tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-78464240650963201672024-03-05T13:51:37.242-06:00June Cleaver in yoga pantsSarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.comBlogger737125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-77719080566041841312021-12-28T11:26:00.003-06:002021-12-28T11:26:18.298-06:002021 the year of ehhhhh<p> How do we feel about 2021?</p><p>In some ways it was a kick ass year for me. Made it through homeschooling. Got kids back in school, readjusted to life with peers and homework. Got several new amazing clients. Went on a great summer vacation, visited my sister in Tacoma. Read and grew and taught and laughed and joined and quit Match.com about three times and then got a dog. </p><p>In other ways I floundered, pushing into new business territory, flailing around, and feeling out of my league. Wrestled with anxiety. Botched some relationships. You know. It's just. I. It is cloudy and snowing in spurts. My dog is sleeping by the front door. The fire is going in the hearth. Listening to melancholy music by Bon Iver. And just. </p><p>What is it?</p><p>This year was weird. I guess I don't know how I feel about it. </p><p>I am definitely stronger. I am definitely more assured of myself. I am definitely more content. So. I guess on the whole, good? </p><p>What say you? </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgFZRBd8qP5iGofahDU0IzqDFWoMJ6gNMKbclVxx5g6FjGh_2mWfZflHFbWKJRiXn2LDun9a_fN8240lcyME9zwCaUzEc7XdPsJ_o2Xa3SAGnY7R7p7J8rb0HnCHJZDgl7n4Vs_Fk6KjDHHUbyHEQ8wlgwCY_kGvi2m6d5BpuUB2XXGGcN2_mISu9YQ=s3088" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgFZRBd8qP5iGofahDU0IzqDFWoMJ6gNMKbclVxx5g6FjGh_2mWfZflHFbWKJRiXn2LDun9a_fN8240lcyME9zwCaUzEc7XdPsJ_o2Xa3SAGnY7R7p7J8rb0HnCHJZDgl7n4Vs_Fk6KjDHHUbyHEQ8wlgwCY_kGvi2m6d5BpuUB2XXGGcN2_mISu9YQ=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiFvrj5JewmBe9w4iIFjf2QSS0CoCNaUoFdypQOenMMcsfxq7xRSXDh_U41XdAq1WEbhtZ6J01h56dF1BoK9-HcqJiBJwycnSmFhfbuxt0QRvboeOtr9NYsTp5-WsQZSQjoK_jaBI0r8ps6kA3sCd-fObxN0uLZShX6fb1MJCAY-x7UbxgVJV53u5qf=s4032" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwdYb43EpTFYSx0S3e5ZwcQC41JgaNPCe-SpgUVPvLSYKvj4NW6HkzBw8AdnALK4rJx-EmyqNUD0ChrCxkdktdV6oV5oZJL7IZVWmdWcVMVfpgL8gN8m3fXaMMnC6NcZ3ilu38Sf7PlPoVpEfqAM8RKeuZYdoEix5MfRVoAmaHJ5qyMR0xl0oViyVf=s3088" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3088" data-original-width="2316" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjwdYb43EpTFYSx0S3e5ZwcQC41JgaNPCe-SpgUVPvLSYKvj4NW6HkzBw8AdnALK4rJx-EmyqNUD0ChrCxkdktdV6oV5oZJL7IZVWmdWcVMVfpgL8gN8m3fXaMMnC6NcZ3ilu38Sf7PlPoVpEfqAM8RKeuZYdoEix5MfRVoAmaHJ5qyMR0xl0oViyVf=w480-h640" width="480" /></a></div><br /><br /><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p><br /></p><p> </p><p><br /></p>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-3507947757032044922021-11-04T09:55:00.003-05:002021-11-04T09:55:40.444-05:00healingTwo steps forward one step back. <div>That is what healing looks like some days.</div><div>And yea, sometimes its one step forward, two steps back. </div><div>And yes, some days its "Can I please hide in bed and not talk to anyone and have no one talk to me??"</div><div><br /></div><div>I read somewhere recently that healing from trauma can be done in the quietness of your own mind. Without needing to confront or be confronted, and that sometimes it just happens, on a subconscious level, without even real recognition that it's going on. Of course, go to therapy, talk it out, get support, do what feels good and right for you. But, I think it's interesting that like a physical wound an emotional wound, with time too, can surprise you. No, time doesn't heal all. It takes work. Etc Etc. But. I think what I am saying is that our mentally processing things and getting to a point of "okay" can happen without us really acknowledging it, and one day, you can be like, oh, shit, that doesn't bother me anymore. </div><div><br /></div><div>Like the other day, when I watched a show where a couple was bickering in front of their kids, and then some level of unfaithfulness occurred, and what was usually honestly triggering for me, well, it was okay. I could watch it as part of the plot of the show and move on. </div><div><br /></div><div>So here I am. The holidays bring this up for me. I know this. I have known this for a few years now. I am faced with family pictures in front of the tree and the whole who gets whom when thing and seeing my sisters and their families and so on and so forth. </div><div><br /></div><div>It's a lot. </div><div><br /></div><div>Some years I would be happy skipping to January. </div><div><br /></div><div>So I figure, make a plan.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div><br /></div><div>My plan last year, this year too, is ultra hyper focus on the kids. Fun traditions. Etc Etc. </div><div><br /></div><div>Although right now that sounds exhausting. </div><div><br /></div><div>Who else is tired??</div><div><br /></div><div>I have nothing. This post is a dud. </div><div><br /></div><div>Bottom line. </div><div><br /></div><div>Healing can happen. It is happening. And even when you can't feel some sort of cathartic energy of it having occurred, just know, trust, you ARE getting there.</div><div><br /></div><div>And yea. We are tired. All of us. I know it's not just me, most likely, who wants to rent a cabin in the woods for two months until we are past the holidays (or hacienda by the beach??) </div><div><br /></div><div>But. We can do this.</div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf8O1A5W6xFulnrIR5Bm-p6EdxPgGo-en_BMqFuGPS9M09WtTWtkZOZaGrP-d-CY0gl0ipu_AvYFj1OFObKmRINr-TjESiKnE7_y33qXYAcfyEke88lKQRna_ntxLBEu-epozMuJXGbCI/s2048/IMG_7268.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf8O1A5W6xFulnrIR5Bm-p6EdxPgGo-en_BMqFuGPS9M09WtTWtkZOZaGrP-d-CY0gl0ipu_AvYFj1OFObKmRINr-TjESiKnE7_y33qXYAcfyEke88lKQRna_ntxLBEu-epozMuJXGbCI/w480-h640/IMG_7268.HEIC" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsyCYk7Vn72loRXo3FBhGo5P0IYM8YjSPu0MJ8dB6QS8BASHOAsexKfMoJ0DTyjbka5MCo4-H6IJpai_NubNmk4zg-wF-m5HeITRSWltfQPe384LjVAt1y5yUAOLJUwc-BnO2yCMKj3sg/s736/c2481b61-39b1-4168-95e2-80397d01dc51.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="731" data-original-width="736" height="636" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsyCYk7Vn72loRXo3FBhGo5P0IYM8YjSPu0MJ8dB6QS8BASHOAsexKfMoJ0DTyjbka5MCo4-H6IJpai_NubNmk4zg-wF-m5HeITRSWltfQPe384LjVAt1y5yUAOLJUwc-BnO2yCMKj3sg/w640-h636/c2481b61-39b1-4168-95e2-80397d01dc51.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpyM-1f4mbjflh5vveYpUp1qRrhPrEtsGzmHV8Bw_9uYfN105wNwegNCS7VUkFtrjAbO5Ko4zA4kjJMwzv8T6aLlzaLyYa3xbN3dCQJVR8mOMjOcBeHoqcPQHkdQmAEghRPNKhR6kr_fU/s992/Explore+Your+Inner+World+_+Healing+Journal.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="992" data-original-width="700" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpyM-1f4mbjflh5vveYpUp1qRrhPrEtsGzmHV8Bw_9uYfN105wNwegNCS7VUkFtrjAbO5Ko4zA4kjJMwzv8T6aLlzaLyYa3xbN3dCQJVR8mOMjOcBeHoqcPQHkdQmAEghRPNKhR6kr_fU/w453-h640/Explore+Your+Inner+World+_+Healing+Journal.png" width="453" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXGtb4Dx-u9EcDFUSgJqBF4qnFyq2XxkNiCBT2Dd7BlVAaRMX9qb8hby7RY0Z4Axrklah2VSNAtfRm4wLb9x2U2w8ipLAFe_DlYPgIBwjcfvNi9Syo3DrIZ7QUrYO4pHtZ4R-CKA1L8k/s830/Quotes++discovered+by+1995%25E2%258F%25B3+on+We+Heart+It.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="830" data-original-width="564" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimXGtb4Dx-u9EcDFUSgJqBF4qnFyq2XxkNiCBT2Dd7BlVAaRMX9qb8hby7RY0Z4Axrklah2VSNAtfRm4wLb9x2U2w8ipLAFe_DlYPgIBwjcfvNi9Syo3DrIZ7QUrYO4pHtZ4R-CKA1L8k/w434-h640/Quotes++discovered+by+1995%25E2%258F%25B3+on+We+Heart+It.jpeg" width="434" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-87377446046030387512021-10-01T12:51:00.006-05:002021-10-01T12:52:02.481-05:0045 things at 45<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGLlEeJVJnTSGJ7uhPsY8trjr1Jgn907PTAkEFRGA8CEuRgrk8ed5OKVx2bieY3W9GKMhB9EucXXTeUQA1F1UW-O8O9iT_KePgzr4xpD_Ufd3JIX7ao_x_izuwsc0Rb-MRGlLO7dsHJrk/s2048/CBA70D1A-491A-4A10-9F3E-F8D5F0861CE5.heic" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGLlEeJVJnTSGJ7uhPsY8trjr1Jgn907PTAkEFRGA8CEuRgrk8ed5OKVx2bieY3W9GKMhB9EucXXTeUQA1F1UW-O8O9iT_KePgzr4xpD_Ufd3JIX7ao_x_izuwsc0Rb-MRGlLO7dsHJrk/w300-h400/CBA70D1A-491A-4A10-9F3E-F8D5F0861CE5.heic" width="300" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p>Here is a list of 45 important/unimportant things I am thinking about as I turn 45, in no particular order. </p><p>1) How am I 45? </p><p>2) 45 feels exactly like 35 except my kids are older, and I know a couple more things about myself and in general, and my joints hurt when the weather changes.</p><p>3) Does this mean 55 will be the same?</p><p>4) 50 is only five years away and that feels scary. Why?</p><p>5) My sisters are my best friends. I like that.</p><p>6) Good friends that you can stop by for cups of coffee after school drop off are like shiny golden coins in life. Find them and cling to them. (MISS HEATHER I LOVE YOU)</p><p>7) I am finding in my old age that certain things that piss me off make me feel antsy to do something about them. Not just read about them in the news and sigh. Right now I am pissed off about teenage girls of color shouldering so much responsibility in this new pandemic world and Afghan refugees not having anywhere to go. Law school? Maybe I should??</p><p>8) I can't stay up any later than midnight without feeling like a zombie the next day. This is different from even a year ago.</p><p>9) I also can barely drink anymore and never do. Weird.</p><p>10) I am finding in my old age also that I fucking love to swear and there is nothing better than a call with a colleague where you just let those mother fucking swears slide off your tongue together and everyone is cool with it. </p><p>11) Teenagers are precious creatures. They need tender loving care like toddlers but you can't let them know you think that.</p><p>12) Self-belief is an actual skill that you can learn, just like piano or painting or mastering excel spreadsheets.</p><p>13) I love excel spreadsheets.</p><p>14) I can no longer eat ice cream. But it is delicious. SHIT.</p><p>15) I am also finding in my old age this incredible truth - the things that make you jealous are the things that you should pour your energy into accomplishing because it is your heart's way of telling you to DO THE DAMN THING.</p><p>16) Authors make me jealous. I need to write again. </p><p>17) I am contemplating renting a convertible and going for a drive this weekend. Is this irresponsible of me? Discuss.</p><p>18) The things that divided us into groups of people in college and high school that seemed so very relevant are so irrelevant now. I am pretty sure if I saw anyone from high school or college days right now I would scream and hug them.</p><p>19) Maybe I need more friends??</p><p>20) I am ambiguous about dating. Ever again. I am happy being me. </p><p>21) Grudges are not worth it. Even big ones. Even the biggest. Let that shit go. You will feel lighter.</p><p>22) Back to point 1) AM I REALLY 45??? HOW????</p><p>23) Letting people into your life to help you is a hard skill to learn, whether you hire them (therapists, HOUSECLEANERS) or friends and family. But you gotta learn. </p><p>24) No matter how much you scrub at that spot on the kitchen counter it is not going to come out Sara. Let that shit go. You will feel lighter.</p><p>25) People with other political opinions are still people. Chill. In the end we want what is best for ourselves, our families, and our countries, where are the peacemakers at in policy??? SURELY WE CAN FIGURE SOME OF THIS HARD STUFF OUT FOLKS??? It's up to us, the citizens, to relearn how to have dialogue and move forward. And I firmly people teaching college and high school students how to converse and problem solve is the core solution to getting us out of this polarization we seem to swirl around in lately. End of political rant.</p><p>26) Maybe MAYBE I would date again if someone with a witty sense of humor and a stable sense of self and nice teeth approached me. </p><p>27) There are no men with nice teeth above the age of 40 on dating apps. Prove me wrong.</p><p>28) I will probably delete those last two points before posting, then again, I bet half of my readers won't get this far.</p><p>29) I no longer enjoy pizza. </p><p>30) If I was not a mother I would 100% go to Jordan and help manage operations at a refugee camp. I would kick ass at this job.</p><p>31) Getting up at 5am to have time to myself before the children wake up is just 100% not in my DNA make up. It is not possible. I would not enjoy this existence. And I am 100% ok with staying up until midnight instead to have this time. Haters gonna hate but having a morning hour to yourself is not necessary for life success and I resent all those who made me feel guilty for not being able to do this in my 30s.</p><p>32) It is okay to have certain people in your life that fit into certain categories of friendship. The friend you go to for parenting problems. The friend you go to for divorce processing. The friend you send silly texts to. Your healthy eating friend. Your kickass business buddy. They do not have to be the same person. And just because you can't confide in one person about your scary doctor appointment doesn't mean they aren't your friend. Different people for different areas of your life. This is okay.</p><p>33) Too much of marriage is trying to put all of those above people into one role - your spouse. It's not possible. And I wish more people talked about this.</p><p>34) I do not appreciate sleeping in tents. I have reconciled myself to this reality.</p><p>35) Being gracious with yourself is different than letting yourself off the hook. Sometimes you have to tough love yourself. </p><p>36) If you have gotten this far you are a true June fan and I adore you.</p><p>37) It's okay to not be good at things. You can do them anyway. If you enjoy them. Or you can not do them. Let that shit go. </p><p>38) Boundaries are essential in every part of your life. Your work day. Your relationships. Your friendships. Your own self care. This is what they should teach teenagers. Not algebra. </p><p>39) I love buying hand towels and throw pillows. Why.</p><p>40) I feel sad about the me I was in some respects 10 years ago. 35 yr old me was so hard on herself. So demanding. I wish I could give her a hug and tell her its okay and by 45 things were going to be so much better and lighter and more fulfilling. But I wonder if 35 yr old me would judge 45 yr old me. Probably. She didn't believe in divorce, as she often used to say. She didn't believe in herself either. She tried. But deep down she didn't. Poor honey. If this is you reading this now. Hugs. And keep going. And believe. </p><p>41) Fake it till you make it is a real thing. You can trick yourself into believing you can do something and if you keep doing it over and over you will actually get good at doing the thing! I am not kidding about this. </p><p>42) The majority of adults, no matter how successful they appear, feel like this. They are just winging it. Trying to figure out life. When you realize this it makes you a, feel better about yourself and your own little efforts and b, kinder to the world of fakers around you. WE ARE ALL JUST DOING OUR BEST.</p><p>43) Pressure is on. Almost at the end of the list. Need to think of something truly awesome I am thinking about to round this thing up.</p><p>44) I need more coffee. Not inspiring. Try again Sara.</p><p>45) In the end of it all, when you close your eyes, breathe in the hair of your swiftly growing children, hug their bony gangly frames that used to be chubby and dimpled, and look at the life you have built around you it is ALL SO GODDAM GOOD. And you should be proud. And keep on keeping on.</p><p>Much love all.</p><p>Sara/June</p>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-16213423630954462152021-09-15T12:54:00.000-05:002021-09-15T12:54:07.940-05:00that moment<p>Getting real today, poor June. </p><p>I felt the need to write the moment, share this picture, because I want to 1) let it go - like a seeping wound that needs air - and 2) spur our conversations around living in authenticity. </p><p>So here, it is, my moment. </p><p>This moment, my crater moment, happened not far from an actual crater - a volcanic one, upon which our coffee farm was clinging to the side of the volcanic rock. It might have all tumbled into the ocean in that moment because everything I thought was real and true was swept out from underneath me. </p><p>Well. Almost everything.</p><p>But, it turns out, the things that were still there. My kids. My sense of urgent purpose (gotta get us back on our feet!). And my parents and siblings. They were all I needed to climb out of that crater and find solid ground again. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyPbFSL7DDRH5ljCYaJEAmQRhlGVlAeOYMlRAhepp_YJhZZvNma_xymU01H_SH3Rk6E2zp2_ofMmPoPGoZsd9c0ZiL41KGyciCYsNpQ_cEoqpl3-eFZ8lc2qRMCye7tbQQE_bzvNCMWgw/s2048/IMG_5425.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1539" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyPbFSL7DDRH5ljCYaJEAmQRhlGVlAeOYMlRAhepp_YJhZZvNma_xymU01H_SH3Rk6E2zp2_ofMmPoPGoZsd9c0ZiL41KGyciCYsNpQ_cEoqpl3-eFZ8lc2qRMCye7tbQQE_bzvNCMWgw/w480-h640/IMG_5425.jpeg" width="480" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>The image above is one that I have never shared. My last night on my little hillside farm. I took it because I wanted to remember her. That Sara. Her eyes are so sad. So confused. Hurt. Betrayed. But, freaking determined. </p><p>Have you had this moment?</p><p>This make or break sensation of, like Eminem says “Success is the only m-f-er option, failure's not."</p><p>This is what I am talking about. </p><p>And here is the thing, and read closely. WE ALL HAVE THESE MOMENTS. They might be monumental, like mine, an undoing of so much, or they might be a subtle shift in the ground under you that changes everything. </p><p>Some of us endure these moments quietly, push them away, or stagger with the change and keep on with appearances. Others of us run in fear. And some, surrounded by cheerleaders, might be able to use these moments to catapult into the next great thing. </p><p>So, what are you going to do?</p><p>Are you listening to the tremors in your life that are telling you “Find the next thing. Do that thing you have always wanted to do. You can!” </p><p>Listen. Tune in. Because the crater isn't where we were meant to live. It's where we release and let go and become alive!</p><p>Here is the deal. I know what it is like. My next venture, this course and community "Claim Your Revolution" is to invite others into this journey. </p><p>My June people. We diapered our babies together. And now, likely, so many years later, we are sending the last of our babies off to school and wondering, what is next. Do you feel the shifting ground??</p><p>What are you gonna do about it?????????????????</p><p><br /></p><p> </p>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-31392489406540439692021-09-07T20:03:00.003-05:002021-09-07T20:03:53.679-05:00back to it<p>Is it just me (I know it isn't) or is this school year start just ridiculously weird??</p><p>Last year was pandemic-ness and unknown and make it work. </p><p>(We homeschooled.)</p><p>This year just feels....off. Like it should be normal, but, heck, it's not. It feels unsettling. </p><p>I think I have no normal anymore. Do any of us? That is really it. Today after picking my kid up from school and hearing stories of this and that I was like, to heck with that, and rolled up to her brother's Montessori school to pick him up, and hey, let's enroll you too.</p><p>There is no normal. </p><p>There just is. Each day. </p><p>Maybe I crave routine? Tomorrow that is my task. A play by play of my day so I feel more...settled? Even if it changes next week? I am going to write it all out on my weekly planner that has turned into a scratch pad for random notes on work calls. </p><p>GAAAAAHHHHHH.</p><p>I don't know. I feel out of my skin lately. And yes, I am still taking the dear sweet Lexapro, HA. It's not really anxiety per se. A sense of foreboding? No. Not really that. I don't know. In the past September was all about Get Shit Done. Routine. Rhythm. Putting away the garden. Canning. Starting new projects. </p><p>This September just feels like.....HUH? </p><p>I don't know. Anybody else feeling this sense of unknowing? </p><p>FYI. Little man, who is now 6'1, gave me a report of each of his teachers, written down, and their grasp of classroom shenanigans and engagement in the topic and then tells me he found a group of kids to sit with - "less friends and more just a social buffer" - and OMG who are these little people???</p><p>Maybe I need to can some pickles, for old times, sake. Make some sourdough. Or homemade laundry soap. HAHAHAHA. That was funny that I did that. </p><p>In any case. Where are you settling in to this weird-ass September??</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoVuhVDsgaL2x8iCrmlDIHCn6vS_XZe2FfloODI1r1cBxYkjh2rqwHzluwNCYhtR_4ClQcUPQXkDAJ7LmQTNh74UZpFV_Espv4jI24gZrVKQDPaRfl34kxogomG2j21Hx7TRvXDEhjHI0/s1440/81B1FF08-C123-4F72-AE50-B62BE7E944C8.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoVuhVDsgaL2x8iCrmlDIHCn6vS_XZe2FfloODI1r1cBxYkjh2rqwHzluwNCYhtR_4ClQcUPQXkDAJ7LmQTNh74UZpFV_Espv4jI24gZrVKQDPaRfl34kxogomG2j21Hx7TRvXDEhjHI0/w400-h400/81B1FF08-C123-4F72-AE50-B62BE7E944C8.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-72375880322414051682021-08-23T20:30:00.004-05:002021-08-23T20:30:29.133-05:00living YOUR best life<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">So I just wrote about this on Insta - Do you say Insta? All the kids do, so, why not, ha.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">But this is the thing. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">It is EXHAUSTING sometimes to try and be the person everyone says you should be to live your "best life" ESPECIALLY the folks on Insta. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I am tired. Tired of the pressure. Fuck it. It makes me want to swear. It's all the pressure from the June days, still, in a new form. Instead of baking bread and canning my own pickles I am trying to actualize my life by having a morning routine that includes yoga and deep breathing and visualizing my success and my top three goals for the day and....etc. etc. etc. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Listen. None of this is easy. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Mothering. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Healing. Juggling. Balancing. Self care. Productivity. Flourishing. Acceptance. Boundaries. Me time. Self love. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">I mean. There is SO MUCH that we are supposed to be thinking about. It’s exhausting, trying to be a woman, a single mom, a business owner. We are told so many things must command our attention. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Have your morning routine! They tell us. What about a chore chart? They suggest. Did you try using Asana? How about yoga? Do you have a good daily planner? Are you getting up an hour before the kids? You should journal daily. Are you eating clean? </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Just. I CANT ANYMORE.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">So many well intentioned yet impossible to implement it all ideas. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">PLEASE. I AM TRYING. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">In any case. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">What do we do? What do you do? When all of those you-should-just-try I-really-should-do feelings start surfacing??? Me? I get cranky.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">But. I am rocking a new mom hair cut. (I realize I am following Robin Wrights progression of hair cuts, by the way. Although she never did do dreads. HA. Long Princess Bride hair, and now, mid-40s Robin Wright hair. Next is 50s House of Cards hair.) And the dog ate my glasses SO I GET TO BUY NEW ONES ha. (no seriously ATE them, like crunched the glass) </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">And. You know what? </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">We can do this. Folks. Folks. We can. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">And sometimes we have to put it all down. Grab the dog and the kids and go hike by the river. </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Because only YOU know your life, your rhythm, what works for you. And all those ideas are well and good but DONT let your idea of living this perfectly productive organized life get in the way of you living YOUR life. You know?? </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;">Onward!</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> </span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjoU21kLHxEFr1QkWf8B6Lxpm48h1zvwdSB13qo4EE6_FV8QH77g62eo-QgHl-bPGjkTGrH8LN6zUP-jsFKAViWk0yVgpCujoEBXp3lxOiQz_4esBo3jujbkeEgdUCN6XgWkXfE3-spyo/s2048/2E03EF1B-2618-4F66-B82E-143D530B2E34.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjoU21kLHxEFr1QkWf8B6Lxpm48h1zvwdSB13qo4EE6_FV8QH77g62eo-QgHl-bPGjkTGrH8LN6zUP-jsFKAViWk0yVgpCujoEBXp3lxOiQz_4esBo3jujbkeEgdUCN6XgWkXfE3-spyo/w300-h400/2E03EF1B-2618-4F66-B82E-143D530B2E34.heic" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; 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color: #262626; font-family: -apple-system, system-ui, "Segoe UI", Roboto, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span><p></p>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-80622939798035474812021-08-11T17:08:00.004-05:002021-08-11T17:08:47.461-05:00new self/old self<p>Hey folks. </p><p>It's me. June/Sara.</p><p>It's been so long. But, I'm gonna tell you about it, most of the everythings anyway, but just to get this out. I MISS WRITING. These pages that are so simple "title" "text" "image" "PUBLISH" have a way of letting me get things out I didn't know were inside of me. Or things that I knew I needed to say but didn't know how to say. And now, well. That is the story.</p><p>See, when it all went down, eons ago, but really only 3 years ago, something inside of me wouldn't allow me to write. Not here. Not at all. I tried numerous times to pick up old writing projects, blog here, write there. But I couldn't. I had some kind of clog inside of me. Oh, I am too busy, that is all, I told myself. </p><p>And of course, I was. And am. But it was more than that, more than "it's not a writing time of life for you Sara."</p><p>It was wounds. Writing has a way of opening your soul. You writers out there know what I am talking about. The wall collapses. The windows open. Our fingers fly quicker than our thoughts and suddenly things come out that we weren't prepared for, not ready to see. Or, in good times, things that amaze and thrill us. MY GOD THAT CAME OUT OF MY HEAD. I have had that moment many times writing. It is my thing. Call it a gift, whatever. But, for now three years, it's been stuck. I couldn't chance those things to come out on the page, unknowingly, I didn't want to see them. Couldn't bear to look at this blog with references to dada sprinkled everywhere. He is a different person to me now. My children's dad. And that is weird to get over. </p><p>But. My God. I think I can write again.</p><p>Why? </p><p>Acceptance. Maybe? So says therapy lady. Accept what is, not what you thought would be, what you thought WAS, just accept the way it is now. </p><p>And so I do. </p><p>And you know what? That makes the typing of the unfettered thoughts coming out way less scary. </p><p>I was numb to it all. For a couple years there. I couldn't see it, just moving forward, only forward. Which is, of course a good direction to go (hahaha) but, it was at the expense of me stilling my mind, and listening to the wounded former wife inside. </p><p>So, now, every now and then, I listen. And I know her hurts, and I know she is angry, and feels ripped off, but God almighty she is a rocking freaking queen. BUSINESS BUILT UP. IN THE MIDDLE OF A FRIGGING PANDEMIC. NEW BUSINESS LAUNCHED. AMAZING FRIENDS. HOUSE. PUPPY. Girlfriend, wounded former wife, you can glow again. </p><p>Sometimes we gotta talk to ourselves like that you know, the third person, because our rational selves move along with pizza night and tennis lessons and back to school shopping and etc with nary a thought to it all. It is easier sometimes, when we start acclimating to former pain (and yes, its former, wowzah, I wrote that) in any case, sometimes it is easier to acknowledge that former pain in the third person. I know that hurt Sara. I know you feel belittled and torn up and betrayed. But. It's gonna be okay.</p><p>MORE THAN OKAY.</p><p>I can't tell you all. Too much detail of course isn't meant for public spaces, but, the things I am learning about myself, about recovery from trauma, I CAN TELL AND BY GOLLY I WILL.</p><p>So. </p><p>That is that.</p><p>About myself. I am a pretty trusting extrovert who has lots of great ideas and is, at 44 years old, quite capable of putting them out into the world. </p><p>Wounded self. Doubts and fears and has a tiny touch of self loathing.</p><p>Myself. Joined a boxing club. Eats dinner in restaurants alone. Launched a new amazing course for women going through a mid-life pivot (be it career or what have you) and is pretty free and trusting of her kids in mothering. So much more.</p><p>But wounded self. Watches hours of Netflix, still has trouble setting appropriate boundaries, says yes, too easily, can't sleep at night.</p><p>Myself though. She is winning the day. </p><p>And she is back. June is here still. She now orders pizza on Wednesday nights and gives unfettered access to devices and buys clothes instead of making them. But she is also creatively pursuing the flourishing life she envisions. And she is pretty damn amazing.</p><p>Rock on mamas.</p><p>I missed you.</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmNCc8F_hVZCzRcGJa70PKerbEAuZW1MLAYzeH5xBc-njCmLElYrGO4hUVqEK3D6VFl5jcSC-i7rJ-h-N8Vpyg8t5_bMiIPwpaEjzLpNQd8XP2biZ3IrnxlM0tjTORkikdA8nOyGEn1A0/s2048/3CDE4C0A-5A6E-4C3F-ABA4-64281100FBC7.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmNCc8F_hVZCzRcGJa70PKerbEAuZW1MLAYzeH5xBc-njCmLElYrGO4hUVqEK3D6VFl5jcSC-i7rJ-h-N8Vpyg8t5_bMiIPwpaEjzLpNQd8XP2biZ3IrnxlM0tjTORkikdA8nOyGEn1A0/w480-h640/3CDE4C0A-5A6E-4C3F-ABA4-64281100FBC7.heic" width="480" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZhU_UcRAYxb5Eij-4i5WfvYGxW7-7s2GfGMLtgOqpaEIq1VIeiQNSZSVR_lRtJpV3eKwbFcSUeKP3mt7Xl1Yf5LpRIExI-_dHryViu3RmALgnyQApcCDQz_Ib6M2gjuBJbU4UVg3_Kq4/s2048/ADB4906C-79A4-46D7-8DAB-91FCA6835E27.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-w4RYDSMs1ltvseajghl39aw9wv-DnrgH2zczFc7qOt7k2fKuVbypj3DPKwpjKFHOMy0_r3wo_Sz_3sbZklGlLTCWq1BtECZ7NrehraJvHqdPVAMjHI-mGMXDNW-Ch9CT8aM-wfBwP0/s2048/DAB1A471-5158-4A13-9004-45198FDA87FC.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjt-w4RYDSMs1ltvseajghl39aw9wv-DnrgH2zczFc7qOt7k2fKuVbypj3DPKwpjKFHOMy0_r3wo_Sz_3sbZklGlLTCWq1BtECZ7NrehraJvHqdPVAMjHI-mGMXDNW-Ch9CT8aM-wfBwP0/w300-h400/DAB1A471-5158-4A13-9004-45198FDA87FC.heic" width="300" /></a></div><br /> <p></p>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-27380792349598978702020-11-23T22:18:00.000-06:002020-11-23T22:18:03.519-06:00in which i discuss my new one win philosophy of life and try video blogging<p> "Vlogging," as they say. </p><p>Maybe I will do this again. Or maybe not. </p><p>Are you surviving out there??</p><p>I am not sure. Every now and then I am like, oh, look at me, I just made sugar cookies because the kids asked and I said yes and now we are decorating them at 7pm LOOK AT ME I AM A GODDESS. And then I get crabby because the children are too loud. TOO LOUD. So. Who knows how I am doing. </p><p>But, here is my video blogging thing. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" class="BLOG_video_class" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/iLE_NSDo8Tw" width="320" youtube-src-id="iLE_NSDo8Tw"></iframe></div><br /><p><br /></p>Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-31237914979484311062020-07-14T11:32:00.000-05:002020-07-14T11:37:56.145-05:00July bluesFolks. Folks. Folks.<br />
<br />
What a past few months, huh?<br />
<br />
SO. Not only COVID and etc. The roller coaster of emotions and worry and euphoria but...then we had the George Floyd murder, right in the neighborhood of one of my nonprofit clients, and everything felt/feels so big and....big...<br />
<br />
And here I am. Sitting in my living room, fan on, coffee by my side, once again contemplating homeschool because the thought of managing four children in distance learning programs next fall makes me want to scream, silently, inside my own head, whilst bugging out my eyeballs, and making faces at the world.<br />
<br />
Do you catch that BIG BIG FEELING?<br />
<br />
I just can't. Its July and I am already despondent about fall choices.<br />
<br />
But you have to stay positive! For your kids! For the good of society!<br />
<br />
But. But. But.<br />
<br />
BIG FEELINGS.<br />
<br />
Honestly I am sitting here on the couch with my coffee ready to cry. My parents are on a two week vacation. My dryer isn't working and I don't want to call my landlord. Ugh. So I suppose I am writing myself out of a funk right now. Or trying to. LUCKY YOU.<br />
<br />
I also am trying to buy a house. Folks. Trying to buy a house is like the worst. I mean. The decisions. And the thought of writing a check that big. The thought of making choices that will impact us and our relationships and so on. How does one do that? That kind of choice? I have been in constant transition for so long now. So long. Five years really. Life was turned topsy turvy with Hawaii move and then topsy turvy with divorce. And now I think I don't know how to face transition anymore. Its like this ugly beast and I just want to hide in my tiny rental house and work and not make any decisions. But tiny rental house. COVID lockdown once again looming (do you think it'll happen again? I am just imagining winter in this house with homeschool and four kids and OMG I need a bigger house.) Okay. I don't feel any better. Shoot.<br />
<br />
BIG FEELINGS.<br />
<br />
And for some reason I thought this was a perfect time of life to engage in a doctorate program. So. There's that. Why did I think that? Because I am dumb, that's why. I got a B+ on my first paper. I started crying. I actually emailed the professor in shock, like some whiney entitled 19 year old. HA HA HA. Oh Lord. Save me. I ONLY GET As! UNACCEPTABLE. Good grief, I am ridiculous.<br />
<br />
BIG FEELINGS.<br />
<br />
But Child A, who is now taller than I by several inches, my little man, so big, just made more coffee. Children B and C are upstairs playing American Girl dolls, and Child D is at summer play school for the morning (outside, only a few children, temps taken every day and etc.) And I have house options, and the wherewithal (can you tell I am back in school, using that word, HAHA) to actually buy a house, which just blows my mind. And work is steady. And my kids are healthy and happy.<br />
<br />
And things will work out. I mean right? They will. Right?<br />
<br />
Still. The BIG FEELINGS seem to blow me away. 2am. Staring at my ceiling fan. Clutching my pillow. Just SO FULL OF BIG FEELINGS.<br />
<br />
So that is where I am at. July blues. You?<br />
<br />
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<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-52993623284815197852020-03-24T17:31:00.002-05:002020-03-24T17:31:42.024-05:00love in the time of covid 19<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">“He allowed himself to be swayed by his conviction that human beings are not born once and for all on the day their mothers give birth to them, but that life obliges them over and over again to give birth to themselves.”</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;">― </span><span class="authorOrTitle" style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: "lato" , "helvetica neue" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-weight: bold;">Gabriel García Márquez, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;"></span><span id="quote_book_link_9712" style="background-color: white; color: #181818; font-family: "merriweather" , "georgia" , serif; font-size: 14px;"><a class="authorOrTitle" href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/3285349" style="color: #333333; font-family: Lato, "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, sans-serif; font-weight: bold; text-decoration-line: none;">Love in the Time of Cholera</a></span><br />
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<br />
<br />
Yes. I haven't posted in awhile.<br />
<br />
You know. Its like.....I don't know.<br />
<br />
I have been so busy. SO DAMN BUSY.<br />
<br />
My work is busy (hashtag blessed) but so chaotic, unpredictable. Up until two weeks ago I thought nightly I was having a panic attack. One doesn't really blog when one is in such a season. If I did my posts would consist of .....<br />
<br />
HEEEELLLLLPPPPP.<br />
<br />
And...<br />
<br />
AM DYYYYIIIIINNNNGGGGG.<br />
<br />
<br />
So. I didn't post. Something about the "strong post-divorce mom" vibe makes me feel like its not allowed.<br />
<br />
And then.<br />
<br />
THIS.<br />
<br />
AlL ThIS CrAP...... iS thE WorLD FaLliNg APART?????<br />
<br />
FFS.<br />
<br />
I just. I can't even.<br />
<br />
And now. I AM A HOMESCHOOLING MOM AGAIN.<br />
<br />
BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. Oh. The irony.<br />
<br />
But also. I have clients. Who expect me to be on two hour conference calls smack in the middle of the day. And. Two university classes. That now have to be adapted to be online. I swear to God I am getting hourly emails from students about this or that technology that isn't working.<br />
<br />
Deep Breaths.<br />
<br />
I have come here, back again, June apron on, to express/remind myself about healthy homeschool habits in times of transition.<br />
<br />
We, my babes and I, have had a shit-ton of transition in the past few years.<br />
<br />
And now. THIS.<br />
<br />
So. Reminders for you, for me.....pour a class of wine with me. Let us talk.<br />
<br />
1) lower your expectations. Ok. Good. Now lower them again. Keep going. THERE. NICE AND LOW.<br />
<br />
2) Don't try to pick up the house until the end of the day. Leave the crafty clutter on the table. The legos on the floor (tread carefully). It is POINTLESS TO SHOVEL IN A SNOWSTORM. Unless you are my over achieving neighbors all good Midwestern folk know this. It also applies to the homeschool life.<br />
<br />
3) They can do more than you think they can do. Make a list. Put it on the fridge. Even if you don't follow it the idea of a routine is comforting. Let them wash up the lunch dishes. Pair the socks while listening to music. Etc.<br />
<br />
4) Play is learning. Build a tower using different kinds of blocks. Is it easy? Hard? Hand them needle, thread, some cloth, and a small doll and let them try sewing. Set up obstacle courses with the furniture (dont YOU do it. LET THEM). Time who is the fastest.<br />
<br />
5) Think creatively about what "education" means. Now, I adore the educators in my life, but a lot of days my kids come home from school with 0.25 hours of schooling to talk about and 3.75 hours of social drama to tell me. This applies here too. For instance:<br />
- Math and home economics (child B made spaghetti for dinner. Child C stirred the chocolate chip cookie dough. Child D "helped" by dropping an entire dozen eggs on the floor - yes they all cracked- and yelled about it for 27 minutes)<br />
-Computer skills (All children learned to google, youtube, and etc. from drawing flowers to what ventilators really do)<br />
-Outside nature exploration (GO OUTSIDE. no other instruction required.)<br />
-Extracurricular - photography (Child A discovered his camera still worked and walked around taking pictures for 15 minutes)<br />
-Music (Child B/C/D made up a routine to some pop song, rehearsed it, until Child D claimed his part was not extensive enough and threw a fit and everyone started crying)<br />
-Art exploration (Child B/C/D spent hours digging through old crafty boxes, painting, taping paper airplanes together, taping paper together, coloring said paper, playing with sand, creating flowers to hang on the door, etc. etc. etc)<br />
-Group dynamics, team play and social interaction (All children got all up in each other's faces over and over again and SURVIVED)<br />
-Social skills/etiquette (Child D was reminded, firmly, that screaming about going poop when Mom is on a client call is not polite)<br />
-Health and cleanliness (this one is a given)<br />
-Physical education. (GO OUTSIDE. no other instruction required.)<br />
-Current Events (Child A spent much too much time on reddit reading pandemic news)<br />
<br />
See. Leave out all the remarks in parentheses and TADA, you are a bonafide HOMESCHOOL PRO.<br />
<br />
You are welcome.<br />
<br />
Seriously though. Parents. Be easy on yourself. Be easy on your kids. Mine are looking for more hugs. We are reading a book at night together again, Mama has been too tired to do that. I sit up late with teenager watching his dorky humor shows (yes, with laptop open). Take a nap with your toddler. Plant some flowers to get ready for spring.<br />
<br />
This is tough. Yo. BUT SO ARE WE, DAMMIT.<br />
<br />
Love you all.<br />
-Sara<br />
<br />
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<span id="goog_1958608692"></span><a href="https://www.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1958608693"></span><br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-37763567261049718612019-10-26T12:59:00.001-05:002019-10-26T13:05:28.007-05:00let's talk about self-care"Make sure to take care of yourself," she said, wrapping her arms around me in an embrace. "Those kids depend on you, gotta fill up the well to give."<br />
<br />
I know, I replied, guilt dripping off of me.<br />
<br />
I hadn't been taking care of myself. Working nights, kids in bed. Running to various evening activities. Dammit forgot to send a check for school pictures to the pre-school. Checking off items on the to do list. Barely remembering conference calls, let alone their topics. Doctors appointments. Etc. Then the kid's principal calls, you can hear your child crying in the background, a moment of bullying at the playground, you are driving, barely getting home in time for a phone meeting. Can she stay? Does she needs me? Your voice catches. The principal reassures you. You hang up and sob.<br />
<br />
Self-care is a topic we all hear about right? The above scenario happens all the time to parents. Young moms, exhausted, trying to see a friend for coffee. "Are you okay? You can't let yourself get so run down! Your baby needs you!" Visiting with relatives over the holidays. The chiding reproach from your family member, "You look tired. Try to get some sleep."<br />
<br />
God. Another thing we have to do to be good at life.<br />
<br />
So we schedule a massage. Sit and drink coffee until 11am on a quiet Saturday morning. Meet a friend for a glass of wine. Go to bed a half an hour early, even as the milk curdles in the sippy cups in the sink.<br />
<br />
Internally though. I am, thinking about the cost of the massage. The hour wasted in the middle of the day that should be spent billing hours. The dishes sitting on the counter while I sip coffee at 11am. The kids who are with a sitter on a Wednesday night, because that is the only time your friend can meet, wondering if the pre-schooler wet his pants again or if the 5th grader got her homework done.<br />
<br />
We should be in a thousand places at once doing a thousand things. Lists upon lists. But. I need to recharge, so I can do it all better! That is the internal cry. We try to relax at the massage. We try to not complain about work sitting with the friend. I am relaxing. So I can do better. Be better. Do more. Be more.<br />
<br />
Is this self care?<br />
<br />
Post-divorce my self-care tended towards a pint of ice cream and Game of Thrones, maybe with an entire bottle of wine (currently up to season 5, you can tell this has been my self-care of choice for awhile).<br />
<br />
I would buy myself books. Wander a nice store. Go out to coffee. Try so HARD TO RELAX AND RECHARGE SO I CAN DO IT ALL.<br />
<br />
We all get this. Not just divorced moms.<br />
<br />
"I've got to get over this cold, otherwise I am never going to make it through this latest round of teething."<br />
"Get some rest. The kids need you."<br />
"You need to get in some therapy, so you can handle all of this."<br />
"Take the afternoon off," your boss says, "I need you at full capacity for the presentation tomorrow."<br />
<br />
Missing in all of this.<br />
<br />
Us.<br />
<br />
You.<br />
<br />
Me.<br />
<br />
The self part of self care.<br />
<br />
I read something to this affect over the weekend. And its truth startled me.<br />
<br />
Self-care has somehow become YOU NEED TO TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF SO YOU CAN DO BETTER AT TAKING CARE OF OTHERS. Apologies for the all caps. But. God. Right? This is what it is. This obligation to be in top form. This is why it is so acceptable. We have an obligation to be at full capacity. As women, especially. We tend the children. Clean the house. Go to work. Come home. Dinner on the table. Remember to sign the homework slips. ALL OF IT. So, better take care of yourself so you can DO IT ALL.<br />
<br />
GAH. Right? This is why we are okay with it!! This is why we are allowed!!<br />
<br />
Damn. Its a hard truth.<br />
<br />
But, to say no to something, be it serving on the board of yet another fledgling nonprofit, or helping out with your kids school play, or serving store bought cookies at the church get together, instead of homemade because you forgot and didn't have time. That is lazy. Selfish. Not put together.<br />
<br />
I say. It is self-care.<br />
<br />
Self-care conversations we have today are missing an essential element. SELF.<br />
<br />
We need to stop getting a massage or taking the day off or any of it to "recharge so you can fill up your well and give better to all the others around you," so you can "do it all and more and better."<br />
<br />
Start doing it for you.<br />
<br />
Because you matter.<br />
<br />
Say no to the cookie bake-off fundraiser. Get frozen pizza in the middle of the week. Drink coffee until 11am. Get that massage. Take a walk. Make yourself a nice dinner with a glass of wine.<br />
<br />
But, don't do it so you can do more do better do it right make everyone happy.<br />
<br />
Do it for you.<br />
<br />
Because. YOU matter.<br />
<br />
And encourage others to do the same. We are all very very well aware that our families, our children, our jobs, need us in top form. A simple change from "Take care of yourself, your kids need their mama," to "take care of yourself, you need yourself," kind of mindset, even as we talk to one another, can start to shift this. We need to give and seek permission from others to self care, as a society, because we need to take care of ourselves, for ourselves.<br />
<br />
And by the by, self-care and self-soothing are different. Sometimes Game of Thrones and ice cream is all I can manage. Self-soothing. Sometimes what I really need is to get to the gym. Or hike the bluff overlooking town. Or check off a couple dreaded tasks on the to do list because it takes one more weight off my shoulders. Or write. Or get my butt to my therapist.<br />
<br />
Let's care for ourselves because our Self is a precious precious gift. Not because it helps us to be superhumans once again (or simply make it to bedtime.) But because WE matter.<br />
<br />
God. It's so much harder though, isn't it? That shift of motivation. It requires what feels selfish, wrong. But I say we all start a movement, of shifting the conversation, giving each other, society, a new perspective of why this is so essential. Because we, as beings, deserve peace, health, fulfillment, joy. And we can't claim those things in our frantic lives if we are constantly under an obligation to "refilling the well" for others.<br />
<br />
Okay, doing for others brings joy. I know this, but, the reasons shift when you are centered in yourself. Giving out of energy and love. Not out of a need to do so.<br />
<br />
More thoughts on this to come. But please, can we make this a thing?<br />
<br />
Much love on a sunny Saturday morning. Take care of YOU today, friends, for YOU.<br />
<br />
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<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-7444377186525408022019-09-09T11:00:00.000-05:002019-09-09T11:01:46.584-05:00thoughts on unravelling, authenticity, and wonder<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So it is fall. You know my love of September. Schedules. Rhythm. Routine. Not to mention, now that I am back in the Midwest, digging out cozy sweaters, making tea mid-afternoon, all that.<br />
<br />
What a weird year this is though.<br />
<br />
Instead of hustling kids to get out there books and schoolwork, juggling toddler and home duties and canning the end of year garden produce.<br />
<br />
Instead. Well, that hasn't been my September in a couple of years. Still, it feels like it SHOULD be my September.<br />
<br />
Instead I am hustling big kids out the door to catch the bus a block away. They are big enough to set their own alarms, make their own toast, put together their own lunches (really they do!) Little guy and Green into the minivan, the clouds and sun mixing into shadows on the drive down our big hill to the elementary school and the little preschool next door. And then I go back home. Flip open my laptop. And work. Some calls. Some errands. Scheduling out my week. What deadline is approaching. What work is looming. What work I need to hustle to find. Then pick up the littles. Big kids come home. Victorious or not at another day in another new school. Swim practice. Dinner prep. A half a glass of wine as the wind swirls outside, leaves shuffling around the yard. Bring in the trash cans. Bath time. Bed.<br />
<br />
Big sigh.<br />
<br />
The day in and day out of life, as a single mom.<br />
<br />
And yet. And yet. The emails from friends. Texts from colleagues. Intriguing ideas to float. New projects on the horizon. The ever present novel manuscript that needs revising (again).<br />
<br />
It fills me.<br />
<br />
I find myself surprisingly, able. Able. Somedays more than others. There is no panic, on the other days. Just a sense of exhausted pondering. Am I doing too much. Am I giving enough energy and time to the kids (the answers always feel yes, and no).<br />
<br />
But I sit down with a friend for a glass of wine. We walk down to the river and talk. And I hear the heartache. The unraveling of bullshit that happens in the 40s seems to be all around me. Therapists and heart searching. Boundaries and bravery.<br />
<br />
This is what it is.<br />
<br />
Right?<br />
<br />
The real.<br />
<br />
I may not be crafting wooly hats for babies. Or writing funny posts about misadventures with applesauce canning any longer. Instead the "real" of this era of my life pushes into my present. So, I must write REAL. Not that I didn't before. There is so much goddam real in early years of motherhood. But instead, I realize, that part feels capable. I mean, I made a kick ass apple pie the other day. Two of them. With apples the kids and I picked on the way home from church one day. I mean, holy fucking June Cleaver of me, right??<br />
<br />
Friends. I made the apple pies from scratch, no recipe. And they were amazing.<br />
<br />
But. How do you write real, expose it, let it breathe out there in the open? I have been thinking so much about this era of unravelling. Is it in the air of the nation? Are we all kind of feeling the "real"? Or, am I hyper aware of it, now that my unravelling has happened, my story changed from the ending I thought I knew was coming, into something new? Something unexpected? Something liberatingly unknown?<br />
<br />
The unknown is terrifying. But it is also insanely freeing.<br />
<br />
As we open up to each other. About the real. The unknown. The unravelling. We find each other. And in that we find ourselves. And, I have discovered, we can still give, even as we feel undone. It is so possible. So beautiful. SO much more authentic.<br />
<br />
Here is my realization for you in this month of September. This, the importance of LETTING EACH OTHER SEE OUR UNRAVELLING, but also. This.<br />
<br />
When I find myself, now that my life has stabilized into a norm (work comes in, checks follow, bills get paid, and etc.) I realize my gratitude gets stabilized too. Now, I am not talking about gratitude, sure sure, healthy kids, place to live, meaningful work, no. Not that.<br />
<br />
I am talking sheer WONDER, AMAZEMENT at life and how it is unfolding.<br />
<br />
This is the gratitude I find myself need to go to. Gratitude is a cliche these days. So, yea, let's call it wonder. Eyes wide open, taking in the unbelievable goodness at life, in a wondering attitude of blessing, even amidst the shit life is always throwing. That goodness is there for the taking. GRAB ONTO IT.<br />
<br />
Friends, who text to say GIRL, LETS GET A DRINK or, sure you can randomly stop by with your four kids for some coffee! Colleagues who say, OMG let's do this awesome cool thing together. Work that comes in from people who believe in my abilities and want TO PAY ME TO DO IT.<br />
<br />
Wonder. Wonder and authenticity.<br />
<br />
These are my words for this month.<br />
<br />
Go and conquer friends. And, if you need an ear. Message me. We are all in this together. Maybe you are being asked to move a mountain to show someone else how it can be done.<br />
<span id="goog_31526204"></span><span id="goog_31526205"></span><br />
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<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-28836449049026390362019-08-04T13:59:00.000-05:002019-08-04T14:04:26.517-05:00coach sara emergesHere is the thing.<br />
<br />
When you get to a certain age you start to see the trajectory of your life.<br />
<br />
You think.<br />
<br />
And when that far off road is altered, even in the slightest, it can stagger us. For weeks. Months.<br />
<br />
Years.<br />
<br />
So, I had that kind of staggering. But the thing is, it helped me see something.<br />
<br />
Well, lots of things. But, for our purposes here in this conversation, it got me thinking about what I am good at, mostly.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-4b1bMLQmkuZtWddGRDfZDJhxhDvMKy7VaXFhMsb0PTzuPelT5X_IY9OgenePxVsdLbz9BSNYX6IbPnOPn0_-iQt7XaJjTtvDFR7i77PpK3-z4BLM8HLNT-oGZlNtlxDT51_PUnVTqWc/s1600/Your+%25284%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-4b1bMLQmkuZtWddGRDfZDJhxhDvMKy7VaXFhMsb0PTzuPelT5X_IY9OgenePxVsdLbz9BSNYX6IbPnOPn0_-iQt7XaJjTtvDFR7i77PpK3-z4BLM8HLNT-oGZlNtlxDT51_PUnVTqWc/s400/Your+%25284%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a>Listening. Digging into problems. Giving advice. Helping people figure out their next steps.<br />
<br />
I kinda have done that all my life, in one form or another. Even here on this blog, to an extent.<br />
<br />
So I figure. Maybe I could just do...that. For like, a job.<br />
<br />
Turns out this is a thing. A life coach. I mean, kind of. But my thing isn't really just that.<br />
<br />
Here is what I am thinking.<br />
<br />
You are at home with your kids. Watching Dora...again (Dear Jesus, why did they bring that show back??) settling fights, making Mac&Cheese, wishing to God you had SOMETHING ELSE TO THINK ABOUT.<br />
<br />
I was there.<br />
<br />
I had a few projects. A bit of work. And it kept me sane in those years.<br />
<br />
Maybe you have a degree, lying stagnant (so you feel) or you have a passion issue you always get fired up about when you are (finally) having adult conversations with grown ups.<br />
<br />
I was totally there too.<br />
<br />
And then occasionally you think to yourself, I wish I could DO SOMETHING, with x, y, z issue/pet project/community problem/skills set lying dorment under layers of stale crackers and playdough.<br />
<br />
I WAS DEFINITELY THERE.<br />
<br />
So. Here is the thing. I want to help those people activate their hidden selves, bring them out from hiding, and DO THE THINGS that get you fired up.<br />
<br />
My thought?<br />
<br />
CHANGE YOURSELF. CHANGE THE WORLD.<br />
<br />
It's funny how your mindset impacts so much of what you are capable of. I, for example, had a shitty mindset yesterday, taking my children to the city's big annual festival this weekend. I pleaded with my parents to come with me and help. I dragged this kids out of our nice AC house with promises of treats and interesting things to look at, slapped on some sunscreen, and off we went. Two hours later (naptime) I am sweating in a 100 degree porta-potty wrangling a 3yr old who er, soiled, his pull-up inwardly (possibly outwardly) cursing the damn fair and my need to project some kind of FUN MOM vibe while really just wanting to go for an evening walk here and there. WHY DO WE NEED TO BUY ALL THE THINGS AT THE LOCAL FESTIVAL TO BE FUN.<br />
<br />
My point. Yes.<br />
<br />
My point is that my mindset needed swung out of the groove that it was in. We all know those moments as parents. But that is true of so many bigger things in life too. Asking for a raise. Saving money for a house. Going back to school mid-career. All of those moments where we are like, I can't, I can't, I have to, okay, shit, I CAN. And we find ourselves DOING THE THING.<br />
<br />
I have been blessed this past year with some amazing friends and family who believed the heck out of me and my capacity. And I want to be that somebody for you too. So, this is my new little business venture. Over coffee (Facetime or Skype!) or the phone or email we talk. We connect. We explore. We figure shit out. We plan. Then we do.<br />
<br />
Seriously.<br />
<br />
Let's talk. sarajohnsonsteffey (at) gmail (dot) com<br />
<br />
OR<br />
<br />
www.sarajohnsonsteffey.com for more.<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-367990216781870962019-07-03T13:35:00.001-05:002019-07-03T13:35:22.891-05:00my next venture / this is what it isWriting is unclogging my brain. Thinking through all of the mess. Finding the clumps and clogs, pulling them free. Letting the water flow again. What is it? And why not? Let's keep the juices going. Keep the rhythm flowing. Even if some words and images and thoughts and memories stick like gum to the bottom of the shoe and where are we and what are we and I am pretty sure that there is nothing left in my brain if I can't empty the good things too because they are there but there are so big they are foundational. Solid things that don't move. All of the toxins that have eaten them away though. I am not sure what they actually look like anymore. This is the discovering. After the years of wrong thinking. And now I lie here. Unsure of what is good. Sometimes it all looks like sludge in my mind. So. Get it out. Flush with cold water. Air dry in the sun to stop the spread of slow decay.<br />
<br />
Fortify.<br />
<br />
Solidify.<br />
<br />
This is what it is.<br />
<br />
And where are we then once the dry has come. Assessing the damage. Looking, sifting sorting, at all the pieces left. Hands cold from the icy water. Soggy mind comes alive as the piles grow.<br />
<br />
Yes to this.<br />
<br />
No to that.<br />
<br />
Get that out of here.<br />
<br />
And here we are then.<br />
<br />
Standing above the piles.<br />
<br />
Time for the slow burn.<br />
<br />
And I watch a movie with the kids. The superheroes mother says to him, "Stop being who you are supposed to be and start being who you are."<br />
<br />
Do you hear that? "Stop being who you are supposed to be and start being who you are."<br />
<br />
But not just any self. Your fullest self. Your best self, not your basest instincts. The best you that is in you.<br />
<br />
And what then? Become more of you. Keep becoming. It never ends. Find and be more of that person.<br />
<br />
Sometimes though, people spend so long being who they are supported to be that they forget who they are, or they never discover that glorious person inside.<br />
<br />
And oh my god. This is your 40s. Or where I am in my 40s.<br />
<br />
Opening your eyes and saying, who has the world said I am supposed to be?<br />
And...who am I really?<br />
And...how can I be, more and more, who I really am?<br />
<br />
I mean, if we all stopped being who we are "supposed to be" and stopped living in fear, resentment, drudgery, and started being who we are, our glorious best selves, alive, full of purpose and energy, can you imagine the vitality of such a world?<br />
<br />
That isn't to say, shrink from responsibility, or spend your days on the slopes or on the beach or running from your problems or any of that. Thats indulging in our base side, our impoverished "lack" selves.<br />
<br />
The full side. The whole side. The flourishing life side.<br />
<br />
The side who says "I've been driving bus for 20 years but dang, I am going to cosmetology school." (An overheard conversation at church the other day)<br />
<br />
The side that says, "I have been afraid of filing my LLC for years to start my own consulting and coaching business so I am going to do it, dammit. I am."<br />
<br />
The side that says "My pieces of art doodles are worth my time. I am going to take a class and do this more."<br />
<br />
Or. "My book manuscript is good but I am going to hire someone to look at it and help me make it better."<br />
<br />
The side that says, " I've been teaching Sunday School because my mother in law wanted me to for 10 years but I don't actually LIKE teaching Sunday School, so I'm not gonna do it anymore!"<br />
<br />
These are the pieces that we need to feed. This is the self we are unravelling.<br />
<br />
Find your joy.<br />
<br />
Invest in it blossoming.<br />
<br />
The world needs you to flower.<br />
<br />
And so. This is my next venture. Coaching. To do this. Filing an LLC (finally) to help others going through this. I have thoughts. Ideas. And I think you might just dig it.<br />
<br />
More to come. Much.<br />
xoxo<br />
Sara<br />
<br />
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<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-43871848963570403492019-05-20T19:32:00.002-05:002019-05-20T19:32:55.835-05:00next, best thingYou know its been quite a year for me. I know you know.<br />
<br />
But here is the thing.<br />
<br />
THINGS ARE BETTER.<br />
<br />
I mean, isn't that crazy?<br />
<br />
I am kind of kicking butt lately. And feeling good.<br />
<br />
I recently spoke to a mentor type person in my life who was giving me business advice (more to come on that later!) and this person said my voice sounded light, hopeful. I said, yea I feel that way. And the mentor responded, "So, why don't you write that on your blog?"<br />
<br />
Um. Good point.<br />
<br />
Its super easy for this space to become somewhere where I vent the hard moments. Although, I have hardly done that truly. The hard moments have been rather ugly this year. I've kept a lot out.<br />
<br />
Rather, put another way, I tend to write when I need to figure things out. The cathartic moments. Often rooted in pain. Lately, those things that have come through here have been of that vein. And all the hopeful moments I have reveled in, soaked up, it's maybe like I can't let that energy go? I need to contain in myself, hold on to every bit of it.<br />
<br />
All that other stuff, well, work it out, write it out, good riddance. Lets just say a yet-to-be-posted-post is about a deer carcass slowly getting picked at by the crows. Um. Probably not pushing post on that one.<br />
<br />
Another dear friend said to me too the other day. Here is the thing. The past. Its just the past. Its a non-thing. There is nothing there that you can change or fix. So. Let it be back there. And move on. You can try to unhinge car by car and deal with it all problem by problem or you can go up to your engine and pull the latch connecting you to all of that, and be done with it.<br />
<br />
And this is where I am. God it is hard to write this though. I like sincerity and honesty. There are so many hard moments. But everyone has them. Right? No matter what your life is. So yes, I will say this. You can sit weighed down on the side of a mountain, your engine overheating with the weight. Or you can unhinge it all and climb to the goddam peak and be done with it.<br />
<br />
So.<br />
<br />
That is my thing to share.<br />
<br />
The next thing. The next, best thing. It's there. Waiting for us all. Climb your mountain, find it, claim it. It's waiting.<br />
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<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-3930086045525415742019-03-25T22:18:00.001-05:002019-03-25T22:18:25.327-05:00thoughts on spring and etc<br />
The ladybugs have woken up.<br />
<br />
My mother declares this one day. They are not the cute tiny ladybugs in English gardens that are all over the adorable new rain jacket I just bought Little Green. They are ugly. A mottled dirty orange. They smell when crushed. At times in the spring they flock to the warm sides of the house. Sitting in the sunshine, waiting, for something, buzzing against the windowpanes, occasionally dropping into your hair. And the they come inside. Getting trapped in the light fixtures and promptly dying, leaving a mess of corpses to stare at as I lay in bed at night.<br />
<br />
As I type there is one walking around the catch all box of pens and cords on my desk. Its following the charger cord up and around, then my earphones wires, then some pens, now its moved on to the cheery Target dollar spot wooden rainbow and blocks calendar next to my keyboard.<br />
Around and around in circles. Searching for. Something.<br />
<br />
I feel you little stinky ugly ladybug.<br />
<br />
My Little Green tells me that ladybugs have a dot for every year of their lives. Could that be right? This one has six dots. Can you imagine, circling a desk, flying against a window, sleeping for six months, then doing it all over again, for six years?<br />
<br />
Actually, sleeping for six months sounds pretty primo terrific right now.<br />
<br />
I just made that saying up. Primo terrific. It probably came to me because of the latest Grey's Anatomy episodes in which Meredith (whom I think of as my good friend after watching her escapades for nigh on 15 years) is suddenly in love with one of the residents she has trained up for the past several seasons and he, is, of course, Italian, and she, of course, happened to study Italian in college so of course they have lots of sexy dialogue, in Italian.<br />
<br />
It is PRIMO TERRIFIC.<br />
<br />
Highly recommend.<br />
<br />
Circling, circling, the ladybug is still at it. Still ugly.<br />
<br />
Ah ha. It has made it up my sign - also from Target, you see a pattern here, right? The one where all the cute Instagrammers write their pithy inspirational phrases and then post them, next to a plant and a cup of small batch roasted coffee in an Etsy purchased mug.<br />
<br />
"Dare to Dreem" my Green girl wrote me the other day.<br />
<br />
Her latest message for mama? "Keep on Looking UP!"<br />
<br />
And so. It is spring. Late. I should be in bed. I now have to wake at 5am on Tuesdays and Thursdays to drive an hour to the city to teach a magazine writing class. What do I know about magazine writing you ask? I mean, something, a few things. Writing, yes. Its been interesting. Fun too. I make them journal for 15 minutes every morning, to get their creative juices going, as I guzzle my Americano with an extra shot of espresso and a tiny bit of cream, mercifully purchased (I am merciful upon myself that is) at the half way point in my journey up to the city every morning.<br />
<br />
Last Thursday as I drove up the gorgeous big spring moon was still up, setting to the west. Smiling on me, following me, huge as it sank lower and lower, until, eventually, the light of the rising sun dulled it to a pale disk.<br />
<br />
And this is my life.<br />
<br />
Primo terrific.<br />
<br />
Sometimes.<br />
<br />
Other times, not so much. I am trying though. I am all about The Try right now. Through fevers and 5am alarms, and strained phone calls, and the interesting phase which is middle school (sweet Jesus, hold me) looking at rental house after rental house, and working after the babies go to bed, denying my sore throat, sipping tea and thinking about the buds on the plum tree outside, the shoots of irises poking out through the icy glaze over my mother's garden, the thick Midwestern mud that I slosh through as I trek to the door after class, my feverish toddler waiting for me.<br />
<br />
All signs of spring. Mud. Shoots. Life. Slush. The call of the robin. The damn stinky ladybug, that has now disappeared from view.<br />
<br />
Keep on looking up. And its true. The leaves are coming on the trees. Any day now. Any day.<br />
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<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-57777738281496914092019-02-19T12:24:00.000-06:002019-02-20T11:19:49.644-06:00on horizons and fear<br />
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<br />
It's funny when you are driving, focused on the road and the bend and that car on your left, you lose sense of your surroundings. The horizon becomes blurred. The clouds, the trees, the buildings, you lose sight of the big picture. Especially city driving, right? Pedestrians and snow plows and all the traffic and noise. You can't look at the sunset or the slant of light in the trees.<br />
<br />
You just drive.<br />
<br />
There is something nice about this of course.<br />
<br />
Just drive. The road. The cars. The turns. Keep going.<br />
<br />
I have been driving a lot lately. I commute to the city twice a week to teach. It is one hour each way. When its sunny and the roads are clear its actually nice. For all the above reasons. My mind has something to focus on. No real wandering. In the snow though. Damn. It is BRUTAL. It took me THREE HOURS to get home one day. THREE HOURS. I nearly had a heart attack. The wind was blowing the snow so hard I couldn't see anything.<br />
<br />
But. I survived.<br />
<br />
That is what we do right?<br />
<br />
We survive.<br />
<br />
So I feel like this is my life lately. I have been driving for a year. Turn signals. Roads. Pedestrians. Snow plows. Throwing the occasional bag of fruit snacks to the kids in the bag seat. Always something to focus on. Very little time for my mind to wander. To consider the horizon.<br />
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And then. You get to your destination. Or maybe a potty break. HAHAHA. And you get out of your car and you stretch and you look around and breathe in the fresh air and you are like DAMN WHERE AM I?<br />
<br />
This is basically me this month.<br />
<br />
DAMN. SO. HERE I AM. OKAY. UMMMMMMMMMMM.....<br />
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<br />
Disorienting as hell.<br />
<br />
Freeing too.<br />
<br />
But.<br />
<br />
Mostly weird.<br />
<br />
I am still stretching my muscles. Testing them. Everything works? Legs? Check. Arms? Check. Heart? Still pounding. Lungs? Deep breath. All is well there too.<br />
<br />
And now. NOW. I am contemplating a step. Where do I walk to? What now?<br />
<br />
So then I get all freaked out and I get back in my car and I circle the block and listen to podcasts and that one song blasting.<br />
<br />
Then I park. I stop the car. I get out.<br />
<br />
Stretch. Testing each step.<br />
<br />
Okay. I am here.<br />
<br />
I think I need to be out of the car now. Maybe? I don't know? Or I could keep driving? Where am I going again? Where am I? Who am I?<br />
<br />
Sometimes though it is good to say all this out loud.<br />
<br />
When you have been on a long car ride without a destination you can feel rather disoriented. Directionless. But that kind of confusion is often just freedom. Freedom. I mean. That is different. But often just as scary.<br />
<br />
So. I bought myself some prescription sunglasses. Only noteworthy because I have wanted them for YEARS but just now can afford them. So here I am. Driving. Breathing the fresh air at each stop. And squinting less at the horizon, in the bright sunshine of my new life.<br />
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Ride on mamas. And then get out and stretch your legs. Life is really damn good.<br />
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<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-45542558530476956522019-01-04T12:07:00.002-06:002019-01-04T12:07:59.423-06:00thoughts on story-telling<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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So that was quite the holiday. Little baby guy came down with pneumonia. On Christmas Day. Me. In a hospital ER. Canceled holiday dinner plans. No where to go. No food to celebrate at the house. I definitely went home and had a frozen meal while Little baby guy watched PJ Masks (bigs were at their dada's house, which is a whole other reality that is making me feel hazy about the holidays....just too...off.)<br />
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And now it is post-holidays. (Thank you Sweet Baby Jesus)<br />
<br />
And Little baby guy is headed back to school.<br />
<br />
This morning I got the Bigs off to the bus.<br />
<br />
Okay Little baby guy. Time for school. Cue screaming tantrum over getting dressed. Poor guy is still sick and has been transferred from the toddler house to the children's house for three-five year olds because, as they put it, he is too verbal. HA. In any case.<br />
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I am thinking what to do and I say, hey, want to hear a story?<br />
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He pauses.<br />
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I get in his face and softly tell him the story of the little boy who grew so big from the sunshine that he had to go outside all day and his mama missed him but when the night sky came and the sun went to bed he shrunk back and went into his own bed and kissed his mama goodnight the end.<br />
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Not my most creative endeavor. But it worked. So all the while I am getting him dressed and we are downstairs eating and then....screaming over getting his coat on and I don't want to go to the Big Kid school.<br />
<br />
Another story. Once upon a time there was a little boy who wouldn't put on his coat because he missed the sunshine so much. But the winter wind was stronger than the sun and blew him all around so he put on his coat and went out with his mama and smiled at the sun and remembered summer and the flowers and butterflies that would come.<br />
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Again. Not creative but it worked.<br />
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Cue another screaming fit. (I am going somewhere with this I promise) I am kneeling next to him as we stand in front of the door to his new Big Kid School. I want to go to Little Boy School he cries! So I say, do you want another story?<br />
<br />
Once upon a time there was a little boy. And even though he was very little he was very brave. And he went to Big Kid School with all the Big Kids and had a fun time the end.<br />
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Tell me again mama, he whispers.<br />
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So I do.<br />
<br />
And he marches into that room and puts away his bag and all is well with the world.<br />
<br />
My point?<br />
<br />
Stories have power over us. They guide us. They heal us. They instruct us.<br />
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Which is why my story I want to introduce to you today is so special to me. It isn't profound, or worthy of awards, or even a book contract, HA. (Too many dystopian novels out there! They all told me) But it is lovely. And fun. And it is mine. And it saw me through so much.<br />
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I wrote it five years ago. All 100,000 words (that is a big-ass book, if you are wondering) and I was editing it over the past few months to get it ready to put up as an e-book I noticed something.<br />
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This story, is the story of me, walking out of postpartum depression. Really it is.<br />
<br />
I started it with a vision of a girl, with a dagger in her mouth, walking in a tunnel underground. She is crouched low, toxic slime dripping off the walls. She is on the defense, but also on the move. She has to save her people, but she is so alone, and it is so dark, and it is so hard.<br />
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This is Lydia. My girl.<br />
<br />
She and I walked through some hard times but, we make it out. We are making it. Something like that.<br />
<br />
And then other characters emerged. They were parts of me too. Queen Riona. Mama Bear. Warrior. Fierce. Self-sacrificing. Mikko, loyal and faithful friend. Cronus, the rebel troublemaker with Snape-like qualities who ends up....I can't tell you it will spoil the story.\And his wife, Denae. The raw emotions of motherhood and birth came out writing her.<br />
<br />
And that is what story telling does. It frees. It enlightens. And hopefully, for you, it entertains.<br />
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So. Read if you will. Tell me what you think. And please, share with somebody you think might like it! (Pretty please!) Book Two is cued up to be available next month (the end half of the original book I read, each volume is around 40,000 words, totally manageable!). Books Three and Four are sketched and ready to be written over the next few months.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07MP5SWY4?pf_rd_p=c2945051-950f-485c-b4df-15aac5223b10&pf_rd_r=70RTB2WD4S3MD198PPMC" target="_blank">Click here</a> if you want to download. Hugs and love people.<br />
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<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-78764007995745925922018-12-19T16:02:00.000-06:002018-12-19T16:02:18.359-06:009 monthsNine months has a certain connotation, in my past life we'd all ooh and aah.<br />
<br />
In this case. Its different. 9 months is how long its been, in this case, since the dying of my marriage began.<br />
<br />
A long time coming. Years? Perhaps?<br />
<br />
How does one write such a post?<br />
<br />
Mostly, one doesn't.<br />
<br />
Rumors and whispers and etc. take grip. Pictures disappear online. Cryptic posts abound. Change is evident. Some of it good. Some utterly and profoundly sad.<br />
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I am caught up in the rolling of those two dichotomies. The back and the forth that has left me too sick to my stomach to write much about it.<br />
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Month one. My God. No. Trying to rationalize everything away. Trying to prevent the inevitable.<br />
Month two. Shock. Resolve. Shock. Resolve.<br />
Months 3-4. Numb. Helpless. Angry. So so so sad. My inner bitch took charge, necessarily.<br />
Months 5-8. Busy, too busy to feel. Everything is numb still.<br />
Month 9. The thaw is beginning. My heart is feeling again. It is so sad and hopeful and sad and oh, the feeling of injustice. The reeling of emotions. But then another sunny sunrise strikes my heart and it all feels possible. I can do anything.<br />
<br />
And that is where I am.<br />
<br />
Hopeful. Forward. That paradigm shift in thinking is stretching me, uncomfortable in so many moments. Life doesn't happen to you. You make life around you come into being. The vision that you have can be had.<br />
<br />
The future for June is now written differently. She is strong though, clutching those pearls. She has found herself again. She is laughing, truly laughing, in a way she hasn't in years. She feels free from the falsities. Aware of the complexity, aware of the tragedy, careful to never ask "but why?" and oh, so hopeful for the new future she is creating.<br />
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Baby, you haven't seen anything yet.<br />
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Merry Christmas friends. Cheers to a new day.<br />
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<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-30544299518143338042018-09-20T13:31:00.001-05:002018-09-20T13:53:19.917-05:00pretending like i canYears ago, feels like another person, I wrote all about career/baby balance in several posts, the wanting of both worlds, simultaneously.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmlX5a8A1vi_iuPuTwXinKtCunseYkBiJRMskEIOrD2vOtwt8qThOn1Wmnc2z6kfVsUYjQWDldIzC0HmBcOIC_bXnfblf5HzDOV5ACzqmkH-I8e2LYrpIfGToqhXpsE61qUE9M46i0I4/s1600/IMG_2534.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihmlX5a8A1vi_iuPuTwXinKtCunseYkBiJRMskEIOrD2vOtwt8qThOn1Wmnc2z6kfVsUYjQWDldIzC0HmBcOIC_bXnfblf5HzDOV5ACzqmkH-I8e2LYrpIfGToqhXpsE61qUE9M46i0I4/s320/IMG_2534.JPG" width="240" /></a>I thought about that me, dropping my last baby off at pre-school in the rain, only to drive to a client meeting an hour and a half a way with this look on my face the whole time, giant thermos of chai on hand, the silence interrupted only by the windshield wipers, grey skies and golden autumn fields flashing by my side.<br />
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And I thought about how I wish I was the kind of woman who could do this life. Career pursuits intermixed with crazy hair day and chocolate sales and basketball registration and dishes and laundry and homework check-offs and reading practice and please put down the ipad. I felt like I was pretending, driving through the rain. Like, I wish I was that woman. Who was strong enough. Tough enough. I wish this felt normal. Maybe someday, I found myself thinking. Maybe someday I can do it.<br />
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Then I realized something.<br />
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I needed to change the language in my head, in that very moment. Not, I wish I were stronger, better, more able. But that I AM strong, I AM able.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNGSGRAwbLy49oMwB_0TWtV7VzReAMB4yHvV0PsKoLytOh0pOHrdP3rU9utEUBnT6EgPFJJVAiSvMqIqLEikNKAwQ_TwMWsNP1HfXvzpddlUz3LgoZtjx9nFY9eBq485S4teOGmB87dPI/s1600/IMG_6420.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="750" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNGSGRAwbLy49oMwB_0TWtV7VzReAMB4yHvV0PsKoLytOh0pOHrdP3rU9utEUBnT6EgPFJJVAiSvMqIqLEikNKAwQ_TwMWsNP1HfXvzpddlUz3LgoZtjx9nFY9eBq485S4teOGmB87dPI/s400/IMG_6420.JPG" width="258" /></a>Maybe is today.<br />
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<br />
I am doing it.<br />
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I mean. I might be cranky some mornings. I might forget to check math homework. I might send my kid to school without snacks packed. I might mix up Tuesday with Thursday. Or get snappish at my 12 year, no really put the &#$!!*# ipad down.<br />
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But dammit.<br />
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I am doing it.<br />
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And here is the thing I have been rolling around in my head for weeks now. Something I read ages ago but now sticks like glue to my thoughts. Courage is not the lack of fear. Courage is doing, even when afraid. Courage is doing, even when we are positive we are not actually up to the task. Courage is motion, action, purpose.<br />
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And I went to my client meeting and smiled and shook hands, wearing my blazer and, yes, lipstick, and I drove home, in the rain, and met kids at the bus and sweated out 4th grade math homework, and made dinner, and answered work emails as the potato soup simmered.<br />
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There is hope. If we look for it, is the thing. Strength too. Mamas. We have so much of it, right? And there is, always, a new day tomorrow.<br />
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<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-31159191809646275882018-08-30T17:47:00.001-05:002018-08-30T17:47:29.802-05:00i just...This is where I am lately. I just...<br />
<br />
I...I just...<br />
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I got nothing.<br />
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I've been playing the piano just now. I am kind of a hack. I pick out tunes. The girls and baby are delighted. I pick and peck and sing and it sounds very nice and all. But I am a hack. I can't read music, not fluently anyway. I can't play Chopin or Bach.<br />
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I can fake it. That's it.<br />
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I feel like that is me in a lot of areas. Painting. I can do a decent little oil painting. It looks nice and all but, you know, nothing special.<br />
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Writing. I have had some nice ideas. Maybe one of them will sell one day. For now its a collection of words that make me laugh and smile and, yes, cry.<br />
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This blog is kinda the same space. Lately anyway. Some nice pictures. Some clever words. I think of something nice to point out. Or I say something sad, but relateable, or stressful, but something we all know.<br />
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But that isn't where I am right now.<br />
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Right now my world is falling apart. And I cant see the sky or the earth or anything solid except for four little beings who love me and need me to keep it together. And the days are very ordinary for a falling apart world. I lose my keys. I spill my coffee. I make mac and cheese and do laundry and pull dirty socks out of the toy bin and settle squabbles and answer phone calls and drive to the dentist and work and read Goodnight Moon three times in a row and say prayers and smooth tired brows and plaster on bandaids and "use your inside voice" and "can you please be kind to your sister" and "I said no more i-Pad today!"<br />
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And all of it. But yes. Right now I am in the sorting phase. Sorting out all the broken pieces. What goes where. What doesn't fit anymore. What needs sanded down and refinished. And yet still the mac and cheese and squabbles and lawn mowing and spilled coffee all still happens. Funny, that.<br />
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Such a perplexing place to be in, at 41, with four kids. And yet. There you have it. It is what it is.<br />
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I just...<br />
<br />
But the more I share, the more I let myself be vulnerable, the more I hear from others, in quiet messages and emails and texts. You too? Yes. Me too. And. Dammit it's hard.<br />
<br />
Like Brene Brown has said though, it isn't some cliched midlife crisis we are all feeling, rather, it's an unraveling, a great pull toward authenticity. To live the life you were meant to live. To live in truth. To live without fear. To live in authenticity to the life you were called to live.<br />
<br />
So. I look at my unraveled pieces of my past life. And I sit in the Midwestern late summer sunshine and pick tomatoes and try to figure it all out. And then, sometimes, I just put the pieces down, take the kids to the park, and think, maybe all the pieces are right here. And they are perfectly imperfect. And holy because of it. And someday I will rise again. Not new and shiny. Not like that. Ravaged. Survivor of the storm. In anticipation of the next one, for they will also come because, guys. THIS IS LIFE. Storms. Heart ache. Heart break. Over and over. There is no end of the rainbow perfection. That's a myth. And it sets us up for so much disappointment and resentment and anger at the world. But BUT BUT BUT there are moments of pure beauty in it all. Peace too. And all of it? Its all so damn worth it.<br />
<br />
And we come out of that refining fire. And I will. Stronger. Wiser. More me.<br />
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Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-67798530163725700452018-07-21T17:52:00.001-05:002018-07-21T17:52:56.897-05:00new thingsI was cutting up lemons a few months ago. The scent even still bittersweet. A few seeds were left on the counter. It was planting season, pots and planting soil abound on our farm around that time. I poked a few seeds in a pot, just as an afterthought, after seeing them lie there.<br />
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They sat. And sat. I put the pot up on top of the refrigerator and forgot about it.<br />
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A month later, rearranging a bit, I pulled it down.<br />
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This is what I found.<br />
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New life, new hope, poking up. Out of seemingly nowhere.<br />
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And I smiled. And watered it.<br />
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And I will keep waiting.<br />
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<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-42860684848066006882018-05-21T23:28:00.000-05:002018-05-21T23:28:06.057-05:00catching up in photosI still can't write about all that went down that prompted our move from our island coffee life back to the Midwest. Perhaps someday. But not yet.<br />
<br />
In any case. the kids and I have landed in the Midwest, at grandma and grandpa's farm. A place of wonder all its own, though perhaps more subtle than the big bold beautiful colors of Hawaii. Its planting season. The farmers are out on their tractors. Baby man watches from the big front porch, the lanai as little green keeps calling it. We plant little green peas in the earth, patting them into place, and wait.<br />
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And I miss blogging but I still dont know how to put words to my heart. Its all a jumbled mess. Even so, the girls and I turned an old metal watering trough into a fairy garden the other day and when we did, well, I had to share.<br />
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So, for now, photos. I can do that.<br />
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Enjoy.<br />
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<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-44344616636046109202018-02-11T19:56:00.001-06:002018-02-11T19:56:43.150-06:00snippets of rememberingI don't know if I am feeling sentimental these days, with baby turning two soon and my little man close to eye level with me, retreating to his room as moody preteen life kicks in. Or maybe its just I am overwhelmed enough that my mind is trying to escape? In any case, but I have been having so many moments of flashbacks lately. All of a sudden, vivid images of things I have done, places I have gone, years ago, all forgotten until a sudden flash brings them to the surface.<br />
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Isn't memory a funny thing?<br />
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And as a mom, a precious thing too.<br />
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One, I have felt and lived and seen and done and experienced so much more before this #momlife I now live. It's almost fascinating to remember snapshots of that world. I was that? Really?? <br />
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Two, these babies of mine are slipping into childhood, preteen, teen, adulthood years so quickly, like beads spilling off a snapped necklace. To catch a bead or two as it falls, to find it under a rug, forgotten, hidden, is like a gift.<br />
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Sitting in the living room, watching Wall-E for the first time in awhile with the kids. Remembering little man, when he was actually little, waking from his nap, cuddling up to me as we watch the robot show, his round little head heavy against my chest, his little voice asking questions, chirruping a constant stream at me.<br />
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The sunshine at the end of the long day, hiking up the hill, my girlfriends behind me, finally catching our breath as we get to the top of the hill, the tall trees, raking their branches against the evening sky, and then coming up onto the plaza, the tiles and statues and the glowing golden dome taking center stage as the city of Florence comes into full view.<br />
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Ice cold water, splashed against my face, my new husband and I huddling against the blowing wind at the campground, tucking my hands back into my orange LL Bean windbreaker, the woods of Maine crisp and sparkling with the new day behind us. Feeling so ALIVE.<br />
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New baby, my first daughter, pulled onto my chest, the fire burning in the fireplace, letting off a glow behind her head, my husband's breath on my shoulder as he peers with me at our new girl. Her full lips, her squinted eyes, slits opening to take in the world. The ache of my womb, missing her, yet my arms so fulfilled.<br />
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The hazy sky of Baghdad, a browning golden gray as the sun sets, the tall prickly date palm above me, as the bats begin to swoop in their nightly hunt, the smell of burning in the air, dust settling with every footstep as I walk to my room, the sky fading to black behind me.<br />
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Pulling over in my minivan on a rural gravel road in the middle of Wisconsin. Baby screaming hysterically in the background, carsick and overheated. A toddler and a five year old perplexed as mommy breaks down into tears. Thinking how can I do this I am not this strong what is my life now.<br />
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Each bead glistening. Its own scent and feelings attached.<br />
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Reading Lord of the RIngs to not-so-little-man last night, him cuddled up to me, the chapter where Frodo is in Rivendell, recovering from the wringwraith's attack. He and Sam sit in the Room of Fire as the elves sing and tell stories and the images wash over them with the words connected with the feelings of the songs and stories, colors dancing and pictures of the elvish history from long ago and I think is that what happens as we grow old, and stay open to our memories and let them fill our hearts and we smile a little knowing smile as a song from our highschool years comes on the radio, washing dishes in our little kitchens and we turn it up and sing loud and even, to the astonishment of our babies/embarrassment of our preteens, dance a little, remembering another self, sixteen years old, daddy's big red car, the dry California air blowing long blond hair, scent of eucalyptus sharply in the evening wind, stripped down to a halter top after a class of tennis at the local community college, driving up and down and around the huge Central Coast landscape, the same song comes on, we turn it up, and smile, and drive, the whole world in front of us, ours for the taking, all is so very possible, and back in our kitchen, dish rag in hand, we smile at that girl, all is so possible, so good, girl, you dont even know.<br />
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<br />Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7846424065096320167.post-29812412111137307192018-01-26T19:31:00.000-06:002018-01-26T19:31:18.047-06:00juggle juggle juggleJuggle. Juggle juggle juggle.<br />
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Juggle. Juggle juggle juggle.<br />
Drop ball. Slip on dropped ball. Swear. Chastise toddler for swearing. Chastise 11 yr old for swearing.<br />
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Bend over.<br />
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Pick up dropped ball.<br />
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Readjust ponytail. Swig down lukewarm coffee.<br />
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Throw that ball up in the air.<br />
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At it.<br />
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Again.<br />
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Juggle. Juggle juggle juggle. Juggle juggle juggle juggle juggle.<br />
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Sound familiar anyone??? I know it is. This is my life these days, so so intensely so.<br />
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I've got coffee trees to stump. Fruit to pick. Jelly to make. Kids to pick up at school. Toddler to chase. Meetings to attend. Curriculum to write. Biscuits to make. Trips to think about, pray about. Workshops to plan. Books to write. Someone gave me a massage gift certificate for Christmas. I am thinking of scheduling it sometime next fall. Oh, and did I mention little-not-so-little man is going for soccer? Which meets twice a week? Plus games?? And the girls have been begging for hula lessons. And toddler is almost able to open the front door on his own. And I think he is growing out of his naptime. God help us all.<br />
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It is good. So busy. So much. And somehow the parenting needs have increased exponentially this year. The conversations I am having these days....just...oh my. So MUCH.<br />
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Can I confess my week? Victories and failures. Dropped balls and homeruns.<br />
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I made honest to God biscuits following the honest to God recipe. And they turned out SO WELL. And the kids LOVED THEM.<br />
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The day before I came home to a garbage can overflowing with crawling maggots and proceeded to curse and freak out for two hours cleaning and mopping. (Hashtag paradise problems)<br />
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I made some great contacts in the community in the past month and am working with the anti-trafficking coalition, speaking on a panel about social justice and advocacy tomorrow.<br />
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Meanwhile I left my kids school performance 15 minutes early (so as to miss the parking lot rush) and she came home crying about it hours later.<br />
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Dada and I went on a date and got dinner.<br />
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I hired nanny.<br />
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The chickens keep on eating my passionfruit vine seeds and I can't seem to get my gardenia bush to bloom.<br />
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Dada and I had an exhausted in front of the kids fight over who does the dishes more often. Ridiculous. Regretted.<br />
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Juggle. Juggle.<br />
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The laundry build up at one point this week was fantastic. I mean. MOUNDS AND MOUNDS of it.<br />
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My toddler knows how to get to his favorite (super annoying) show on Netflix, Tayo the little bus. And I let him do this, multiple times a day. My friend with teens told me about how in Japan there are programs for kids addicted to iphones. I smiled and nodded.<br />
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The chickens are laying eggs consistently in the same spot. Up to four the other day. All those scraps we feed them to woo them toward the house seem to be paying off.<br />
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I still haven't started writing again regularly.<br />
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Little not-so-little man has been begging and begging for purple hair. I finally relented. There was some left. Mom. he says, why dont you do it too. We can be PURPLE HAIR TWINS! (purple hair twins you guys!!! oh my heart) I said yes.<br />
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He has also been wrestling with some big issues in school. Wanting to fit in. And yet begging daily to be homeschooled. Oh my heart.<br />
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Little miss ran up the hill shrieking her hatred of me, her family and the world. A few days later we had a "big talk" (not THAT one, but close) and she was so attentive and grown up my heart nearly burst with pride for the little lady she is becoming.<br />
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Dropped balls.<br />
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Homeruns.<br />
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Juggle juggle juggle.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">our little awareness event, organized by my dear friend, to protest human trafficking</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_cK3-hrR64LBIb4N4qZFCjCHJMZI4nv3diyNBQhfPtghpjNf16CYAEOBKssJkdzp0uT9FV5NHK7ua7EEuFspt_OydGlOcgnswFpp2cE1Gfdg_eLxf0x296VLTxWYJgPpW4meOJbLxM0Y/s1600/IMG_4582.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1203" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_cK3-hrR64LBIb4N4qZFCjCHJMZI4nv3diyNBQhfPtghpjNf16CYAEOBKssJkdzp0uT9FV5NHK7ua7EEuFspt_OydGlOcgnswFpp2cE1Gfdg_eLxf0x296VLTxWYJgPpW4meOJbLxM0Y/s640/IMG_4582.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">i took the kids out for cocoa and coffee. they were a dream. and then the owner chased us out in<br />the prking lot thinking i had let baby bring home the toy truck he was obsessd with. little green<br />had already put it back but it made me LIVID</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/AVvXsEgffnr92ggKG81NSqNjQkmQur6XGfiJ1FcMe352BQlnAlHsNROfhbGP5HJXkzkBPhr_cRZAkXJd4b_xLqDu_V8UMD3NFD26EG4Wzbg5TsmxxfbE6zIzI302MhcuFteIRhgUb-L2kRDWVL0/s1600/IMG_4586.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgffnr92ggKG81NSqNjQkmQur6XGfiJ1FcMe352BQlnAlHsNROfhbGP5HJXkzkBPhr_cRZAkXJd4b_xLqDu_V8UMD3NFD26EG4Wzbg5TsmxxfbE6zIzI302MhcuFteIRhgUb-L2kRDWVL0/s640/IMG_4586.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">i mean. look at those biscuits.</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/AVvXsEhfOYB0rDKXw4c5I64ONUPKLFzNzFji8HxmbAEXCVF0Gq59tncz-KaeIMFiLLiHGYk3kSAw1I75VzktbiMPWFlYifHEkqU6S0vSC7TT5gZLt-QMIej3iM57FHfQybmILG3f1OqpQKwzlQk/s1600/IMG_4545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfOYB0rDKXw4c5I64ONUPKLFzNzFji8HxmbAEXCVF0Gq59tncz-KaeIMFiLLiHGYk3kSAw1I75VzktbiMPWFlYifHEkqU6S0vSC7TT5gZLt-QMIej3iM57FHfQybmILG3f1OqpQKwzlQk/s640/IMG_4545.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">can you find the farming baby??</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjolQSVNPoXQHtQik4vmmnwnu0F0YNHYy5chdVkebqMx3tvJwuEAzajyjTEjgXFmm7g4gWqYFm2PX3O-p64PLG583NRKLlwpyfmgTmDlOeyQGsxxfGToff141QWBYjlhe1TJPlRTyqakwE/s1600/IMG_4552.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjolQSVNPoXQHtQik4vmmnwnu0F0YNHYy5chdVkebqMx3tvJwuEAzajyjTEjgXFmm7g4gWqYFm2PX3O-p64PLG583NRKLlwpyfmgTmDlOeyQGsxxfGToff141QWBYjlhe1TJPlRTyqakwE/s640/IMG_4552.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMARVUBVT2cNLXbro3Og59q3uBGzNqC5GceP-jMfs0TQh4n5DqfTRP24-2ENvwmLBk8mdCwhRxaBE1giJ5l2ZLHUrJAjvBqK3ZTWy0RY-W0dKbAL9XFVu8C8vUdSrPNnmMTr0R-vw3-V0/s1600/IMG_4541.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMARVUBVT2cNLXbro3Og59q3uBGzNqC5GceP-jMfs0TQh4n5DqfTRP24-2ENvwmLBk8mdCwhRxaBE1giJ5l2ZLHUrJAjvBqK3ZTWy0RY-W0dKbAL9XFVu8C8vUdSrPNnmMTr0R-vw3-V0/s640/IMG_4541.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my purple hair twin streak :)</td></tr>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5V1tO0VgnTrURZTZfQBVlxpp8fAmFeNDgsgioglSIrvDhz3p55Cdgm80D73HcP_8nXP-FIJLS8mKMUGJDwVauC4Th_1gvQUkrjEsum-qNhTsbzqOkAzX0BlSIuuAo7TPZQNOmCfDYClQ/s1600/IMG_4504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5V1tO0VgnTrURZTZfQBVlxpp8fAmFeNDgsgioglSIrvDhz3p55Cdgm80D73HcP_8nXP-FIJLS8mKMUGJDwVauC4Th_1gvQUkrjEsum-qNhTsbzqOkAzX0BlSIuuAo7TPZQNOmCfDYClQ/s640/IMG_4504.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaisjYdd_1lQFQYmERQshRse2ZQ5kdJetxOA44GQzS1sZTQPMqlUammQlGL-RJhwDXoVFWzxMoeQboHhXPDQNnQencLnIJXOgPjM34lSf3PPwzm3SNF3Q7Of9B2EgQKmecZIjG2aeyujA/s1600/IMG_4516.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaisjYdd_1lQFQYmERQshRse2ZQ5kdJetxOA44GQzS1sZTQPMqlUammQlGL-RJhwDXoVFWzxMoeQboHhXPDQNnQencLnIJXOgPjM34lSf3PPwzm3SNF3Q7Of9B2EgQKmecZIjG2aeyujA/s640/IMG_4516.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">i made banana avocado chocolate pudding one day. he liked it.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZYOSD-rhD5wJLw5mtSJ_2RnJ64R0fZqgv3S5wG86LLNUPKsNoYRk0Z-g3_KpLN9v_m9V89gX7kYd846VCdn-u3XDI0_unBDE4ctM4A-w4FcF1lDrZgWv4IsHgUIh-Xua3jBhnfPUEgLg/s1600/IMG_4526.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZYOSD-rhD5wJLw5mtSJ_2RnJ64R0fZqgv3S5wG86LLNUPKsNoYRk0Z-g3_KpLN9v_m9V89gX7kYd846VCdn-u3XDI0_unBDE4ctM4A-w4FcF1lDrZgWv4IsHgUIh-Xua3jBhnfPUEgLg/s640/IMG_4526.JPG" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">spot the six yr old!</td></tr>
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Sarahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08316145961974588385noreply@blogger.com0