure there is a present on Christmas morning. No, my struggle is in how to keep the holidays from being excessive. I actually have complained about all the work this privileged life brings.<br />
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Oh, silly girl. This life is a gift. Whether we are counting our blessings for the free turkey from the local food share, or we are able to buy our children whatever their hearts desire. And my biggest lesson? That even though my children can dream up a list of toys and goodies for Santa to deliver, their heart's desire is really to be together. They are just as happy bundled up and drinking hot chocolate as we walk around the neighborhood with friends looking at holiday lights. It is the time together and simple traditions they will remember.<br />
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I am giving thanks. Thanks for babies that adore me. Thanks for a warm home and a full belly. Thanks for a husband's love in spite of myself. Thanks for life. A glorious life of abundance.<br />
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Tomorrow as I eat turkey and drink wine and kiss warm babies snuggled in their beds, I will count my gifts: my breaths, my health, my loves, my fairytale.<br />
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Happy Thanksgiving!Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-90804545721462718072013-11-22T20:47:00.001-07:002013-11-22T20:47:14.313-07:00Soul Friends Reunited Twenty-seven years ago I hugged my best friend Andrea at the back of a third grade classroom on the last day of school. Her family was moving and she wouldn't return to our school in the fall.<br />
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I met Andrea two and a half years earlier in Mrs. Phillips' first grade class. Andrea walked up to me and asked if I wanted to be friends. And we were inseparable from that moment on.<br />
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Even after her move in third grade we stayed pen pals. We wrote letters and talked on the phone. I even spent a week at her house the summer after fifth grade.<br />
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I have two types of friends. The first are circumstantial friends. The kind you are friends with only because you work together, or have similar hobbies or because your husbands are friends. These are nice people and I enjoy their company. But through the years the friendship usually ends when circumstances change.<br />
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The second type of friends are soul friends. I have been very blessed at each stage in my life to have this type of friend. These are the people that you love like family. The people that you can be away from for years and pick up like you just talked yesterday. They are your people. They get you. These are the people you connect with on a deeper level.<br />
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This summer my mother-in-law left a voicemail that she worked with someone who knew me. I must confess that I cringed a little until she said her name. My dear friend from early elementary school. The friend I only really lost touch with when I went to college.<br />
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A few weeks ago I took a quick visit to my mother-in-law's house and saw Andrea for the first time in over twenty years. And she is most definitely a soul friend. It felt like no time had passed. She was the same ole Andrea. In spite of our separate paths and years without contact. Even though there has been loss and pain and growth, it felt comfortable.<br />
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I found my friend again. What a gift! Life is good y'all. As Andrea wrote in an email, "I really believe this is a God thing." Yes! His timing is always right.<br />
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Thank you sweet, soul friend for finding me again. Here is wishing you all the gift of a soul friend.Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-82902774344034982792013-11-21T13:44:00.002-07:002013-11-21T13:44:54.042-07:00Intentional ChristmasAh, isn't it interesting how when our heart changes our thoughts change too. This has been a year of heart change. If that sounds all warm and fluffy, believe me it was not. This was a year of soul work. Heart wrenching work. A year of healing and modification. Work I continue each day.<br />
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Thank heaven God sent Jesus to love the broken. We don't need to be perfect in order to have faith. Isn't that the best gift? These are the thoughts on my heart as the days grow shorter and the weather colder. How do I celebrate Christmas now that my heart is new?<br />
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If you follow this blog, you may remember last year when I talked about <a href="http://thedriverjourney.blogspot.com/2012/12/tis-season.html" target="_blank">Santa</a> and shared my thoughts on his importance in a child's Christmas experience. Well, a year can sure make a difference because I am rethinking Santa and gifts and decorations. Not because I believe any of those things are inherently bad. No, I like Santa and gifts and decorations. But, I don't like when Christmas becomes only about the surface things. When the reason for the celebration becomes about stress to satisfy the demands of meeting the expectations of "doing" Christmas right.<br />
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Maybe it is because the first holiday items were in stores right after the back-to-school season or maybe it is anticipated exhaustion from all the work of buying and wrapping and sending and worrying about whether it will all be enough. I just want to check out of the roller coaster this year.<br />
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My question is not how to avoid Christmas but instead how to create a celebration about the reason behind it. If you are a Christian that reason should be the gift of Christ to our world. A gift to teach us how we are to love each other. A gift of forgiveness offered and salvation given regardless of the wretchedness of our past.<br />
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And if you are not a believer, I still think the holiday season should be about family and generosity and loving each other. What is the point if it is only about new stuff and high calorie food? Why even bother?<br />
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I prayerfully ask what is it I should do to lead my family in a celebration about loving Jesus and each other. How do I set the example? What traditions are important? Will it be Santa and parties and new toys? Or will it be slowing down and taking the time to quietly worship? A time to reflect on our family and our dedication to each other? A time to give of ourselves? A time to share in our good fortune?<br />
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My goal for this season starting next week with Thanksgiving and moving through December into the new year, my goal is to keep it slow and simple. I want to decide what is important and what is not. And you know what? What is important for me may not be important for you.<br />
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My list of important things are food with family, a tree for my children, sharing the story of Christ's birth, giving to the compromised, snuggle time with my three greatest loves and a few presents on Christmas morning for Jack and Grace. Everything else doesn't really matter to me.<br />
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I want an intentional Christmas. One where I choose how my time and energy will be spent to honor God, love my family and serve the community. It isn't about a picture with Santa or the perfect gift for an in-law. I am going to try and fight the urge to look pulled together. Instead I want my focus not to be on impressing others but on enjoying the moments.<br />
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Will you join me? Can we let go of party favors and perfectly wrapped gifts and instead slow down and spend time with the ones we love? Can we let go of the stress and focus on the true gifts of the season?<br />
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I am praying for an intentional Christmas. How about you?<br />
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<br />Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-11569271365419169912013-11-19T12:26:00.000-07:002013-11-19T12:26:43.609-07:00Another HalloweenWow guys, October kicked my tail! Time is flying. In spite of being crazy busy and overwhelmed, we managed to celebrate Halloween and have a blast.<br />
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Christian and I got all Gatsby for an adult only Halloween party. Plus we snuck a date in there since the kids were away for the night.<br />
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On Halloween; Jack, Grace and I attended his school party. Then we headed home for pizza and trick-or-treating with Goofy Grandpa.<br />
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<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">Have I told you lately how much I love these sweet babies? Even when they are hyped up on sugar, I love seeing the magic in their eyes. </span></div>
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<br />Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-30428705663835968582013-10-22T13:14:00.002-06:002013-10-22T13:14:38.483-06:00Fall 2013<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Gosh time is flying. I can hardly believe another fall arrived. We are keeping busy this season. As usual, life picks back up from the lazy summer rhythm. I love the simple moments in life like picking pumpkins and raking leaves. Here are a few of our moments.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gracie is waiting on the train to go to the top of Pike's Peak.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZLaXF-nwsdB0x9DGxdGxysH8Kc3vpr0W9fhZOSuZ0vNuYXuVJgM2966thwgTnwxMqr_ZVnQFh9LPPuKjcFhXuqOfTxYbyAQMU5Qu0nNu_U9c5Z8vccMpbj17gqCpNkyLa1gZkIPj_aT8/s1600/IMG_1448.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZLaXF-nwsdB0x9DGxdGxysH8Kc3vpr0W9fhZOSuZ0vNuYXuVJgM2966thwgTnwxMqr_ZVnQFh9LPPuKjcFhXuqOfTxYbyAQMU5Qu0nNu_U9c5Z8vccMpbj17gqCpNkyLa1gZkIPj_aT8/s320/IMG_1448.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jack waiting for the train to start moving.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL4KiNTGlcWhGoqIuMaKCI3rWg82K_yd_45s5GHwrK01Tk0x9-K2HXvYLg6UaefYCrF42-c7nojPa7HbvGmYNVnthnZe5pasSdwZNXs2dzxKL78zIFw4OlmnhfyFFR3YIfsBZ_wMOgqPk/s1600/IMG_1474.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiL4KiNTGlcWhGoqIuMaKCI3rWg82K_yd_45s5GHwrK01Tk0x9-K2HXvYLg6UaefYCrF42-c7nojPa7HbvGmYNVnthnZe5pasSdwZNXs2dzxKL78zIFw4OlmnhfyFFR3YIfsBZ_wMOgqPk/s320/IMG_1474.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gracie watching the scenery pass on the way down the mountain.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8VX6fIH4RryomnIG1VY5cRVtwdwaPStpqjebnZGdmD4jF1d8B3NlKqVRxJ4cPm_gSobc471kTHnvo8I6f1LxBZN-tLRwV6QyH972qQmL4NX26ibOTrlVSWkGpEKIqn6W2JOgi7zy2JTI/s1600/IMG_1546.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8VX6fIH4RryomnIG1VY5cRVtwdwaPStpqjebnZGdmD4jF1d8B3NlKqVRxJ4cPm_gSobc471kTHnvo8I6f1LxBZN-tLRwV6QyH972qQmL4NX26ibOTrlVSWkGpEKIqn6W2JOgi7zy2JTI/s320/IMG_1546.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The kids playing trucks with fallen leaves.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8PDuJtxNsL9yDu32zvG0Hnt-Y7s8kFbmNDtvXUYTiZLQ2CP8knoZTbdxi_5QYxonYWcBGUOlemKU2drEcvHEyMy9Hgm2BRgKviHcBbiahzt3a8Lv0uqI3Pu0_lLpr9nfoxC2BD_qdTwM/s1600/IMG_1613.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8PDuJtxNsL9yDu32zvG0Hnt-Y7s8kFbmNDtvXUYTiZLQ2CP8knoZTbdxi_5QYxonYWcBGUOlemKU2drEcvHEyMy9Hgm2BRgKviHcBbiahzt3a8Lv0uqI3Pu0_lLpr9nfoxC2BD_qdTwM/s320/IMG_1613.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My little handy man making a leaf pile.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdsUdSLZnZN_v9IezhKeOc7h1B-2rTG7UKrdSp7WOisIfhxO57K4iDCVvYaPqk6ApwHHhX5cYYxNgPXlHT93NwNqeXCP9AxlnCM06eF3GKq5FS32A_mmEkkkaRPVw7nRNQrVk6YhdfXkg/s1600/IMG_3585.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdsUdSLZnZN_v9IezhKeOc7h1B-2rTG7UKrdSp7WOisIfhxO57K4iDCVvYaPqk6ApwHHhX5cYYxNgPXlHT93NwNqeXCP9AxlnCM06eF3GKq5FS32A_mmEkkkaRPVw7nRNQrVk6YhdfXkg/s320/IMG_3585.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Picking pumpkins at the local patch.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5baAQ2gZlvX7YXS5kvu4MZivLYzqLkkHrY7O_B6YQybjSJhg-1iTYN_j7UO6-3whnIIdCouUo3e28QFIf2H5iL7FqTmi2Qo_7_6MEtCvybXsMZjrnn-fHoeT1Eu_DVEWT9LaSmwT9xLk/s1600/IMG_3586.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5baAQ2gZlvX7YXS5kvu4MZivLYzqLkkHrY7O_B6YQybjSJhg-1iTYN_j7UO6-3whnIIdCouUo3e28QFIf2H5iL7FqTmi2Qo_7_6MEtCvybXsMZjrnn-fHoeT1Eu_DVEWT9LaSmwT9xLk/s320/IMG_3586.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jack asking Gracie, "do you want this to be your pumpkin?"</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRcT4-Fh-pWuotVrpu99Ngnad2sJo1eoTg8AO9hjjsGjxyN1SEKK6dz4r2xLdb5GLSqUbe5CpejQ0Y9IZNQ9QFmK3hbJ06AvT7AcItsIfO16kxp-eYoryyg94BKn7uIuUKczRlHKHMdwQ/s1600/IMG_3611.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRcT4-Fh-pWuotVrpu99Ngnad2sJo1eoTg8AO9hjjsGjxyN1SEKK6dz4r2xLdb5GLSqUbe5CpejQ0Y9IZNQ9QFmK3hbJ06AvT7AcItsIfO16kxp-eYoryyg94BKn7uIuUKczRlHKHMdwQ/s320/IMG_3611.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">These sillies would not be serious for a picture. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilXcjyGGCicYnIm62ES8uK_Izd73S-S4NvamOvVvYJv3EjUR85-WKv6XTYgv9WOIzNvH5GoLbKYnQ4SDlPMDynODENMNcWPadQM-2uTJ5nlQmvi-WMQrSuOO3FxhLgxGZjp5G9cpeZRXw/s1600/IMG_3657.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilXcjyGGCicYnIm62ES8uK_Izd73S-S4NvamOvVvYJv3EjUR85-WKv6XTYgv9WOIzNvH5GoLbKYnQ4SDlPMDynODENMNcWPadQM-2uTJ5nlQmvi-WMQrSuOO3FxhLgxGZjp5G9cpeZRXw/s320/IMG_3657.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pumpkins on the porch and hugs that turn into tumbles. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKtBfXH3jeEk3fdvz6lNfaAp1hYxOh-xOKvtbW5ebUiPFzVZwIT8yIT0WwiBK8ud33IeAly4JF_6ICBC9B02l-ePndASj5EGndIR_DML8Xy7C26WwIwTef0LL-FznpFyZxpWuUJHzF6wA/s1600/IMG_1578.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKtBfXH3jeEk3fdvz6lNfaAp1hYxOh-xOKvtbW5ebUiPFzVZwIT8yIT0WwiBK8ud33IeAly4JF_6ICBC9B02l-ePndASj5EGndIR_DML8Xy7C26WwIwTef0LL-FznpFyZxpWuUJHzF6wA/s320/IMG_1578.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A warm home for these chilly fall nights. </td></tr>
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<br />Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-91972889875059558262013-10-17T14:20:00.001-06:002013-10-17T14:20:43.831-06:00Whole Wheat Pumpkin Chocolate Chip MuffinsI don't often post recipes on my blog. Basically, I dislike plagiarism and will not post a recipe unless it was given to me by a friend or family member that I can credit, or if I create a new recipe. <div>
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Last year I decided I wanted to make pumpkin muffins. I tried several recipes and was not satisfied with any of them. After many test batches I finally settled on the perfect pumpkin muffins for my family. These are muffins my children actually eat. I like the healthier ingredients like pumpkin and whole wheat flour balanced with the chocolate chips which entice my children. I also find the mixture of white and whole wheat flour creates a softer texture than just whole wheat flour alone. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsZbYhYtOvsTmo9XPSgbySdEZC9Hu_FREM5lJhT9_bp_aOLChyyuhTy_lLDH2Bi8De2L023yTWIISSZzej-eCRgE2xOBsihFHE36NS6mChuDMnMXUpp6oSRHqex9J3IGcPj7tZ98-SqAM/s1600/IMG_3690.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsZbYhYtOvsTmo9XPSgbySdEZC9Hu_FREM5lJhT9_bp_aOLChyyuhTy_lLDH2Bi8De2L023yTWIISSZzej-eCRgE2xOBsihFHE36NS6mChuDMnMXUpp6oSRHqex9J3IGcPj7tZ98-SqAM/s320/IMG_3690.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1v9FU_0rRxJt1MRuSs3HF5QOjZvhogkcyEi06LpFnPkQBh91klrMQRXKg76TEIBKZ9zCqEWM_sTMzGb3y8lXnP0I3M5J4E9RdDZgUNHxwMReHOEB4Jh7o0wkrrvg2xWMo3Xm5W5sqP-w/s1600/IMG_3693.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1v9FU_0rRxJt1MRuSs3HF5QOjZvhogkcyEi06LpFnPkQBh91klrMQRXKg76TEIBKZ9zCqEWM_sTMzGb3y8lXnP0I3M5J4E9RdDZgUNHxwMReHOEB4Jh7o0wkrrvg2xWMo3Xm5W5sqP-w/s320/IMG_3693.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<b>Whole Wheat Pumpkin Chocolate Chip Muffins</b></div>
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Ingredients:</div>
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1 cup whole wheat flour</div>
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1 cup all-purpose flour</div>
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1 tablespoon baking powder</div>
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1 teaspoon salt</div>
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1 teaspoon ground cinnamon</div>
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2 eggs</div>
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1 cup milk</div>
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1/2 cup sugar</div>
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1/2 cup canola oil</div>
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1 teaspoon vanilla</div>
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1 cup canned pumpkin</div>
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1 cup chocolate chips</div>
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Preheat oven to 400 degrees. Grease a 12 cup muffin pan.</div>
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Use two bowls. In the first bowl, mix both types of flour, baking powder, salt and cinnamon. In the second bowl, mix eggs, milk, sugar, oil, vanilla and pumpkin. After mixing each thoroughly, combine the wet ingredients into the dry ingredients. Stir in the chocolate chips. </div>
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Pour the batter into the 12 cup muffin pan. Bake for 20 minutes. Allow to cool in the pan for 5 minutes. After 5 minutes remove the muffins from pan onto a rack to finish cooling. </div>
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Enjoy! </div>
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I hope your family will enjoy this yummy fall treat. </div>
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-36817258796133022212013-10-08T20:31:00.002-06:002013-10-08T20:31:57.165-06:00And Then I Missed the PointGifts of Joy. I had good intentions. I wanted to demonstrate how gratitude leads to joy. However, I lost the point of the exercise after the first few weeks. Instead of a practice of the heart and mind, it became an assignment. A way to show cute, smiling children and other moments during my week where I happened to remember to snap a photo. <div>
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Actually, I like the idea of sharing pictures from our weeks to show our far away story to our family and friends. But that is a different exercise. An exercise I may continue, but with a different title. </div>
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After a few weeks of posting my gifts, I began to think something about it felt pretentious. You know, like I am trying to point out how grateful I am. Which I am grateful. Really, I am. But I want to share my gratitude in a way that is genuine.</div>
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I am about to read <a href="http://www.aholyexperience.com/ann-voskamp/" target="_blank">Ann Voskamp</a>'s book <a href="http://onethousandgifts.com/" target="_blank">"One Thousand Gifts"</a> for the second time. The book is the foundation for counting gifts in the first place. It is the reason I need to review the exercise of gift counting. </div>
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The point is not to show only the shiny, happy moments. The ones that look pretty and pulled together. For one thing, that is completely dishonest. My life is much more than pretty moments. My life is messy. It is full of poop and tears and dirty laundry. My days include whining, fighting, boredom and anxiety. I feel like I am failing and making all the wrong decisions so much of the time. Yes, I do have pretty moments. Kisses, smiling babies, sweet morning snuggles, food on the table, a beautiful home, a strong partner in this life. </div>
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It is a crazy sweet mixture. But Voskamp's principal message is the more difficult task of finding joy in what she calls the beautiful ugly. In the moments that do not seem like gifts. Death, sickness, broken hearts, failure, disappointment. It is finding joy by being grateful even when life does not give us what we want. Even when life gives us things we aren't sure we can navigate. These are the moments I must also share. </div>
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It isn't just pointing out the rainbow. It is being grateful for the storm even if the rainbow never arrives. It is being grateful for this life; the good, the bad, and the ugly. Because let's face it, a lot of this life is ugly. It is easy to count the bad things and be discontent. It takes a much more determined soul to see the gifts in all life's moments and in turn be joyful. To live with joy regardless of circumstance. Joy in tears. Joy in pain. Joy in triumph. Joy in the mundane. Joy because we are given this day. </div>
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I missed the point. I need to share my reality and then demonstrate the work of determined joy. Because whether easy or hard, this life is a gift. </div>
Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-18902940530239732162013-09-19T13:06:00.000-06:002013-09-19T14:16:30.695-06:00Gifts of Joy Week 7Here is something about myself that I don't share. As a matter of fact, I have spent most of my life refusing to admit this. I am extremely sensitive. As I shared <a href="http://www.thedriverjourney.blogspot.com/2013/09/i-see-gifts-but-i-cant-find-joy.html" target="_blank">yesterday</a>, this week it has been hard for me to feel joyful.<br />
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Seeing other people struggle always impacts me. Ask my mom, when she or my brother were treated poorly while I was growing up, it bothered me way more than it bothered them. I worry about the sick and the poor. It makes my heart heavy when I see pain impacting those around me. </div>
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Also, I am extremely sensitive to what other people say to and about me. I don't deal with rejection or criticism well. Although, I always act like I can take anything and that stuff just rolls off my back. It doesn't. It goes straight to my heart. And there it sits often for years. </div>
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The point is, I am not as tough as many people seem to think I am. I wear my heart on my sleeve. Whether I am mourning someone else's loss or dwelling in my own, I struggle to not be emotionally overwhelmed. I think this is why I write. It is a release. </div>
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I tell you all of that to say. I love my life. I am more fortunate than I ever imagined possible. When I say I am struggling, it is just my sensitive nature that I am still too proud to own, taking over. </div>
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Here are the joys I experienced last week. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">66. Gracie walking around with her purse and baby because she wants to be like her mommy.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKXvbv78Vn9sj0ve-pcvDuKiBHSBUDABBfQDBq69ZKEPFeIbyXx0yL7XiqYhX6MBAtnVmj4IGQJsZKDiZUsgq-ksrWQjGVYEXhPXMkiE3yb3xOd0CZPPa6-fvbkTdhKQ1WiW9x1O6wBD8/s1600/IMG_1335.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKXvbv78Vn9sj0ve-pcvDuKiBHSBUDABBfQDBq69ZKEPFeIbyXx0yL7XiqYhX6MBAtnVmj4IGQJsZKDiZUsgq-ksrWQjGVYEXhPXMkiE3yb3xOd0CZPPa6-fvbkTdhKQ1WiW9x1O6wBD8/s400/IMG_1335.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">67. These kiddos having fun inside on a rainy day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWzc8OcuuC2KuKXlnApVpg_4EKPPFZTODA_ywiyRkUYtbEWwzEEHAxpYW8D0YGrXwee4WVZ8vFo_3sI-fVRGCWTe4uSqKy8RZEhDDl_HAgvgWxbgc3sW1buElOdNCOvf_r_QxOdvXkjPk/s1600/IMG_1339.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWzc8OcuuC2KuKXlnApVpg_4EKPPFZTODA_ywiyRkUYtbEWwzEEHAxpYW8D0YGrXwee4WVZ8vFo_3sI-fVRGCWTe4uSqKy8RZEhDDl_HAgvgWxbgc3sW1buElOdNCOvf_r_QxOdvXkjPk/s400/IMG_1339.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">68. This retention area near our neighborhood holding all the water that didn't go in our basement.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPt27xAF_Cy2tztEpLZZdydhmQHvw6YQVhUV2JB-qWEs5YB-chWg27yCryt99A3b2CDDGxQvW0kTPfZ7xtNBTLH9FUnp6z177-XKoAr9dsRc5zW_Zzb5R2D_g1ZMzC-vtxu8fzoWsB2uY/s1600/IMG_1348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPt27xAF_Cy2tztEpLZZdydhmQHvw6YQVhUV2JB-qWEs5YB-chWg27yCryt99A3b2CDDGxQvW0kTPfZ7xtNBTLH9FUnp6z177-XKoAr9dsRc5zW_Zzb5R2D_g1ZMzC-vtxu8fzoWsB2uY/s400/IMG_1348.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">69. Sun peeking through the clouds after days of rain.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglOQElIHltiHw1ud8qFRyUddZ8vhThGusWIAv__j0NgZBvf4gatelaE4xIjP3rjkStA3AziXyzQD9z02V5M0rL5RxTQvR6v-B6rk67__aJulSEfEGxr63g3iZK0DlMOgK-dO0pLNSWYhI/s1600/IMG_1358.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglOQElIHltiHw1ud8qFRyUddZ8vhThGusWIAv__j0NgZBvf4gatelaE4xIjP3rjkStA3AziXyzQD9z02V5M0rL5RxTQvR6v-B6rk67__aJulSEfEGxr63g3iZK0DlMOgK-dO0pLNSWYhI/s400/IMG_1358.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">70. Jack's little spirit. He can have fun anywhere. Even in his pajamas in the rain.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPin7SrpwJVdUQTgZIiPCkmNQtSvl6WW8T2RxCiKzwfILqyiSJXdALwTeSPk_P79lIamKpUx4OXIHxvKLdJijxrylI1EVnQppDtqlW4-rRd6U0kdTxO2j3WNjsg29I2xZ24w2obCWfB6Q/s1600/IMG_1369.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPin7SrpwJVdUQTgZIiPCkmNQtSvl6WW8T2RxCiKzwfILqyiSJXdALwTeSPk_P79lIamKpUx4OXIHxvKLdJijxrylI1EVnQppDtqlW4-rRd6U0kdTxO2j3WNjsg29I2xZ24w2obCWfB6Q/s400/IMG_1369.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">71. The love I see between these two. They are thick as thieves.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCyNA81KpeKr84dQh9-KAIIgLwBEMNCOHKMkVnnj_DcynsDIJEWTezsWVZKbA4Qe02nXs-JkZC2SgzgesvqJsPsMiTkAU1XdJZ6pWFJTiGnKZmD3m32vEVaqLs7W-Hg860PbuXdDSkmlM/s1600/IMG_1375.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCyNA81KpeKr84dQh9-KAIIgLwBEMNCOHKMkVnnj_DcynsDIJEWTezsWVZKbA4Qe02nXs-JkZC2SgzgesvqJsPsMiTkAU1XdJZ6pWFJTiGnKZmD3m32vEVaqLs7W-Hg860PbuXdDSkmlM/s400/IMG_1375.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">72. Grace joining in on the rainy day fun.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYSBOTqJ6YyYsB5r6lOMlw263oguQWYJMIaHm41HVIS3zELoLXtdjN18hjBz5TLqLIm7MqNxSwKPF422xMU-2NuydIlqI72Nivgd7TnHDPfc_flQEtJtmRJpJndhKdEIWC9kaiuTRBBz0/s1600/IMG_1351.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYSBOTqJ6YyYsB5r6lOMlw263oguQWYJMIaHm41HVIS3zELoLXtdjN18hjBz5TLqLIm7MqNxSwKPF422xMU-2NuydIlqI72Nivgd7TnHDPfc_flQEtJtmRJpJndhKdEIWC9kaiuTRBBz0/s400/IMG_1351.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">73. A rainbow after days of flooding. His reminder that we are never alone.</td></tr>
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Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-64142300235845462662013-09-18T10:52:00.002-06:002013-09-18T10:52:48.860-06:00I See the Gifts but I Can't Find the JoyI haven't been able to share my joys this week. Floods, shootings, suffering, sickness. I just can't see the joy. My cup is overflowing with gratitude. Others are shoveling water out of their homes, some are mourning the dead, people everywhere are sick, children are starving in this world on our watch. My heart is heavy. But, I haven't lost my grateful heart. My home is dry, my children are healthy, my pantry is full, water runs freely from my tap, a hardworking man loves me dearly. I see all of these things and so many more.<br />
<br />
I see my abundance. I have no real problems. And yet, I can't equate the enormous privilege permeating my life with joy. I can't reconcile why I am so lucky.<br />
<br />
And yet, my selfish heart also feels tired and overwhelmed with mothering small children. This morning, I got on my knees on our staircase landing and prayed, face to the floor, while my four year old threw a tantrum because he didn't get to pick which half of our last Pop-Tart he would eat. And yes, my sweet Boulder friends, I fed my children Pop-Tarts for breakfast instead of free-range organic eggs.<br />
<br />
As my child screamed in the background I said to God, "I am too weak for this job. Show me what to do. My heart is rotten this morning. I am too tired. I need a full night's sleep. I need a minute to recharge. I am grumpy and mad. I know a break is nowhere in sight God, but would you please change my heart and my perspective. I need to be a better wife and mother than I am being in this moment. It is all too much for me today. I need your grace to take over."<br />
<br />
Prayer is good y'all. It isn't a magic potion but it does offer peace. A few hours after I got off my knees, I happened upon <a href="http://jenhatmaker.com/blog/2013/09/17/why-does-god-allow-pain-and-suffering" target="_blank">this blog</a>. Wisdom about suffering from a Christian point of view; exactly what I needed.<br />
<br />
My heart is still feeling heavy. I still desperately want to break. But I can see how joy and gratitude are related again. It isn't in an easy life that we find joy. It is in the simple things. Like air to breath. It is in redemption, in the perseverance to keep walking when we just want to lay down, and it is in the humility and grace to hit our knees when all other options fail.<br />
<br />
We are not in this alone. God is always there.<br />
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<br />Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-53170374369735825102013-09-09T15:20:00.001-06:002013-09-09T15:20:03.198-06:00Gifts of Joy Weeks 5 & 6The past few weeks have been busy. I am continuing to count my joyful moments. Here are my joys from the last few weeks.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFEQAcN7nkBjzkSol3QSe3hqgwf6IUdQgpTttFtr7bbB-EI0HNRHuQimjmN1Y3t6ftEQ6WUDLirIq2zwxeXXo8ZQ5CdKMWSauCVX3ieH74zBE81Sax0B4DKOyMQUFNwjTtpNnqMdSRip0/s1600/IMG_1321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFEQAcN7nkBjzkSol3QSe3hqgwf6IUdQgpTttFtr7bbB-EI0HNRHuQimjmN1Y3t6ftEQ6WUDLirIq2zwxeXXo8ZQ5CdKMWSauCVX3ieH74zBE81Sax0B4DKOyMQUFNwjTtpNnqMdSRip0/s400/IMG_1321.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">50. A much needed date night with this goofy guy.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnt8O-gSZekZR-afdGCoGBMkAlzreqeWjaL5D2seON7hUrkQjPAwK_imXEDXcivED-NLfkMRVVoBfL_L4lJcM1dzb258vPTiZqG5anuhz9kf4fWU2j7dPO_t2X1VsrInhcbUUsrQgapuM/s1600/IMG_1311.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnt8O-gSZekZR-afdGCoGBMkAlzreqeWjaL5D2seON7hUrkQjPAwK_imXEDXcivED-NLfkMRVVoBfL_L4lJcM1dzb258vPTiZqG5anuhz9kf4fWU2j7dPO_t2X1VsrInhcbUUsrQgapuM/s400/IMG_1311.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">51. Watching Jack excitedly show Christian his school work for the day.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3cUNHNUmRa8MUM5QuWWcbXWMPz25ahyUqdQx03KZqBy9818waMXn-Rm8A3mhxOUrNTZDhYFYwJUEkeLa_GZONKczoD_kDp7OJEAqWOFrwXRFArf_4hiYZ86y_5-BD-8WxVx1gWjWuR8E/s1600/IMG_1315.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3cUNHNUmRa8MUM5QuWWcbXWMPz25ahyUqdQx03KZqBy9818waMXn-Rm8A3mhxOUrNTZDhYFYwJUEkeLa_GZONKczoD_kDp7OJEAqWOFrwXRFArf_4hiYZ86y_5-BD-8WxVx1gWjWuR8E/s400/IMG_1315.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">52. A margarita on the front porch on a tired Friday afternoon.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF-rxivOF2UQFQIDyxQ-koL-dVP6hoEiLB9Gh6QPPvhLV1-w8ojdGFlV3u92Zp-1Nt2bUcwi_3TN1DoS_fy3ZekLCIFnx1VGbn51ITnVkVhH-bPwByEmlugyHmgUBPo4j5qpxl-OvazC4/s1600/IMG_0300.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhF-rxivOF2UQFQIDyxQ-koL-dVP6hoEiLB9Gh6QPPvhLV1-w8ojdGFlV3u92Zp-1Nt2bUcwi_3TN1DoS_fy3ZekLCIFnx1VGbn51ITnVkVhH-bPwByEmlugyHmgUBPo4j5qpxl-OvazC4/s400/IMG_0300.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">53. A sweet girl who loves books and will rope anyone she can find into reading one with her. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjci5xIzMqdn81fRG50jh9VB2_rSFhzZO5fzEfRFBzTTiiy8UvxD06n1F_IUeG8mnIb6osii8oFg2tHHFiad7OC9S_nK477saCPDA47nCmcjRFqVhOlNst2BRxKV8TtEzIS3ceDZODfvjY/s1600/IMG_0336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjci5xIzMqdn81fRG50jh9VB2_rSFhzZO5fzEfRFBzTTiiy8UvxD06n1F_IUeG8mnIb6osii8oFg2tHHFiad7OC9S_nK477saCPDA47nCmcjRFqVhOlNst2BRxKV8TtEzIS3ceDZODfvjY/s400/IMG_0336.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">54. Early morning wake-up snuggles at the mountain cabin.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFaCSv2czvpy-VvOO-cjcxUJx5UYy1kNqG4Drf6uwizcpPanFK5WGf5w86vDf9VvMoqSPwIUGE8tlZvuTyZL6yGRo19a5t5ZSqrtWLN6d2AbycFD3NHTwZS0H6epz4vKclqQOaR_2CRA8/s1600/IMG_1316.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFaCSv2czvpy-VvOO-cjcxUJx5UYy1kNqG4Drf6uwizcpPanFK5WGf5w86vDf9VvMoqSPwIUGE8tlZvuTyZL6yGRo19a5t5ZSqrtWLN6d2AbycFD3NHTwZS0H6epz4vKclqQOaR_2CRA8/s400/IMG_1316.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">55. Gracie playing doll house on our front porch.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSAeRv6KRAZiVFrTnwyHVWIcWVamCKfggGuuYA35Y2FlVRArFW1WuTyQQ8Tgb7PYIBntdHhXG-ZM_TQTxcMt0IfWhfPiIgN65Gxp4zjpvbiEsN8vca39Rn2Uvq7eszVgkDjG-wiu2vhyphenhyphenk/s1600/IMG_0355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSAeRv6KRAZiVFrTnwyHVWIcWVamCKfggGuuYA35Y2FlVRArFW1WuTyQQ8Tgb7PYIBntdHhXG-ZM_TQTxcMt0IfWhfPiIgN65Gxp4zjpvbiEsN8vca39Rn2Uvq7eszVgkDjG-wiu2vhyphenhyphenk/s400/IMG_0355.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">56. A brother willing to fly out for a week to spend time with our family.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCco-DQhczJxr8lRpYFuzdPe-HQrNQvqXjrvqRu7Li4oMEQiQdPCt6WAbhjP8T_LCKuS61bWOsJ_bv-Nd9Fcf81unyRw3M-ie29_5-TIiQR3Lx0Mv008IFf5K0c3QqG-rPALbhzWoIV2M/s1600/IMG_0383.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCco-DQhczJxr8lRpYFuzdPe-HQrNQvqXjrvqRu7Li4oMEQiQdPCt6WAbhjP8T_LCKuS61bWOsJ_bv-Nd9Fcf81unyRw3M-ie29_5-TIiQR3Lx0Mv008IFf5K0c3QqG-rPALbhzWoIV2M/s400/IMG_0383.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">57. Exploring nature with my Grace.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6bEpo1j8sl_6gneN5Pk8Vs_mjpiXfdxkfX_WPaqNW3OUtmeq4I2TmRmmibfRneXoRdHlfhaNbvfEYfhkMkt2CVXvIUXz9NAJC8ROK7ps1xkeyDpC3p2uD1adNG__DzPdQQQts3YO2noQ/s1600/IMG_1149.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6bEpo1j8sl_6gneN5Pk8Vs_mjpiXfdxkfX_WPaqNW3OUtmeq4I2TmRmmibfRneXoRdHlfhaNbvfEYfhkMkt2CVXvIUXz9NAJC8ROK7ps1xkeyDpC3p2uD1adNG__DzPdQQQts3YO2noQ/s400/IMG_1149.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">58. A neighborhood with an abundance of parks (can't you tell Jack <i>loved</i> that I put him in the baby swing?).</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFkebJgi-Kl8JthZi8xY4IYqMNkw7L6_23so7TVEl3U0MBgUUcnsN56a9KgAxmkDizMjYDmCIhxK7atF3jQkUPKYfJOxK9YVzKvo2yDC59XW0lH-FupssQCcNL6GeGZXaFUyE7j6o66Zg/s1600/IMG_1153.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFkebJgi-Kl8JthZi8xY4IYqMNkw7L6_23so7TVEl3U0MBgUUcnsN56a9KgAxmkDizMjYDmCIhxK7atF3jQkUPKYfJOxK9YVzKvo2yDC59XW0lH-FupssQCcNL6GeGZXaFUyE7j6o66Zg/s400/IMG_1153.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">59. Play time with Uncle Jim.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZKYoueqyRTxAhEyuTVpKT-1-izr0Me7iBEJeHqpHxEGhYKioe998mUinn2cEYlzmaADrfvQDVDMTdq8vB8xYqxRDx-BoZhBi_-QKjlQ-Ag-vELLzI4YpjdY3o5HTkGsojyZ1YGXH4wlU/s1600/IMG_1162.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZKYoueqyRTxAhEyuTVpKT-1-izr0Me7iBEJeHqpHxEGhYKioe998mUinn2cEYlzmaADrfvQDVDMTdq8vB8xYqxRDx-BoZhBi_-QKjlQ-Ag-vELLzI4YpjdY3o5HTkGsojyZ1YGXH4wlU/s400/IMG_1162.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">60. An evening hanging out minus kiddos with Jim and Sara. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxKaoXBReil8dqwux8Q06Z5B4N0B7CoSxl5g8qVO7aBNX9wBxR96K0cJcoLk6GHTXMoVNWea75zolZCbDeYRz_I76fEVvITBlTPS-Js4be0C98r9TvQg_b3g_7NnDT1doBwf0C9Kw8Cw/s1600/IMG_1184.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJxKaoXBReil8dqwux8Q06Z5B4N0B7CoSxl5g8qVO7aBNX9wBxR96K0cJcoLk6GHTXMoVNWea75zolZCbDeYRz_I76fEVvITBlTPS-Js4be0C98r9TvQg_b3g_7NnDT1doBwf0C9Kw8Cw/s400/IMG_1184.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">61. Living in beautiful Colorado.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdOrBW25qHOlfo0AhrF23RMDZCng9PP2zunmNkVeJWiVfFjBOm3aWQoH6Pv8fU-G6cBO4sSzRfsmIQ3jcTqWG48wJvq5cHH5YFDiTsSTls0qe09_HYmcRwDH3y_IKqEt9ut4ui4SF9y48/s1600/IMG_1199.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdOrBW25qHOlfo0AhrF23RMDZCng9PP2zunmNkVeJWiVfFjBOm3aWQoH6Pv8fU-G6cBO4sSzRfsmIQ3jcTqWG48wJvq5cHH5YFDiTsSTls0qe09_HYmcRwDH3y_IKqEt9ut4ui4SF9y48/s400/IMG_1199.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">62. The smiles and joy these two bring everyday.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpDpxZhsr5bcjLGPB8xrbp0tlMiUVNjgTDCT0NdXhvjmI4bBsixnFwMweQvDgzYV5k6sbv40Y9fRTwei-D1V4kdZ-LVKoY_y5eGjduIQHOyCu0yJ9QF1I72VVLYD5gDl-FRvCQjpIg2Ac/s1600/IMG_1232.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpDpxZhsr5bcjLGPB8xrbp0tlMiUVNjgTDCT0NdXhvjmI4bBsixnFwMweQvDgzYV5k6sbv40Y9fRTwei-D1V4kdZ-LVKoY_y5eGjduIQHOyCu0yJ9QF1I72VVLYD5gDl-FRvCQjpIg2Ac/s400/IMG_1232.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">63. Relaxed moments throwing stones.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Tjxjah5-gocFdx1n8O2MaEwK6MAQv2UhLssXu4qu2lEBTdXwArfC0o6yfoBy3g60tptDfkL6hezN53uXoSskKcHKD2pNy5ZQ0Oc8Jq_ImtA7vy5qr87xCIsCIDJJB4G3LOzRhmz7BrM/s1600/IMG_1281.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Tjxjah5-gocFdx1n8O2MaEwK6MAQv2UhLssXu4qu2lEBTdXwArfC0o6yfoBy3g60tptDfkL6hezN53uXoSskKcHKD2pNy5ZQ0Oc8Jq_ImtA7vy5qr87xCIsCIDJJB4G3LOzRhmz7BrM/s400/IMG_1281.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">64. The excitement of doing new things. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpJ0iDGfSemDrWF_92FIB2pKEyoJueOl_d_NhHXLhWXjdYka1cPnCYjC_d1nf-PkNO7lkKI01Mbg93ej9ece2izN8ESMcSvW9zDK81LRd-BGcBnmrgcneqkpBz4z_89FwFGAabhpsplko/s1600/IMG_1298.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpJ0iDGfSemDrWF_92FIB2pKEyoJueOl_d_NhHXLhWXjdYka1cPnCYjC_d1nf-PkNO7lkKI01Mbg93ej9ece2izN8ESMcSvW9zDK81LRd-BGcBnmrgcneqkpBz4z_89FwFGAabhpsplko/s400/IMG_1298.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">65. Embracing my children as they are even if it goes against the current anti-princess movement. Be what you are sweet babies. (And yes, sometimes Jack wears Snow White and Grace wears Captain America.)</td></tr>
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<br />Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-26610532095075731812013-08-26T17:49:00.000-06:002013-08-26T22:14:33.184-06:00Gifts of Joy - Week 4<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigfGUPlDYQbkILpjxaqhUz_geRNvIEIOWriY8RcjQGy9n9EX4BU9IOZ1aEoiLd8E2AlXEjuIHFgb-N7B0WOfA60OY8FEcelOmTTdwzuCtsUoC8SorUXf-b2Kn7SC5uTwu2WnwROkK7GeQ/s1600/IMG_1097.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigfGUPlDYQbkILpjxaqhUz_geRNvIEIOWriY8RcjQGy9n9EX4BU9IOZ1aEoiLd8E2AlXEjuIHFgb-N7B0WOfA60OY8FEcelOmTTdwzuCtsUoC8SorUXf-b2Kn7SC5uTwu2WnwROkK7GeQ/s400/IMG_1097.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">38. A full week with my mom.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPtwS37GEG1-MtuXy4ASYU0pxX_AtO5pTWOQIi19Z6kkbQFDTcWebQ9Ls3O_mOx2TrCRwlJ8iY5icGts7yOYpz1UawPvr-h2xFSH37uNHYoy3pLXuZfOQSGeBU0Gq3iJZq_j77NxIfRpI/s1600/IMG_1014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPtwS37GEG1-MtuXy4ASYU0pxX_AtO5pTWOQIi19Z6kkbQFDTcWebQ9Ls3O_mOx2TrCRwlJ8iY5icGts7yOYpz1UawPvr-h2xFSH37uNHYoy3pLXuZfOQSGeBU0Gq3iJZq_j77NxIfRpI/s400/IMG_1014.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">39. Watching my mom and Jack work on preschool homework.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0iFevpB-YjRh4dNe0G40sF10PRWKQZOfzmJ-ncfFy3TqGLw8zwzfIbnh7Nm5YOeQJLF7P-_4-yq-iYvjleKuOAudKUe_A2OVapv1BmNMfmjy80AUuZ0Dn4cBuCGCUyKm2do2IKZpYlaM/s1600/IMG_1017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0iFevpB-YjRh4dNe0G40sF10PRWKQZOfzmJ-ncfFy3TqGLw8zwzfIbnh7Nm5YOeQJLF7P-_4-yq-iYvjleKuOAudKUe_A2OVapv1BmNMfmjy80AUuZ0Dn4cBuCGCUyKm2do2IKZpYlaM/s400/IMG_1017.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">40. Little celebrations like back to school cupcakes.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLfPszmG3undMdf70tFMD2yWtlPFN-I66DqIE-7uMrfW22OCzLp6kvQubnZ5qfW3v4o-lV_1xAqBClK3dKUORcHwnyX80dzjvLR4LX2kiJ1eQyK7FrbNWKMdRTxEacuPG-Gdsr7wAbOI/s1600/IMG_1021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXLfPszmG3undMdf70tFMD2yWtlPFN-I66DqIE-7uMrfW22OCzLp6kvQubnZ5qfW3v4o-lV_1xAqBClK3dKUORcHwnyX80dzjvLR4LX2kiJ1eQyK7FrbNWKMdRTxEacuPG-Gdsr7wAbOI/s400/IMG_1021.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">41. Morning snuggles with Nanny.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOzZLdOqjnwto5FkDYKYoK_umXe8Bl-K25leGfZbaJIkVItV-YPv4jDPgY2YIxuOurKNLACI-7nbhCjG5uTC3EjrsfY795kqYUo3d7TOrV-5BXOUrWAiIa8A4D0cd0uaEcX4d5wKj_SEU/s1600/IMG_1027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOzZLdOqjnwto5FkDYKYoK_umXe8Bl-K25leGfZbaJIkVItV-YPv4jDPgY2YIxuOurKNLACI-7nbhCjG5uTC3EjrsfY795kqYUo3d7TOrV-5BXOUrWAiIa8A4D0cd0uaEcX4d5wKj_SEU/s400/IMG_1027.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">42. Our children loving each other. "I missed you Jack," Grace.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzhB47EAQnCCln1suNUL9E0_YYoen-_tSLirtLsa33ED_n65_dSqsqny9aZ1fSXH9F-sJXpuABKNb_kpQteL4r0XpzDhuIg-W68Abe6mNaCfXrZQpnMhiuE97s2m_GR3z7BXCJnm4vIE/s1600/IMG_1029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzhB47EAQnCCln1suNUL9E0_YYoen-_tSLirtLsa33ED_n65_dSqsqny9aZ1fSXH9F-sJXpuABKNb_kpQteL4r0XpzDhuIg-W68Abe6mNaCfXrZQpnMhiuE97s2m_GR3z7BXCJnm4vIE/s400/IMG_1029.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">43. Shoes on the wrong feet making me smile.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0XtIyohtElmY_ltLfZVaD9el-eBGPCbiOisZct8dyMFtxZk6iPGm6THY_gkwX_jnBW3-UgcWzH2T36rQ3ZUeQG124m26qQuWbpTuD1kW7Q_cj4wRd9anLSjtB026LgytbxoEXc_z77r4/s1600/IMG_1081.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0XtIyohtElmY_ltLfZVaD9el-eBGPCbiOisZct8dyMFtxZk6iPGm6THY_gkwX_jnBW3-UgcWzH2T36rQ3ZUeQG124m26qQuWbpTuD1kW7Q_cj4wRd9anLSjtB026LgytbxoEXc_z77r4/s400/IMG_1081.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">44. Everyday, being attacked by precious little hands.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0jHN2a_4FgQPN7Agb_seKKEGNEwbSaR20IPcifUS9OzQlZT24Qk9-6reDzZuiaRlBxxtiISuECaIWSR-UVggI-miVYpZpdo88kbKbTKP4347rZ3kJRoVIp6IorPqmoffY1DikrvG7B7I/s1600/IMG_1110.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0jHN2a_4FgQPN7Agb_seKKEGNEwbSaR20IPcifUS9OzQlZT24Qk9-6reDzZuiaRlBxxtiISuECaIWSR-UVggI-miVYpZpdo88kbKbTKP4347rZ3kJRoVIp6IorPqmoffY1DikrvG7B7I/s400/IMG_1110.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">45. Double rainbows from an evening shower.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpuh5aH1QBfjr-ELECCOW4zlznxMUOkdXvv2UYdl14i4i2XeyXG5AYLaic_kVPhAUjdKRXvhnSO3JbKDYUrwf6pNiNUKNxg6ZhRrXH-dayW4Kxx0uesNeXNcLrG5xxDSo_7iBo5FC8dKg/s1600/IMG_1118.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpuh5aH1QBfjr-ELECCOW4zlznxMUOkdXvv2UYdl14i4i2XeyXG5AYLaic_kVPhAUjdKRXvhnSO3JbKDYUrwf6pNiNUKNxg6ZhRrXH-dayW4Kxx0uesNeXNcLrG5xxDSo_7iBo5FC8dKg/s400/IMG_1118.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">46. After dinner ice cream treats. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVeOLgDTgD-iGuS_9NIFMJSkvbFZ_jSkpzl6kWeAVgaNtg5zM79GfXUaDY2gfzdps2qj9s1JV137PYi8OUkt-Ye9ZvdSXSqfYY-6bgq1EcsuJj858SdhRlszxbDk2Ni4Bmce19gV7qXa4/s1600/IMG_1132.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVeOLgDTgD-iGuS_9NIFMJSkvbFZ_jSkpzl6kWeAVgaNtg5zM79GfXUaDY2gfzdps2qj9s1JV137PYi8OUkt-Ye9ZvdSXSqfYY-6bgq1EcsuJj858SdhRlszxbDk2Ni4Bmce19gV7qXa4/s400/IMG_1132.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">47. Plentiful clean water to bathe my children.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8jhOP0ULeKcagSmJQPS0E3H6lSO_FTgHUzc4xZ1jeGbSAqxRhHHOOcPhkFpuqh6FqU4y_D2SrInF44X3Evd0NcPpbM53-UwdhZbgXYgViWjVC7LHMak7Vz-t-ZWZk7vjBdLgD2uAPziE/s1600/IMG_1137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8jhOP0ULeKcagSmJQPS0E3H6lSO_FTgHUzc4xZ1jeGbSAqxRhHHOOcPhkFpuqh6FqU4y_D2SrInF44X3Evd0NcPpbM53-UwdhZbgXYgViWjVC7LHMak7Vz-t-ZWZk7vjBdLgD2uAPziE/s400/IMG_1137.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">48. Mother - daughter love.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT30Hsr04bBS-3pqGG5PwIiIT497sI-y9QtPXUoYyztf4g7kWovnXRIWYmn39aIj2nN3u6Y_OVM8dAj-z57CZdxa5OhABspx7GCMcURajwZn0PUUkj3VMiZgwwfMbppFkhhIB0gKZIIYM/s1600/IMG_1139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT30Hsr04bBS-3pqGG5PwIiIT497sI-y9QtPXUoYyztf4g7kWovnXRIWYmn39aIj2nN3u6Y_OVM8dAj-z57CZdxa5OhABspx7GCMcURajwZn0PUUkj3VMiZgwwfMbppFkhhIB0gKZIIYM/s400/IMG_1139.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">49. Surprise dinner from a sweet neighbor. </td></tr>
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<br />Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-5480857543811647732013-08-19T08:47:00.001-06:002013-08-19T08:47:04.687-06:00Gifts of Joy - Week 3For last week's gift look <a href="http://www.thedriverjourney.blogspot.com/2013/08/gifts-of-joy-week-2.html" target="_blank">here.</a> For an explanation of this project look <a href="http://www.thedriverjourney.blogspot.com/2013/08/gifts-of-joy-week-1.html" target="_blank">here.</a><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcEwkiHqA3SyK9fIR_KJMdjeSbKLgK8-jW0iruu6Y8DEDTm3KYWsQFDN1r9HLPfZnmPiZ-qreXCA4xhbwdjKozJSVt8kX-2NEB-1eA2ivjChVjr8Wr6g-0d9JpUUHDmVSAqO4IRpDLYIY/s1600/IMG_0928.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcEwkiHqA3SyK9fIR_KJMdjeSbKLgK8-jW0iruu6Y8DEDTm3KYWsQFDN1r9HLPfZnmPiZ-qreXCA4xhbwdjKozJSVt8kX-2NEB-1eA2ivjChVjr8Wr6g-0d9JpUUHDmVSAqO4IRpDLYIY/s400/IMG_0928.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">27. Days at the zoo with good friends.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEismIMpe3ljTJBk0TePn-O7yB4eFXIbjTX5Lxop-lRy3hQ_ES3gMqXe0AU2CccxMdIL2BEmGoHjDwQxulQ2eGIfxIAinXQ3xwCheJv_XDLxwYJiE5womlgatdXutlptIiIGoz1w4iy-BBY/s1600/IMG_0958.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEismIMpe3ljTJBk0TePn-O7yB4eFXIbjTX5Lxop-lRy3hQ_ES3gMqXe0AU2CccxMdIL2BEmGoHjDwQxulQ2eGIfxIAinXQ3xwCheJv_XDLxwYJiE5womlgatdXutlptIiIGoz1w4iy-BBY/s400/IMG_0958.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">28. Rough housing with the best dad ever. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2SvC2OJIQg_ngoVnyBLnMBSfeb53ThCcl2JMHSpFGjyL8FkjYNCUaSny2Z8EEyKLwJfRG59d7cVSFN-TpLY-qfUrNOIMjR2zFKtyX2pDoc1XkBhF1c8F6DO31I6jYzzih9AD8vOzSY4/s1600/IMG_0969.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe2SvC2OJIQg_ngoVnyBLnMBSfeb53ThCcl2JMHSpFGjyL8FkjYNCUaSny2Z8EEyKLwJfRG59d7cVSFN-TpLY-qfUrNOIMjR2zFKtyX2pDoc1XkBhF1c8F6DO31I6jYzzih9AD8vOzSY4/s400/IMG_0969.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">29. Food in the pantry and in my babies' bellies.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFioMn1f2xBILIJrzlYxd4eSWcVuvJoJ-mGiluYf4MtW2vrBf_Rvqw2OvppCaz3hNEUMxlrBKGzeL5yt3fTFWQe7BQ1D5CWlib4hDc-oEp0ptMmGv21ndfJSxID6n42aVuso3SJznzQM/s1600/IMG_0978.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWFioMn1f2xBILIJrzlYxd4eSWcVuvJoJ-mGiluYf4MtW2vrBf_Rvqw2OvppCaz3hNEUMxlrBKGzeL5yt3fTFWQe7BQ1D5CWlib4hDc-oEp0ptMmGv21ndfJSxID6n42aVuso3SJznzQM/s400/IMG_0978.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">30. Back to school haircuts at my favorite salon.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2QfWQ04ZWDEiXB_YLmrXmB3kC_z-63jD76lEe6o5aaqe1KTe7dTZFQ1A3rjaZk6D3k24rPHKrRtBDEuRuP8ZfrsUumQ1e5h5saHTE9A29oRtb9Cn6og-XyZMfcTP2rw64KXXm4KcqY9Y/s1600/IMG_0984.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2QfWQ04ZWDEiXB_YLmrXmB3kC_z-63jD76lEe6o5aaqe1KTe7dTZFQ1A3rjaZk6D3k24rPHKrRtBDEuRuP8ZfrsUumQ1e5h5saHTE9A29oRtb9Cn6og-XyZMfcTP2rw64KXXm4KcqY9Y/s400/IMG_0984.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">31. Hiding-go-seek in the kitchen.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP8GK4iYCJz37pQH20Oj0pzzbSQJaL0PSmHkHl6V_satBrNueW_CEs-7-fpkQgSWqnXne7mi6s-DtSFKwsUX0dY7log37Hg0pGasnRJv-MmipMQC7f8WjmZPlE0Br1Em2TapNRvxJ6L-k/s1600/IMG_0988.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgP8GK4iYCJz37pQH20Oj0pzzbSQJaL0PSmHkHl6V_satBrNueW_CEs-7-fpkQgSWqnXne7mi6s-DtSFKwsUX0dY7log37Hg0pGasnRJv-MmipMQC7f8WjmZPlE0Br1Em2TapNRvxJ6L-k/s400/IMG_0988.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">32. Children playing peacefully in the backyard. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLI-CLonCBPlwJRitw9N2ECdpBl_QYkhy8vkXKCmknDl_kqAYsomWK2JSBfBQ_YwU-KugZpUY_2NmDbisPubOlOiMnC0RDpo0NN0gvr-lNYz_1DcnFFWmBjgga64LESZK7jl0Ah3DY4Z0/s1600/IMG_0990.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLI-CLonCBPlwJRitw9N2ECdpBl_QYkhy8vkXKCmknDl_kqAYsomWK2JSBfBQ_YwU-KugZpUY_2NmDbisPubOlOiMnC0RDpo0NN0gvr-lNYz_1DcnFFWmBjgga64LESZK7jl0Ah3DY4Z0/s400/IMG_0990.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">33. The gift of music in a home.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9bG4yBVBPJIsNnGOOGeTrtw4AbnzRhSBwNt5yt_8_K7dmPQQnu4EA0Hn-g_3jcIhtgoOfbzcUt2yvOk3r55uNLtLLIRKSx9SHHkD-zMwjqNVkrA5OUzdrVTv3E65ce0L1zcQjZJrahU/s1600/IMG_0999.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw9bG4yBVBPJIsNnGOOGeTrtw4AbnzRhSBwNt5yt_8_K7dmPQQnu4EA0Hn-g_3jcIhtgoOfbzcUt2yvOk3r55uNLtLLIRKSx9SHHkD-zMwjqNVkrA5OUzdrVTv3E65ce0L1zcQjZJrahU/s400/IMG_0999.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">34. Simple pleasures like a neighborhood bike ride.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkLJL1M5-t_WXHg_7dkz7H5eUu3_lOKM__vt60SNtFCU6B40iqbGpjArqr8m_uxTvsnvxZxflG2AYOzR7AcbuesNvXreYsOxpcAWQvIn6VdQHrnWgjqwJdM93w4aEfj9nnhSJBxRblZuY/s1600/IMG_1002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkLJL1M5-t_WXHg_7dkz7H5eUu3_lOKM__vt60SNtFCU6B40iqbGpjArqr8m_uxTvsnvxZxflG2AYOzR7AcbuesNvXreYsOxpcAWQvIn6VdQHrnWgjqwJdM93w4aEfj9nnhSJBxRblZuY/s400/IMG_1002.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">35. New shoes my girl picked out for herself while I shopped for Jack's school clothes.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvaGfvy2sFnJxmc30IvO_hHSDQD1YgjTzJB_c3BT2e7l-bfY_KKioLm1kZE1USRelUXiw0SRmvV8-RIy66dad8e720V8awYCWfC1qdGJ9sPNpY9iTslfYnecpiP9aUX_BjbRTvkWkLvJQ/s1600/IMG_1005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvaGfvy2sFnJxmc30IvO_hHSDQD1YgjTzJB_c3BT2e7l-bfY_KKioLm1kZE1USRelUXiw0SRmvV8-RIy66dad8e720V8awYCWfC1qdGJ9sPNpY9iTslfYnecpiP9aUX_BjbRTvkWkLvJQ/s400/IMG_1005.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">36. Hot air balloons on a mountain horizon.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMya4tGOcrEYDw_NYv9MguQlbImLQ3SilDB18jF0S5W25T-NjUfHdHC_8f80gXVQZ7yTUmF2RoI3ef4qr5H3azQa4gpUuLmIu0w4v5FbhLRyV3Rfp8Nx5fXuqkMe_TRoOwC-aFQx4jgHg/s1600/IMG_1008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMya4tGOcrEYDw_NYv9MguQlbImLQ3SilDB18jF0S5W25T-NjUfHdHC_8f80gXVQZ7yTUmF2RoI3ef4qr5H3azQa4gpUuLmIu0w4v5FbhLRyV3Rfp8Nx5fXuqkMe_TRoOwC-aFQx4jgHg/s400/IMG_1008.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">37. My mom at my house playing with my children.</td></tr>
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<br />Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-58045008887658282602013-08-11T13:40:00.001-06:002013-08-11T13:40:11.436-06:00Gifts of Joy - Week 2Counting my gifts week 2. For week one's list and the reason for counting, check <a href="http://thedriverjourney.blogspot.com/2013/08/gifts-of-joy-week-1.html" target="_blank">here</a>.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiaRYMLlsGJrsF_jF00OLrgjEi8X69md3Zs9MedPhy2nxMMpmVQFsoZ1jHdMZx7kdxC-Ng6OH57FcZbh7wFt03mcDIq4qjCIkzzCHX9Wa5xd_d_5mGMJp7nJycMAB6gE_pfRh9vM7MAqI/s1600/IMG_0857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiaRYMLlsGJrsF_jF00OLrgjEi8X69md3Zs9MedPhy2nxMMpmVQFsoZ1jHdMZx7kdxC-Ng6OH57FcZbh7wFt03mcDIq4qjCIkzzCHX9Wa5xd_d_5mGMJp7nJycMAB6gE_pfRh9vM7MAqI/s400/IMG_0857.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">11. Breakfast of champions. <a href="http://www.ourbestbites.com/2013/06/coconut-almond-breakfast-quinoa/" target="_blank">Coconut Almond Quinoa</a> with pecan and blueberries. A great way to start my day.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUvjMfTGLgDNgfxybFyEJiqgAJEl7Vqy45dRHvJvdhs9SqhUFIXmVcjO76xg31SJkPTORIABKWLl-jwXTaHgkwicFSRHpunOe070kuY4Hcpxtm3Rkyt4lznQRlyBtVvOOx-mIGETeXRdY/s1600/IMG_0860.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUvjMfTGLgDNgfxybFyEJiqgAJEl7Vqy45dRHvJvdhs9SqhUFIXmVcjO76xg31SJkPTORIABKWLl-jwXTaHgkwicFSRHpunOe070kuY4Hcpxtm3Rkyt4lznQRlyBtVvOOx-mIGETeXRdY/s400/IMG_0860.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">12. Homemaking tasks like ironing my husband's shirts for work. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSYgXX9mkx7J_6MmKf4o8L9MQQC2YvkvVSAgZT03j-N_D0rxFUf3hUT7Crs6-bjzMKxIfoL5nnNNbChtMWas7f8N5Yjbk-afy1hBHo_sN4ZQkFEDKHV7YudBo6DtWSM0bsdkR2g2qkX4Y/s1600/IMG_0861.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSYgXX9mkx7J_6MmKf4o8L9MQQC2YvkvVSAgZT03j-N_D0rxFUf3hUT7Crs6-bjzMKxIfoL5nnNNbChtMWas7f8N5Yjbk-afy1hBHo_sN4ZQkFEDKHV7YudBo6DtWSM0bsdkR2g2qkX4Y/s400/IMG_0861.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">13. Watching my children learn new things. Even if that new thing is how to kill a fly all by himself. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1qfL10Y_-csoBHcdxOV-Ryj4ihr5TwhqlE7abMxKr4Afb_y1KqNEb09QT6JRBkDpi1xKxgqulra0H4hcndQJgBRfuCgqRJlqKGVeMbnpg3AQI9fHHRpVZsjPj7a7YsZVCn8c_9uvntto/s1600/IMG_0864.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1qfL10Y_-csoBHcdxOV-Ryj4ihr5TwhqlE7abMxKr4Afb_y1KqNEb09QT6JRBkDpi1xKxgqulra0H4hcndQJgBRfuCgqRJlqKGVeMbnpg3AQI9fHHRpVZsjPj7a7YsZVCn8c_9uvntto/s400/IMG_0864.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">14. My new <a href="http://www.sevenly.org/" target="_blank">Sevenly</a> shirt. This one helped raise money to stop Sex Trafficking.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4nFjrDRtKfmmC036soxfd2B4e8ALdZ7cUMtA70J2gFFx5jE70bt7gV-RsX-YaLcD9V4JAaQGEfsQ6nSKe7wkGuWOarFj-DEwM7gB704JMkPTPNsT26zaSBRdjelrST-40iVRet0Th0gA/s1600/IMG_0867.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4nFjrDRtKfmmC036soxfd2B4e8ALdZ7cUMtA70J2gFFx5jE70bt7gV-RsX-YaLcD9V4JAaQGEfsQ6nSKe7wkGuWOarFj-DEwM7gB704JMkPTPNsT26zaSBRdjelrST-40iVRet0Th0gA/s400/IMG_0867.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">15. This sweet glass chicken family that sits by the window in front of my kitchen sink. They are from Christian's grandmother's house and they make me smile. </td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_m9el17MibtetvYymfQHE6DjQxX9FB8Kz4q6QJQIwiu8o8kKbirJYn0NCXMPzZ5h96wzhI15MKup6Yz5NiDTZyyl1IWt9PfUJvK1Imc8glTZL18jQ9AREucTPKLoqLP1tUsbFxfrk2CA/s1600/IMG_0869.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_m9el17MibtetvYymfQHE6DjQxX9FB8Kz4q6QJQIwiu8o8kKbirJYn0NCXMPzZ5h96wzhI15MKup6Yz5NiDTZyyl1IWt9PfUJvK1Imc8glTZL18jQ9AREucTPKLoqLP1tUsbFxfrk2CA/s400/IMG_0869.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">16. Grace and Christian sharing a moment before he left for work. He is the best dad ever.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAIMVBNRmX5kf25Cnn1sTWTjCeqpSQHV2OQcuWOI4X3BHXXaLhvREpjlmEUB1KVWtON7Zi8n55_wbsI1IS8blUGbeNRpzzTWSt5DcDj25JDBkot8fu9WVSYoI7P36QwqANxNNbaT49icU/s1600/IMG_0876.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAIMVBNRmX5kf25Cnn1sTWTjCeqpSQHV2OQcuWOI4X3BHXXaLhvREpjlmEUB1KVWtON7Zi8n55_wbsI1IS8blUGbeNRpzzTWSt5DcDj25JDBkot8fu9WVSYoI7P36QwqANxNNbaT49icU/s400/IMG_0876.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">17. Living with superheroes. I feel so safe. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWefKPHnBHehF9CvLxqTdffLPdHmiZVpaHp-Avxw-p61uwvvKfal5X8e3caNBfngkzoQFnSUx4jKCWwttHRrQsD1nrDYquVTC_vE6Ef3DOWJZf1_V4IZKCctQHV3Mp6iN1tkMpy1rwK4/s1600/IMG_0877.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWefKPHnBHehF9CvLxqTdffLPdHmiZVpaHp-Avxw-p61uwvvKfal5X8e3caNBfngkzoQFnSUx4jKCWwttHRrQsD1nrDYquVTC_vE6Ef3DOWJZf1_V4IZKCctQHV3Mp6iN1tkMpy1rwK4/s400/IMG_0877.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">18. A tired boy sleeping on the floor in his Captain America costume.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-nhAQn0iUGzH_CmEsrHZnVvG1b7QpP3817nmTaXrX7MWzsEusA6WMwl5p7RA5lXMWtVfAVFZIWzCSqA1G41uUaKz1z6PxjuedDUW4fcez4944EnV28WNQqw6g2jrs5Xo-RlBQEDekPI/s1600/IMG_0878.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-nhAQn0iUGzH_CmEsrHZnVvG1b7QpP3817nmTaXrX7MWzsEusA6WMwl5p7RA5lXMWtVfAVFZIWzCSqA1G41uUaKz1z6PxjuedDUW4fcez4944EnV28WNQqw6g2jrs5Xo-RlBQEDekPI/s400/IMG_0878.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">19. Rosemary from the herb garden used in one of my favorite <a href="http://www.thegraciouspantry.com/clean-eating-roasted-rosemary-root-vegetables/" target="_blank">side dishes</a>. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_PSdkhLH-LVdxoN5P_qo4nZ1pLSpmNhyphenhyphenMiqPEGl4lWKpsbl9N1S-nHfCKpbtQzCBXHhXe6JerbricSEuODO2uu9NdALfxiIUoas0BLkT26y7oGoG4ePHRUGhpBHZz4YGriFXvBWd-Suk/s1600/IMG_0883.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_PSdkhLH-LVdxoN5P_qo4nZ1pLSpmNhyphenhyphenMiqPEGl4lWKpsbl9N1S-nHfCKpbtQzCBXHhXe6JerbricSEuODO2uu9NdALfxiIUoas0BLkT26y7oGoG4ePHRUGhpBHZz4YGriFXvBWd-Suk/s400/IMG_0883.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">20. Tomatoes on the vine. I love summer!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpzhdZXnqI0t8y2mFGNm19LJ1U8Zk1hv0xPz7_w2N5CHX51G6p6kNTEYnl9Y2opoz1yH03pNpNiWHFssATEDo-1XO7Kr2HPqN-Wi4O8QdeCthcBZSYNu8aIVpjoqyHbmPKaMPcpAZQbrw/s1600/IMG_0894.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpzhdZXnqI0t8y2mFGNm19LJ1U8Zk1hv0xPz7_w2N5CHX51G6p6kNTEYnl9Y2opoz1yH03pNpNiWHFssATEDo-1XO7Kr2HPqN-Wi4O8QdeCthcBZSYNu8aIVpjoqyHbmPKaMPcpAZQbrw/s400/IMG_0894.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">21. Going to the movie theater with this precious boy for the first time.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTtB__jDKgS1CsInpGXjTGCf9i1NfZimxhbeBw5XNt1ptPauUkXgLO_goGVGBI39TmKjG4MbCM1Rn1MhE3ie2af9SOfI76BSiF3k1h3ISqL389I5pGQJ7omHD79FcI9bKQG48dXnlbIl8/s1600/IMG_0899.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTtB__jDKgS1CsInpGXjTGCf9i1NfZimxhbeBw5XNt1ptPauUkXgLO_goGVGBI39TmKjG4MbCM1Rn1MhE3ie2af9SOfI76BSiF3k1h3ISqL389I5pGQJ7omHD79FcI9bKQG48dXnlbIl8/s400/IMG_0899.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">22. Waking up on Sunday morning to children eating homemade waffles. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiE59URT_IhAgaUC-GRy39cAWq_8C0ATtiy7K4mlNaAJH8N-5x97zkFDhBh9TIUEs7zIH4_FOtIdsrrSgRcPNRnhsb5Unw7Fe3fnKSn5-K-rxYaFBALSWLdZQTkq2uMfGKTeSCpU_mnfQ/s1600/IMG_0903.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiE59URT_IhAgaUC-GRy39cAWq_8C0ATtiy7K4mlNaAJH8N-5x97zkFDhBh9TIUEs7zIH4_FOtIdsrrSgRcPNRnhsb5Unw7Fe3fnKSn5-K-rxYaFBALSWLdZQTkq2uMfGKTeSCpU_mnfQ/s400/IMG_0903.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">23. Children running inside to grab me so that I don't miss seeing this bird sitting on our fence.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDeNo8Xod0NmljS56LGYvvH0QKBYu2Dskvc5To6y6Ep7woRn9olc4uJehmfO2AAjyaAae_tMeVFvlo0SNLhLGR0el7sb_gQeK-dbTTAIGG-l1iFFotylU-P8JnTHn0l9qvXRnSV0GAODo/s1600/IMG_0906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDeNo8Xod0NmljS56LGYvvH0QKBYu2Dskvc5To6y6Ep7woRn9olc4uJehmfO2AAjyaAae_tMeVFvlo0SNLhLGR0el7sb_gQeK-dbTTAIGG-l1iFFotylU-P8JnTHn0l9qvXRnSV0GAODo/s400/IMG_0906.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">24. Snuggle time with sweet girl while we relax and watch a show. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUMMFxBZJNYM-JDWtlxZnmH9CXIvbv03wU7Nj3SFgc3c0a0O8APqxOLO5kI8CoqDnnnO1q0OmmSyiDJnL1Kn5SWaMZTLNuwyeHRlyp8baMcxwZvnpPtP-smn4VyWtjyf1_6-PM9j6OwN8/s1600/IMG_0919.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUMMFxBZJNYM-JDWtlxZnmH9CXIvbv03wU7Nj3SFgc3c0a0O8APqxOLO5kI8CoqDnnnO1q0OmmSyiDJnL1Kn5SWaMZTLNuwyeHRlyp8baMcxwZvnpPtP-smn4VyWtjyf1_6-PM9j6OwN8/s400/IMG_0919.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">25. Our front porch swing.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAtLsOxv4peo6CcSxsgJwR7jLlnmuc045ux8merieOaPWsAzQbioqdp_pvR_rPSRmx9xzQXTEilFHAsmjOh8T_L9XmRGpqbmCtceHdaVmD1uONmSZhdmXaZL9VDnBtZ92Lxk4BW9YirDE/s1600/IMG_0920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAtLsOxv4peo6CcSxsgJwR7jLlnmuc045ux8merieOaPWsAzQbioqdp_pvR_rPSRmx9xzQXTEilFHAsmjOh8T_L9XmRGpqbmCtceHdaVmD1uONmSZhdmXaZL9VDnBtZ92Lxk4BW9YirDE/s400/IMG_0920.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">26. My favorite flower, daisies, growing in our yard.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-292362521615516168.post-53706605553553229912013-08-08T14:47:00.001-06:002013-08-08T14:49:03.895-06:00A Life ListFor some crazy reason I hate the term "bucket list". I guess this is because I hate the term "kicking the bucket". I am not judging you if you have a bucket list or often say kicking the bucket. I just guess for me it seems insensitive.<br />
<br />
Also, I feel a bucket list seems like we are all running a race, trying to cram in as much as possible before the clock runs out. I don't like living this way. I like a slower pace. I like days without plans. I like the little moments in life.<br />
<br />
But, I am also ambitious. I love to have goals. They help me keep my eye on where I want to be even if I am only slowly scooting down the path.<br />
<br />
So instead of a bucket list I am going to call my list a Life List. The things I haven't yet accomplished that I would like to get to someday.<br />
<br />
A Life List:<br />
<ul>
<li>Make out with my husband at the top of the Eiffel Tower</li>
<li>Take a road trip to the Grand Canyon</li>
<li>Become an author with published books</li>
<li>Take a mission trip to Africa</li>
<li>Run a marathon</li>
<li>Learn to snow and water ski</li>
<li>See Alaska</li>
<li>Stand on the Great Wall of China</li>
<li>Live on the east coast</li>
<li>Stay married to my husband until one of us dies</li>
<li>Swim in the Mediterranean Sea</li>
<li>Hand sew a quilt</li>
<li>Drive a race car </li>
<li>Have a group of girlfriends that take an annual trip</li>
<li>Travel with my grown children</li>
<li>Learn to make homemade jam</li>
<li>Write a children's book</li>
<li>Learn to french braid</li>
<li>Walk the Appalachian Trail</li>
<li>Hike a fourteener</li>
<li>Drive across the country in an RV</li>
<li>Take my mom to Disney World</li>
<li>Give a motivational speech on a stage in front of an audience</li>
<li>Learn to play golf</li>
<li>Meet a president (past or present)</li>
<li>Volunteer regularly with my children</li>
<li>Give away half of everything I make to charity</li>
<li>Have an article published in a magazine</li>
<li>Read the entire Bible</li>
</ul>
<div>
Do you have a Life List? What's on it?</div>
Aprilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06280073071155896026noreply@blogger.com1